#there. perfectly serviceable >:p

[abyssal-glory]

vector portrait for digital imaging class of RGB!! hey go read The Property of Hate if you haven’t already btw it’s an amazing comic by @modmad that i’ve been hotglued to since my junior year of high school.

big thank you to mod for giving their permission/blessing to wrestle with this horrible tv bastard in adobe illustrator for the express purpose of shilling him and this comic to my unsuspecting class <3

(edit: god okay pls click for fullscreen. hogy shit)

[dapperrokyuu]

Saw a bad Mochijun take, lol.

[atrwriting]

terrible company — logan howlett x reader

secret time i never used to like wolverine because i thought i was cool and then i saw deadpool 3 and my jaw dropped and i watched most of the x men movies in like three days and now here we are

side note the tiktok edits went absolutely crazy with this scene

back at school needed to write something to keep me sane enjoy

barely edited we die like overworked students men

minors fuck off plz n thnx

as always, warnings: smut smut smuttt, enemies to lovers, fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk, light face slapping (trust me!), logan's a dick

—

“what, sweetheart? — afraid you might like it?”

you rolled your eyes at the man before you: logan howlett, the most obnoxious and formidable man you had ever met. his eyes twinkled with mischief, but his smirk hinted at so much more. this was the fifth or sixth time or so that he had flirted with you outright since you had first met him, and you had still found yourself being caught off guard from his honesty and lack of embarrassment.

he was an enigma to you — such terrible company, always brooding over something. then, randomly, he would see you and his eyes would get that look — as if he forgot what made him so miserable — and flirt with you so inappropriately that you didn’t know what to do, nor feel.

you sighed, staring at him. “can always count on you for shock value, can’t it?”

he smirked then, and you rolled your eyes. continuing, you spoke, “i’ll never get you. you are so mean to everyone — besides the people you want to fuck, of course.”

you turned away then, shaking your head. you didn’t hear him follow you. you grew angry after that realization, causing another sharp breath of air to leave your nostrils in a huff. you weren’t sure if you were angry at the fact that he didn’t follow you and immediately apologize even though he would never do that, or if you were just angry at how you were upset he didn’t follow you.

you tried not to think about it. you had work to do.

your next mission would be based out in the north somewhere — cold, dark, barely any service or electricity, and horrific weather. all of that would’ve made anyone groan, but none of that was the worst part.

not even close.

the worst part was that logan was your partner.

it made bile rise in your throat at the thought.

you generally didn’t mind him — he was grumpy, sure, but someone like old yeller would be grumpy after how many years he’s been alive and after what he’s been through. what pissed you off and what you couldn’t forgive — is how he treated different groups of people. he picked on a lot of people, and even if it was just “harmless hazing” — you didn’t care. it wasn’t cool and it definitely wasn’t hot. it was hurtful and you didn’t like it. he made fun of your friends, and that was where the hate began — and there was no end in sight.

but the best part? oh — the fucking cherry on top? his endless flirtation. he flirted with you shamelessly as if he wasn’t ruthless with your friends moments prior. did he think you void of loyalty? did he think you would sleep with him after he roasted your friends just because he threw a few sleazy comments your way? how little respect did he have for you? or, worse — how little respect did he think you had for yourself?

made your fucking blood boil.

that no good, rotten, fucking —

“hey, sweetheart —“

when you were within fifteen feet of him, it felt like all you did was roll your fucking eyes and bite back a quip. all you wanted to do was put him in his fucking place, or stay as far away from him as possible. however, with a mission so important — so dire — you couldn’t ask for a reassignment and make the team succumb to immature whims. you put up with logan because neither you, the team, nor the government had more options or time.

“what, logan?” you spat, pursing your lips as you turned around to face him.

fuck, he was so goddamn handsome. his skin was tanned from constantly being outside, looking perfectly aged. his facial hair and hairstyle were out of the ordinary as well, but it only kept your attention on him longer. he was strong — so strong. his muscles could kill in mere seconds, and you realized you hated yourself for thinking this way. for falling into the trap of a man so annoying — so undeserving of your attraction — your only response was to clench your jaw and fucking glare at him.

he raised his eyebrow at your attitude. “others already took the cars and helicopter. looks like we’re takin’ in my chopper.”

he didn’t wait for you to disagree. in fact, as you were winding up your “aaaabsolutely not” he immediately turned around and left towards the front — where his motorcycle was parked outside.

you stared at him as he walked towards the bike — broad shoulders clad in the leather jacket he always wore. his legs, even covered in jeans, were so trim and muscular that you could see the power behind each stride. when he swung one leg over the seat, and two hands gripped the handle bars — you would’ve said he was attractive if it wasn’t for how horrendous he was. you would’ve bit your hand at how broad his shoulders were and the strength behind them. you should’ve torn your gaze away from him — because at that moment, the moment where you were contemplating your attraction towards him and how it worked with your hatred for him — he caught you staring.

he caught you staring — and the fucking bastard smirked.

you cursed then, and then started towards his bike. like he once did, you swung your leg over and wrapped your arms around his midsection.

“hold on tight, sweetheart,” he spoke, the vibrations of his deep voice felt against your chest. “can’t say i’d let anything bad happen to you, though.”

“just drive, logan,” you spat through gritted teeth.

he chuckled darkly then, revving his engine. “yes ma’am.”

with his back to you, unable to see his reaction — it was the one moment, the one fucking time that you didn’t roll your eyes at him. your reaction to his words — yes ma’am — was raw and surprising, unsettling almost. you shifted in your seat and adjusted your grip on him as a warmth settled in your stomach, and on the apples of your cheeks. your breaths turned shallow, too, as your whole body succumbed to the blush that overtook.

no, you thought. you think he’s hot. that’s fine. assholes can be hot — we just can’t act on how hot they are. that’s fine. it’s fine. everything is fine —

but the way he smelled? oh god, the way he fucking smelled? logan was what bath and body works modeled those mahogany or whisky or leather or whatever-the-fuck candles after. part of you wanted to curse him out, making up something to be mad at him for — but the other parts wanted to wrap your arms around him tighter and stick your nose in the back of his neck like a depraved lunatic.

but you couldn’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. you sat up straighter then — trying to put as much space as possible between you and him on a vehicle that was not meant for a rivalry between driver and passenger.

you were disgusted with yourself. so, so disgusted with yourself.

fuck, you thought. this is going to be a long night.

when you reached camp, you immediately began setting up. you set up shelter and got your supplies in order, and logan went out looking for food. that was logan’s one quality that not even you could take away from him — he was an excellent hunter. you tried to busy yourself as best as you could — setting up the tent, starting the fire, the works. the sun would almost be down before logan came back.

when you heard his footsteps, your head immediately flicked up towards him. there he was — dinner thrown over his shoulder, clad in a white tank top, and cigar in his mouth. a cloud of smoke followed behind him as he walked towards where you had set up camp.

“showing off?” you cast your gaze down, putting another log on the fire.

“…is it working?”

you couldn’t help it. you let out a small laugh.

fuck.

you cleared your throat immediately, hoping he didn’t hear it. unfortunately, there was no use in that. fear struck you when you saw the tiniest smirk on his face. you brushed it off, leaving him to go get a sweatshirt as he dressed and cleaned the animal.

“scared of a little blood, sweetheart?”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his comment. “it’s an animal, logan. not our enemy.”

“…fuckin’ vegans.”

“okay, old yeller —“ you quipped, poking at the fire. “you don’t feel a drop of sadness when you go after bambi?”

“it’s meat,” that was all he said on the subject, and you didn’t feel like poking the bear.

you ate in silence and went to bed in silence. actually — you went to bed. logan stayed out by the fire until you retreated to your tent. you left him with a bottle of jameson on his right, and a cigar in his left hand. his eyes were trained on the fire.

you didn’t like the look on his face. it was either an expression of zoning out, sadness, or a mixture of both — you couldn’t be sure. any time someone had asked logan what was on his mind, it was usually met with some rude or mean insult from logan. old yeller didn’t like feelings, and that worked out well for you — because you didn’t want to hear about his feelings.

you thought he would stay out all night if he could, never sleeping. however, he did end up going to bed — but you only knew that because he woke up screaming from a nightmare.

him yelling was extremely inconvenient and frankly dangerous — it could blow your cover. in your exhausted state, you sprung up and out of your tent and dashed over to where logan was curled on the ground. he was thrashing at the air — knocking over his bottle of whisky and kicking at the fire.

“logan!” you hissed, trying to force yourself out of your discombobulated state. the thrashing continued, and in a moment of desperation — you got on top of him.

straddled him, to be more exact.

in a moment, his eyes snapped open. your back was on the ground and he was above you — one of his claws at your jugular. logan’s instincts woke up before he did as he laid on top of you and over you, breathing heavily as he kept his blade drawn at your neck with his eyes blown wide.

“you were having a nightmare,” you choked out. “you’re okay —“

he was still staring at you and breathing heavily. it was like he was in a trance — unaware of how to navigate the feeling of peace and a fight or flight response. his pupils, blown wide, showed no sign of calming down.

you reached both hands to grasp at his cheeks, feeling the tickle of his beard on your palms. “you’re safe — it’s alright.”

he dropped his head then — on your collarbone. it hung in shame, guilt, and exhaustion. the unholy trinity that followed logan howlett around for his entire life. one of your hands slid to the back of his neck, cupping the base of his head as his thumb stroked his skin.

“i’m sorry,” was all he said, head still in the crook of your neck.

“you’re good — i get them, too.”

“i’m not looking for a pity party, alright?” he snapped, pushing himself up.

that was it. the final straw.

you reached forward them, yanking him by the shirt so you were nose to nose — tongue on fire, throat hoarse with anger and tight with sadness. “you’re such an ass, you know that? all you do is insult my friends, expect me to sleep with you, and then the moment — the one fucking moment — you show any sign of humanity, i extend a fucking olive branch, and you snap at me? — the fuck is your problem, logan?”

he raised his brows then, almost in a beckoning fashion. “you think i need a shoulder to cry on, huh, sweetheart? — that’s the thing with you young people, why your friends annoy me so much — there’s no fucking time to spend whining when there’s a fucking job to do.”

“jealous, logan?” you spat, still gripping his shirt. “can’t stand the fact that i would rather console the people you insult rather than let you fuck me?”

“what you do in your spare time is yours, sweetheart —“ he scoffed. “if you want to spend it with people who don’t respect you, fine by me.”

“don’t respect me?!” you spat. your face was red and hot now, burning with rage. every word that left your mouth was coated in venom hoping to strike him like his words struck you. “you’d fuck me, leave, and then probably treat me with as much disdain as you treat everyone else — how the fuck is that better?!”

oh — you shouldn’t have.

you really, really shouldn’t have.

you felt the regret as soon the word “better” left your mouth — only a moment before you saw something switch in logan’s eyes. the switch was followed by a twitch in his jaw, the movement he makes before he basically uses someone’s spine as a tooth pick. you knew he wouldn’t hurt you — he couldn’t, he wouldn’t — but damn, the realization of how much weight your statement held in his chest concerned you.

you watched his nose crinkle in anger.

he let out a frustrated, slow breath.

another.

and another.

and then another. he was still on top of you then — staring down his nose at you. you were cocky, cocking your chin up at him — trying to feign looking him in the eyes despite your lack of height. you didn’t want to be a sexual object, there for his free use. you didn’t want to be something he could discard, worthless. you didn’t want logan to give you the same treatment he gave your friends — because that would mean you were no longer worth anything to him.

you braced yourself for his words — what you always thought would come, sooner or later. the end of flirting, and the beginning of rejection and hatred.

“that’s it, huh?” he spoke low then, fighting back anger. “the princess thought i’d leave?” his lips were barely touching yours then, threatening the barrier and final boundary of air between you two. your chest was rising and falling with every word, unable to keep your cool. he continued, “maybe i should — since now you sound like your friends — bunch of fucking whiners.”

you slammed at his chest then, trying to push him off for his hurtful words. he didn’t budge — he was the fucking wolverine, what could you do that would get him to actually move?

“the problem is, doll —“ he took both of your hands and pressed them down next to your head. “i know you’re not like them — and i like you too much to leave.”

you scoffed, gritting your teeth. “stop fucking —“

he let go of one of your wrists and grabbed your chin in his strong hand, silencing you. he stared down at you then, and no words had the chance to leave your lips. anger sent daggers from your eyes to his, but something swirled within his irises. something worse than anger — darker. stronger. harder.

“are you going to stop fucking whining and let me kiss you?” he spat. “or are you going to crawl away with your tail between your legs and be forced to use that stashed vibrator you keep in your bag?”

you sucked in a sharp breath then — eyes going wide as your lips fell open in surprise. he smirked then, obviously pleased. your chest was still rising and falling, but now it was with shallow breaths as something else filled your lungs and abdomen.

heat. pure heat. warmth spread throughout your ribs, abdomen, and core once you absorbed logan’s words. he was so mean — so fucking rude and mean — but his “no bullshit” attitude forced you to keep out of your own way in a way you didn’t want to admit you liked. you were still then — and all you could do was stare up at logan with your big, dark eyes as a smirk crept onto his face.

“that’s it, baby,” was all he whispered before he kissed you.

the hand that once held your face slid around the back of your head, holding the base of your skull up and out for him. he planted his spread knees in between your thighs, cementing himself in place as his other arm held himself up.

logan kissed you with demand in every movement. his lips lead you in a fashion that so passionate and so dominant that your brain and body were fucking putty — his to mold in his hands as he deemed fit. you should’ve been disgusted, tormented by the fact that he would do such a thing — but you couldn’t keep up the act any longer. having logan so close, so warm — it was the ultimate act of comfort.

men had kissed you before — but no man from before could kiss you like this. this. no man had the power to claim you in the open, dangerous air while on top of you and still making you feel so safe and protected. you didn’t feel the need to go out of your way to show dominance — and it felt so fucking good to turn your brain off, even for just a moment.

and logan? fuck — logan? he had wanted nothing more for months than to be exactly where he was now; on top of you, tongue exploring the mouth that loved to insult him. he knew how on edge you were, how you were always caring about everyone but yourself — he just wanted to see what you were like when you could only think about one thing, and one thing only: your own pleasure.

it started with his fingers tightening on the back of your neck ever so slightly. your throat let out a quiet sort of mewl — like he had squeezed the last shred of focus out of you. he wanted you out of focus — not necessarily under his control, he just wanted you to lose control. crying, screaming, taking out your anger on him for all he cared — but he just wanted to be the one that made you forget about everything for a little while.

…so when he felt your hands running up and down the length of his upper body, curious as to the muscles of his shoulders — he knew what to do. he couldn’t help himself, should’ve asked —

he lowered his lower body down and ground against your clothed core.

instinctively, your legs tried to wrap around his — trying to bring him closer. you were struggling, it was so cute to him. he thought about how mean it would be to tease you, even if it was for a little bit — but would quick fun honedtly help you? the stick up your ass would probably never leave, he thought — he had to do this right.

and when he did it again — the smallest whine built in the back of your throat, sending vibrations throughout your body and senses. logan’s hyper sensitive hearing sent shivers — actual shivers — up and down his spine, and right to his cock as his strained against his zipper.

he felt you clam up then, tighten — insecure. he could sense it. smell it.

“don’t you dare —“ he breathed, demanding another kiss from you. he would swallow you whole if given the choice. “those whines you make? those sweet, little noises? — they’re mine, doll. mine. you don’t get to take what’s mine, do you?”

“no —“ you whimpered, shakily. “but — i — i thought —“

he let your neck go, much to your dismay, but that empty feeling was replaced by his large, flat palm pressing against your clothes core. you jumped for a moment, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you peered up at him through your lashes.

“thinkin’ i hate whiners?” he laughed, biting on the skin of your neck as he kept palming you. “not when they sound as pretty as you, doll. ‘m so hard for you — gotta know you want this as much as me.”

you almost let out a struggled gasp then, close to tears. he was so mean. the stress and pain of waiting could be felt all over. he was being so sweet — so generous with his touches — but you wanted more. needed more.

“wan’ it so bad, logan,” you gasped, almost hiccuping. “don’t fuck with me anymore, please — no more games.”

you felt his hand slide your zipper down its track, smirking. “no more games means you’re mine, doll. i don’t fucking share.”

you watched as his large hand — calloused from years of war, labor, and pain — found its way under your pretty, lacy thong. he wanted to rip it off you, free you from the tight clothing — but he needed you now. you needed him now, and he wouldn’t deny you any longer.

you were soaking wet when you felt two fingers slip in between your folds, sending a sharp breath to be sucked in between your lips. logan watched in awe as the flames of the fire caught the glistening wetness on his fingers, illuminating the reflection for both of you to see and witness.

it was obvious to him now — you wanted him so badly, for longer than you had ever let on.

he should’ve been slow, loving, maybe even tender — but that wasn’t him. never was, and never would be. your grip tightened on his as he slipped two fingers inside your pussy, sucking him in desperation.

you immediately tried to bite back a squeal when you felt his fingers finally slide all the way inside you, leaving no space undiscovered. the pads of his fingers were nudging at the roof of your pussy as the meat of his fleshy palm rubbed against your lonely clit — pink, puffy, and pathetic. so desperate. you were biting your lip now, screwing your eyes shut — trying to fight the urge to scream his name.

“oh, i don’t think so, doll,” he grunted. “look at me.”

you tried to look at him. you really did. when you couldn’t manage it, your eyes blurry — you couldn’t believe it: he lightly smacked your jaw.

it should’ve sent you reeling, absolutely fuming — but it only caught your attention. he was glaring down at you, fuming, with a pink hue on his cheeks. “what did i say, huh?”

you couldn’t respond. he had halted his movement, leaving you to buck into his hands.

“those moans are mine,” he spat. “you’re goin’ to be loud, and you’re goin’ to let me know exactly how it feels, alright?”

“okay,” you whimpered. “please just —“

“fucking christ —“ he spat exasperatedly. his movements were rougher now, more than ever — sending you closer and closer to the edge. “your wound so tight, you know that? so fucking concerned and always thinking — you’re goin’ to let go for me, doll, and i’m not taking my eyes off this pussy until it sings for me.”

“fuck, logan —“ you threw your head back, screwing your eyes shut.

“you wanna close your eyes, baby, huh?” he grunted with cockiness in his voice. “too much for you?” his voice was low and guttural, turning you on more and more. “need to see what it’s like when you break for me, baby. — lose it for me, yeah? come on — that’s it — that’s a girl —“

every muscle in your body was tightening with every word. you were straining against him — wanting to pull him close and push him far away at the same exact time. you wanted your orgasm, he wanted your orgasm — and you both fought the other for it. you were grinding your hips up to meet his hand — and he was pushing you back down to the ground so you’d sit-the-fuck-still and take whatever he gave you.

logan hovered over you, knees still planted between your thighs. he still worked at your pussy, still forcing it to consume everything he had to offer. his free hand grabbed at the hair at the top of your head, pulling it back so you were at his complete and total mercy, gasping and whimpering for him — and only him.

“yeah, baby — get lost in it. show daddy how much you needed this.”

you couldn’t take it anymore. you couldn’t. you just couldn’t. the relentless need to stay strong, to keep your cool, always remain calm — gone. all of it — gone. shockwaves went up and down your body, every muscle now taught. your neck stretched back and your back arched up into logan’s chest as your orgasm ran up, down, and through every vein. your throat was dry and cracked — as were any and all coherent words that left your mouth. gasps, cries, whimpers — they all went straight to logan’s cock the minute he smelled the sweet and tangy scent of your juice flowing onto his hands and palm. he wanted to lick you up and down, swallow you whole — but logan wasn’t a patient man, no — never.

and there he was. smirking, above you — not even slightly tired.

he kept up his torture — hand still working at your pussy.

“that’s it, baby — ride out that high,” he grunted in your ear, biting at your shoulder. “nice and easy. come down for me, sweetheart — daddy’s not done with you yet.”

you fell back against the dirt, gasping — wondering where the fuck you were and how logan got you there. everything about you — blurry. your eyesight, your hearing, your sense of smell — all of it: blurry. numb and tingling. you could feel everything and nothing all at once, all while trying to catch your breath.

the only thing you could do, the only thing — was reach for logan’s belt buckle, whining for more.

he smirked down at you then once more, taking his cock our for you to wrap your small, weak hand against its girthy base. you were still reeling from the orgasm, but he didn’t mind.

“greedy girl.” he kissed you, mouth hot and demanding. “pussy feels empty without me, huh? gotta change that.”

he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, your muscles stretching and conforming to his will. you pulled him close to you, whining into his kiss. he swallowed every feverish moan with everything he had, his mind now also buzzing with pleasure.

“bet your pussy feels so warm and wet —“ he breathed. “gonna let me use you, baby? hmm?”

you shook your head feverishly, tears coming to your eyes. “please, logan — please use me.”

that’s all he needed. he slid his long length inside you, and he felt every stretch. your pussy was so sweet — ready to mold to whatever he gave you. he heard your head fall back in pleasure, a loan erupting from your chest — but logan couldn’t care about that right now. all he could focus on was how your pussy opened wide for him, sucking him in like if needed him as much as he needed you. he felt himself grow longer and thicker inside of you, almost painfully.

“jesus fucking christ —“ he hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and shoving his face into the crook of your neck. his guttural, deep moans were sent straight through your ear and down every nerve in your body. he grunted, “gonna let me take what i need, baby? let daddy use you?”

“yes, please —“ you cried. “need it so bad.”

he bent your leg back to your chest now, and suddenly the head of his cock was hitting a spot you had never felt before. so deep, so hidden — hot tears sprung to your eyes when he found it. every part of you was sensitive, buzzing for his touch — and all you could think about how there was more and more to give to him, only his to take.

“right there —!” you sobbed.

“that’s your spot, huh?” he spat through gritted teeth. “no boy has found that, i can tell. i can fucking smell it. you want me to pound into you there, baby? gonna let a real man show you how he fucks his girl?”

you were sobbing at this point, pulling him closer and closer into you if there was any space. you couldn’t respond. you didn’t have the strength or the brain to do so. all you could do was bite down on logan’s shoulder as he fucked into that spot — that one fucking spot — as he let out animalistic groans in your ear.

“all mine.”

“my fucking pussy —“

“good fucking girl —“

“gonna cream in this pussy until you can’t take it.”

your second orgasm ripped through you then as tears leaked from your eyes. your teeth broke logan’s skin, blood flooding your mouth as he moaned. the pain coursed through him with the pleasure, mixing within his veins until everything else and around him was forgotten. the only thing that mattered was the greedy pussy sucking him in, and the sweet girl beneath him.

logan was a fucking animal with how he chased your high. he ripped and clawed at the dirt as he drank in your second orgasm, feeling you go limp beneath him. the adrenaline coursing through his veins had a mind of its own — he wrapped your arms around his neck as he took your hips in both of his hands. he held you both upright then — smashing your hips down to meet his as you hung on for dear life. deep, broken grunts were pushed through his gritted teeth as he fought tooth and nail for his orgasm. he dove head first into it, letting you both fall to the ground.

you felt logan’s body shake — fucking shake. you had never known him to succumb to something so peaceful and powerful — so demanding of him. his muscles strained against the control like they were chains and he needed to break free. he groaned into the crook of your neck and tresses of your hair as he fucked himself into your puffy pussy, your cries mixing with his groans. logan’s thrust were desperate as he fucked his cream inside you, part of it coming out and leaking onto his cock as it mixed with your juice. the sight of it ripped through him as the want to claim you again and again took him too. he found your lips once more, both of you gasping into a kiss as you both settled back into the dirt.

it was going to be a long, long night...

[augustwinesworld]

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

description: 

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x  female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe? smut.

warning: explicit smut (p in v), oral (f! receiving), DRY HUMPING (sooo hot), unprotected sex (never do this in real life, ever—couldn’t help myself lmao), age gap relationship (present time! robby late 40s, reader mid 30s—flashback! robby late 30s, reader mid 20s), problematic power dynamics (in the flashback reader is an intern, robby is a junior attending), inappropriate use of hospital property (?), female reader.

notes: idk what happened. this wasn’t in my outline. I started fleshing out the chapter and BOOM, the smut just appeared. Also, I am so sorry to any filipino people reading this, if I butchered the tagalog please lmk. THIS WAS NOT BETA READ.

word count: 10.3 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ (ko-fi)

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

12 years ago...

The vibe was off.

It wasn’t the usual exhaustion from a tough shift or hospital malaise—it was sharper. The kind of wrong you could taste in the back of your throat.

Robby could feel it the second he stepped onto the floor. 

Felt it when his gaze skimmed across the nurses’ station, caught your pink-scrubbed form bent over a chart—and you didn’t look up.

Didn’t flash him the usual quick smile. Didn’t so much as acknowledge him.

Good, he thought viciously. Better that way.

He knew he was being short—clipped orders, tight jaw, no eye contact—but he couldn’t seem to stop it. It was either that or let something uglier bleed through.

You weren’t any better.

You charted like the pen was a weapon, avoided him like a live wire. No smart remarks, no quick glances. Just silence and a careful, perfectly crafted space between them.

Which made it worse. Somehow. 

He stayed terse, barking out orders with a little more edge than necessary.

You stayed busy, answering questions without once meeting his eyes.

They orbited each other in a strange, broken rhythm—like magnets flipped the wrong way, close enough to feel the pull but fighting it every step of the way.

When the call came over the PA—Trauma incoming. OB consult needed. ETA four minutes—he felt it like a crack down his spine. 

Of course.

Of course it had to be you on consult rotation today. Of course it had to be on his case.

He reached the trauma bay first, pulling on gloves with brisk, jerky motions. You arrived seconds later, steps light but purposeful, pink sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile.

You caught sight of him and flinched so subtly most people would’ve missed it.

He didn’t.

 You hovered at the door like you considered staying back. 

But then you squared your shoulders, locked it all away behind that bright, professional mask he hated so much, and stepped in beside him.

A nurse at the desk, watching them assemble, snickered under her breath, teasing, “uh oh. Dream team’s back together.”

There was a ripple of laughter from behind the desk—not cruel, exactly, but knowing. Like the whole fucking hospital had gotten a whiff of whatever was simmering between them lately.

Robby forced a half-smirk, the kind he used to disarm patients’ families in bad news consults. 

“All part of the service,” he said dryly, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Premium package: expertise and entertainment.”

It got the intended effect—a few more chuckles, a little of the tension bleeding off the room.

But when he glanced sideways, you were already moving toward the gurney bay, chart in hand, shoulder brushing past him.

Over your shoulder, syrup-sweet, you chirped, "Just smile and nod—it’s easier that way.” 

The nurses chuckled, thinking you were just poking fun at yourself.

Someone called after you, “Ain’t that the truth!”

“Lucky you. You get to watch us work our effortless magic."

The nurses cracked up, tossing you good-natured jabs. But Robby felt the gut punch underneath it.

Effortless.

Right. 

The bitterness laced through honey.

But he caught the way your fingers tightened around the edges of the chart you held. Caught the way you shifted a fraction farther from him—no closer than you absolutely had to be, not even to grab a sterile gown.

He almost said something.

Almost reached for you.

Instead, he turned toward the incoming gurney and bit down hard on whatever reckless thing was clawing up his throat.

When they reached the trauma bay, the patient was already there—a woman in her late twenties, panting through a contraction, one hand braced under her swollen belly, eyes wide and terrified.

"Name's Emily," the nurse called quickly. "Third baby. History of a ventricular septal defect follow-up, but no set delivery plan. Presented in active labor about an hour ago. No prenatal records on file yet. No beds upstairs, so she’s ours for now."

"Vitals?" He asked, already snapping on gloves.

"Stable for now. Cervix was seven on arrival. Labor’s progressing fast."

He flicked a glance toward you, and caught the tight nod you gave, all business. 

Still so damn new, scrubs just slightly too crisp, name badge gleaming, but already standing your ground like you’d been born for this.

No panic. No dramatics. Just pure focus.

"We’ll need NICU on standby when the baby’s out," you said, voice steady. "And page Cardiology for a newborn ECHO, stat."

"On it," a nurse answered, jogging off.

Meanwhile, you stepped closer to the bed, voice softening as you addressed the laboring woman directly.

"Emily, you’re doing great," you said, one gloved hand resting lightly against the patient's shaking thigh. "I know it hurts, but you're not alone, okay? We’re right here with you. We’re gonna take care of both of you."

"My husband—" Emily gasped between breaths. "Where's—"

One of the nurses answered quickly, squeezing her shoulder. "He's on his way, sweetheart. There was a pileup on the bridge—traffic’s slow, but he’s coming."

Emily nodded shakily, biting down on a cry as another contraction tore through her.

The intern immediately stepped in, resting a reassuring hand on Emily’s arm. "You're doing so good, Emily. Breathe with me."

You turned to a nearby nurse. "Page Dr. Levin. Let them know labor's progressing quickly."

The nurse nodded and hustled away. 

Robby hovered close, not interfering, just...watching. Ready. His hands itched to help, but he knew better. This was her case to lead. And hell, if he wasn’t a little awed.

When the nurse returned, slightly breathless, she reported, "Dr. Levin's tied up with another delivery. They said you're clear to manage—hold steady."

For half a heartbeat, something flickered across your face—the barest tremor of uncertainty.

He saw it. Of course he did.

But then you lifted your chin, took a deep breath, and turned back to Emily with firm hands and a gentler voice.

"Okay, Emily. Looks like I'm here with you for now. You're not alone. We're right here."

Emily’s eyes—wild with fear—locked onto yours. "Is my baby okay?"

"She's strong," the intern said firmly. "She's a fighter, just like you."

Emily squeezed her hand—a desperate, sweaty grip—and nodded, teeth clenched against the next contraction.

There it was. That thing you had. That quiet, steel-threaded kindness no textbook could teach. You just had it, in every fiber of your being.

The next hour blurred.

Emily’s labor accelerated at a breathtaking pace. There was barely enough time to pull together a sterile field. Barely enough time for you to snap on gloves and don a gown before the baby crowned.

"Almost there, Emily," you murmured, voice low and encouraging. "You’re doing beautifully. Just breathe."

The patient whimpered through another contraction.

"It hurts," she gasped, panicked.

"I know," you said—gentle, but firm. "It means you’re close. When you feel the next urge, I want you to push right through it. You can do this. We’ve got you."

Robby was there at her shoulder, mirroring her calm, matching her rhythm. He coached the patient through each final push while you supported Emily with both words and hands, working seamlessly together.

You moved in perfect tandem without needing a single word.

"Big breath, Emily—now!"

The baby slid free, slick and furious, and Robby caught her deftly, heart thudding—clamping and cutting the cord.

"Female, vigorous, crying," he called out.

"Taking her for ECHO! Mom informed!" a NICU nurse shouted, rushing the newborn away, tiny fists punching the air.

Emily sobbed, half in relief, half in terror.

"They’re checking her heart," you reassured, leaning close. "That's all. She's strong."

One last glimpse of tiny fists and furious wails—then gone.

Emily clutched at her gown with a trembling hand. "My husband—"

"Still on his way," Robby said quietly from her side. "He knows you're both okay. He’s getting here as fast as he can."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut, another broken little sob escaping, but she nodded, trusting them because she had no choice. Collapsing back onto the bed, half-sobbing, half-laughing.

Robby exhaled slowly, swiping a forearm across his forehead as he watched you work. Gentle hands palpating the uterus, checking for bleeding, even whispering reassurances too low for him to catch. 

Emily cracked a watery smile at them. 

And he saw it hit. The way you blinked hard, throat working around whatever emotion you were swallowing down. 

God, you cared. You cared so much it made him ache. 

He turned to find you stripping off your gloves.

"You good?" 

You didn’t even look up.

"Fine," you said, too quickly. Your brows furrowed briefly—just a flicker—as your hands moved lower, more deliberate now.

"Uterus firm?" he asked under his breath.

"Borderline," you murmured, careful to keep your tone light, soothing the patient with your free hand. "Placenta delivered intact. No tears. Mild vaginal bleeding—expected. Nothing alarming, yet."

Before he could say anything else—before he could betray how hard he was trying not to reach for you—the charge nurse leaned in.

"Still no beds upstairs," she said. "Mother's stable. She can stay put for now."

He nodded. You nodded.

And just like that, the moment disappeared—tucked away like something too dangerous to look at directly.

You turned back to work. 

The current pulling you both under, once again.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later—after two more traumas and a screaming match in a back hallway neither of you would even remember the details of—that the call came.

"Your patient, Emily" a nurse said, tugging at her sleeve. "She says something hurts. Down there."

Your forehead furrowed. Instinct snapped into place.

"Vitals?" you asked sharply.

"Stable for now. She's pale, though." 

Without thinking, you gestured for Robby to follow—habit, muscle memory—but he hesitated. Watched you.

Still, he stepped in behind you.

When they got to the room, Emily’s husband was already there, sitting at her bedside, hunched over her hand like it was a lifeline. He looked like he was about to cry. 

“She said it hurts," he said immediately, desperate. "She said it feels wrong—please, can you—?"

“We’ll take care of her," you said, already pulling on gloves.

At Emily’s bedside, it took seconds to see it: a deep, dark bulge along the right labia, swollen and angry under the skin.

You pressed gently. Emily cried out.

"Hematoma," you muttered.

"Expanding," Robby confirmed, grim.

Your eyes met, just for a moment, over the patient’s trembling body. 

Then you moved. Hands colliding, breath held, adrenaline buzzing through every shouted word.

"Type and cross two units. I want blood at bedside!" Robby snapped.

"Two large-bore IVs, wide open," you called to the nurse. "Start fluids—ringers, fast."

"Ready the sterile tray. Lidocaine. Scalpel. Suction!"

The portable scanner whined to life as they prepped the site. One nurse darted in with meds, another with a sealed tray.

"Ready?" he said.

"Ready."

The blade kissed skin, and a flood of blood spilled out, hot and dark and wrong. Way too much blood, too fast. Way deeper than a simple hematoma.

The suction whirred to life as they worked, fighting to keep up with the flood of blood. 

But your gut twisted. Something was off.

“Emily,” you said, clamly, “I know it hurts, but stay with us, okay? Just breathe. You’re safe.”

Emily let out a broken moan, almost animal. Suddenly her blood pressure monitor started to shriek.

"Ultrasound, now," you snapped.

The tech swung the wand over Emily’s belly—and there it was: fluid pooling deep in the abdomen. Liver involvement. Bleeding into the cavity.

Recognition hit like a gut punch.

“Fuck. It’s not just the hematoma. It’s systemic.”

"HELLP?" Robby asked tightly.

"Or DIC, probably both," you answered, voice flat. "Page Dr. Levin—911."

No simple fix. No easy out. A fucking bloodbath.

One of the nurses bolted from the room.

“Pressure's tanking,” a nurse called. “Sats dropping!”

“Keep packing! Give a bolus now—what’s the status on the blood?”

“Almost here!”

“We need to move now,” you said under your breath, voice slicing through the rising disarray.

“I’m aware,” Robby snapped, harsher than intended.

You recoiled, just for a second, then planted your feet and met his eyes again.

Emily cried out, this time weaker.

"Prep for surgery!" He barked.

Gloves snapped on. Tray rattled. He grabbed a line. You grabbed suction. You complemented each other seamlessly. The fucking dream team.

Everything was chaos. 

Gurneys squealed. Monitors howled. Gloves snapped on in a dozen frantic beats.

Dr. Levin stormed through the door, barking orders—body already covered in a half-tied surgical gown.

"Vitals?" she demanded. "Blood loss? Labs? Is the OR ready?"

Robby stepped back instinctively, clearing the way. He was there to help if it were needed, but he knew it wasn’t his fight anymore.

He caught a glimpse of you across the chaos—bloodied, but still beautiful—as you followed your attendings' lead, and it kicked something vicious inside him.

Dr. Levin snapped a glance toward you. "You scrub or you step out," she said, curt but not cruel, simply expecting a quick answer. 

But he saw you hesitate—just for a second. 

You turned and saw him. The husband. Still there. Still clinging to the bedside, white-knuckled and weeping quietly now, his hand shaking as he tried to hold onto Emily’s fingers through all the tubes and wires.

In that instant, your mind was made up.

"I’ll stay with him," you said, quiet but certain.

The words knocked the breath out of him, almost leaving him stupid.

Without another word, you peeled off her bloody gloves, yanked on clean ones, and crossed to the husband. Soft hands guiding him out of the blast zone.

Robby stayed where he was, frozen. Watching and wanting. 

He had no right to feel this. No excuse. And still—it was there, scorching him from the inside out.

The husband crumpled halfway into the hallway, sliding down the wall, burying his face in his hands. You went with him, unflinching. Dropped into a crouch beside him, your hand bracing lightly between his shoulder blades, anchoring him when the rest of the world was spinning out.

You murmured something, words Robby couldn’t catch over the shriek of monitors and boots pounding past. 

But he knew the cadence. Knew the shape of it.

You were praying with him.

Not loudly, or taking the lead. Just quietly, like it was the only thing you had left to offer. The only thing that mattered.

God, it wrecked him.

Don't do this, he thought. Don't you dare go to her. Don't you dare make this worse.

But he was already drifting—helplessly, blindly—toward you like a man leaning into a fire without noticing the heat until it was too late.

You shouldn't be able to gut him like this. Not yet. Not like this.

But you did.

He turned toward the door without waiting for orders. Not because he wanted to leave. But because if he stayed another second, he was going to lose the last thread of control he had left.

Because some reckless, broken part of him already knew: you didn’t even have to touch him to own him.

You already did.

He stayed longer than he should have. Long after the OB team left the ER. Long after the adrenaline bled out of the room, leaving only the wreckage behind.

He found himself leaning against the wall across from the trauma bay, pretending to review his chart, pretending not to watch you.

You were still sitting with the husband. No gloves now, no sterile gown, just you and your pink scrubs. He could see your face was calm, but your voice was still too soft to hear from where he stood.

Then a nurse approached, murmuring something in your ear.

Robby’s gut twisted before he even heard the words. He could see it in the nurse's face, in the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

The patient hadn't made it.

He watched—couldn't not watch—as you rose to your feet, moving carefully toward the husband.

Watched the way your hands hovered for a second, wanting to reach for him, not sure if you should.

Watched the moment the words hit.

The husband reeled back from her like you'd slapped him. A choked, animalistic sound tore out of him, and for a second Robby thought he might hit you. 

He moved instantly, stepping forward, already halfway between you. He was ready to use himself as a barrier—no hesitation, no second thought. But the man didn’t strike.

He didn't. He just broke. Collapsed into your arms like a man whose world had ended—because for him it had.

You held him without flinching. Held him like you’d been built for this, for carrying other people's grief when it got too heavy for them to bear alone.

Robby’s throat burned.

He turned his head, couldn't look anymore.

By the time he looked back, the damage was done. The husband was crumpled on the floor, sobbing. And you sat with him—shoulder to shoulder—saying nothing.

After a while, someone from NICU came and talked to the husband. Something about the baby. 

A chance to go meet his daughter. A chance at something salvageable.

The husband staggered away, still weeping.

And finally, finally, you were alone.

You sat there for a moment longer, head bowed, hands limp in your lap. Then you stood, moving like someone twice your age, and started toward the back hallway.

Robby followed without thinking.

"Hey," he called after you, low.

You didn’t stop.

He caught up easily, staying at your shoulder.

"You did good," he said, rough. "You stayed."

Nothing. Not a glance. Not a breath.

You barged into an empty on-call room without slowing. He followed.

"You could’ve scrubbed in," he said, almost defensive now. "That was a big case. A huge learning opportunity. You let it go."

You stripped off her bloody scrub top and threw it into the bin with a vicious flick. The sound of it hitting the mattress was louder than it should’ve been. 

He edged closer.

"It was...decent," he fumbled, hating himself for not being able to say what he meant without faltering. "Uhh—selfless. You did the right thing."

Still nothing. An awful fucking silence.

Something in him twisted sharp and stupid. "You should be more careful about getting attached," he said before he could stop himself. 

God why the fuck did he say that? How is that the only thing that came to mind? What a fucking idiot. 

Now that made her come back. You turned slowly and leveled him with a look so furious it made his mouth go dry.

He’d never seen her so angry. Furious, yes. But something deeper too. Something that had his gut clenching before you even opened your mouth.

"That's rich," you said, voice shaking with rage. "Coming from you."

He opened his mouth—tried to speak even. 

Too slow.

"You think this is about getting attached?" you asked, stalking toward him. "You think I stayed because I’m green? Because I don’t know any better?"

He took a step back, but you followed, relentless.

"Maybe because I’m soft? A little bit stupid?"

He shook his head, but it didn’t matter.

"No, Robby. I stayed because someone fucking had to," you hissed. He swallowed hard, jaw flexing.

"You think I don’t know what’s going on?" you said, voice raw now. "You think I don’t feel it too?"

You jabbed a finger into his chest, not hard, but enough to make him flinch. "You think I don’t know what this job costs? You think I don’t know exactly what this does to us?" Your voice was going hoarse now, brittle from all the things you hadn’t said for weeks. “What it does to you?”

"You’re not the only one scared, Robby. You’re not the only one who knows this is dangerous. I get it." Her voice cracked, fury burning through it. "But you don't get to use that as an excuse to punish me for something we both feel."

He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, but you cut him off—you weren’t done.

“You kissed me. And then you disappeared. For whole goddamn week. Not a fucking word.”

Your eyes were wild, glassy. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t feel it too?”

You stepped in, close enough that he could smell blood mixed in with whatever coconut-vanilla soap you’d used that morning.

"You act like we’re fine one second and then you treat me like a fucking stranger the next. You pretend none of it’s happening—and when it does, you shove it all onto me like it’s my fault."

You took a shaking breath, close enough now that he could feel the heat rolling off you.

"I see it in your face," you whispered, furious and gutted all at once. "You don’t look at me unless I’m fucking up. You don’t talk to me unless you’re trying not to want me."

He said your name, wrecked, a broken apology without words. 

You flinched like it physically hurt to hear it. 

"Don’t," you said. "Don’t you dare say my name like that."

And for a second, just a second, you stood there, breathing hard. Rage and things said undone, bubbling between them.

He reached for you without meaning to. You didn’t stop him. 

When your bodies crashed together, it wasn’t soft. It was rough, and messy, and inevitable, and everything you’d been avoiding. 

His hands landed on your waist like he'd needed something to hold on to—like you were the only solid thing left in a world he no longer trusted. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, hauled him closer with a force that was almost violent. 

He was fucked. 

You were fucked. 

You were both fucked. 

Everything you’d buried under sharp words and longing glances and the unbearable weight of being near each other for so long without touching.

A mix of harsh breaths, spit, heat. Your nails scraped down his arms. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling your mouth harder and harder against his like he could climb inside you and disappear.

God, you were warm. Warm and trembling and there, finally there.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy, breathing uneven like you’d run miles just to get to this moment.

“I hate you,” you whispered, voice cracking once again.

“I know,” he said. It tore him open.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back in.

Your bodies locked like puzzle pieces that never should’ve fit, but somehow did. You pushed him until his back hit the door and then kissed him again, deeper, slower now, like you needed to make sure this wasn’t a dream. 

He let you take control for a second, hands hovering at your waist, not sure where to touch, afraid of pushing too far. Thinking that maybe he didn’t deserve to. 

But sensing his hesitation, you took his hand and placed it flat over your heart.

“Feel that?” you asked.

His fingers curled instinctively, as if to shield it.

“I feel it,” he whispered. “I feel all of it.”

And maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the way his eyes looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that had ever made sense—but something shifted.

His fingers skimmed the curve of your jaw, then lower—groping at your thighs as he lifted you, effortless, like he'd done it so a hundred times in a hundred other lives. You gasped into his mouth but didn't pull away. 

Your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, the heat between you sparking sharp and immediate. 

He didn’t break the kiss as he carried you to the cot, lowering you onto it with aching care. Your spine hit the mattress, and your breath caught, but he was already there again, bracing above you, forehead still brushing yours, waiting. 

Always waiting—for you.

You breathed like that for a beat, into each other’s mouths. You clutched at his waist, your anger still burning low in your gut, but your mouth was soft now when it met his again.

His hands came up to your face, tentative. Fingers stroking the wet curve of your jaw, tracing the outline of your cheekbone, brushing damp hair back from your forehead. He kissed you like you were breakable. Like you’d splinter if he pushed too hard.

But you were breaking already.

Leaving your mouth, his lips kissed your wet cheeks. Trailing down to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat. One kiss at a time. Slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing you.

Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it up. He let you. Raised his arms. Let you see him. Not just the body, but him. The man you’d seen come apart over the course of a hundred sleepless shifts, who’d touched you once and vanished into the walls after. The man who looked at you now like he was terrified and in love and trying not to drown.

His hands found you again, sliding under your soaked top, touching skin like it was a secret. You shivered at the contact, the warmth of his palms.

“Say stop,” he whispered.

But you didn’t. You didn’t even hesitate.

Instead, you leaned into his touch like it was the first real thing you’d felt in weeks.

He smiled—barely, just a flicker—and it broke you a little more. Because underneath everything, the storm of them, he was still gentle. Still him.

“I’m scared,” you admitted against his neck.

His arms came around you fully now, pressing you to his chest. “Me too.”

And that truth, soft and wrecked and shared between them, was what made this real.

You pulled back just far enough to cup his face in both hands. Her thumbs brushed the edge of his cheekbones. Her eyes searched his—like you were daring yourself to believe him.

This wasn’t just lust.

This was every moment you hadn’t touched.

Every glance across the trauma bay. Every almost. Every held breath. Every second of wanting that had turned into hurt.

It spilled over now, like it couldn’t be contained.

He kissed you again, slow, like a vow. His hands cradled your hips, not to take, not yet—but just to hold. Just to be close.

When you rested your forehead to his, you were trembling.

“Don’t let go,” you said.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you once more, softer than any kiss that came before it.

He’d never let go.

His palms skimmed your waist, memorizing the soft give of your body. The subtle rise and fall of your breath. His thumbs circled the skin just beneath your ribs—bare now, exposed by the thin hem of your top riding up.

Your pulse beat fast at your throat. He kissed it. Then lower.

You shivered.

You wouldn’t meet his eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Not even when his hands slid under your top and flattened against your back, not even when his mouth brushed the hinge of your jaw.

“Hey,” he whispered. His voice had gone gravel-soft. “Look at me.”

You did. Slowly. Like it cost you something. So he kissed you again, slower, so he wouldn’t have to face the hurt gazing back. 

Like he meant to prove something.

You let him undress you like you were giving permission for something you didn’t quite understand. He stripped your slowly, like the unraveling of a secret. Your top first. Then the bra beneath it. 

His fingers trembled as he touched you, like the mere touch of him would corrupt you.

When you tried to cover yourself with your hands, he caught your wrists gently.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “Please”.

So you let him. You let him see you. All of you.

And Robby just—stared.

You were completly undone, mouth kiss-bruised, your chest rising fast, like you hadn’t taken a full breath in weeks. Your skin was balmy, a little salty with sweat. You were trembling. But you didn’t hide. Not from him.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, reverent. Like he wasn’t sure if he was swearing or praying. “You’re—” 

But no words came to mind. Instead, he just dropped to his knees. 

You gasped. One hand flew to his shoulder like you needed to steady yourself, like the sight of him there—kneeling, breath heavy, lips parted—was almost too much.

His mouth went directly to that sweet spot, where he could feel your pulse racing. He sucked gently, feeling the thrum of your heartbeat echo against his lips. 

The scent of your bodywash—sweet and golden—rose up around him like steam. 

It clouded his senses, made his head spin. He felt drunk on it, on you, on the fact that this was real. That you were letting him close. That he had your skin under his mouth and your hands in his hair had your breath catching just for him. 

God.

He blinked—like he had to make sure this was real, like he didn’t trust what his eyes were seeing.

What had he done to deserve this? to deserve her? 

He cupped one breast gently, reverently, and kissed the curve with a kind of aching awe. Your skin was hot here—almost scorching to the touch, like the heat was rising from somewhere deep inside you. 

His fingers traced delicate paths along your ribs, brushing the swell of your breast, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps that bloomed under his touch. He could feel the hitch in your breath, and even the way your body leaned into his hands like it had been waiting for this

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick. “You’re so beautiful.”

He circled her nipple with his thumb, slow and lazy, watching it tighten under his touch. Then he bent to take it into his mouth, sucking softly, then deeper. You gasped—high-pitched and raw—and grabbed fistfuls of his hair like you’d needed something to anchor you.

“Robby—”

He groaned at the sound of his name. God, that did something to him. Something deep and helpless and animalistic.

He switched breasts. Licked the sensitive skin before drawing it into his mouth. Your back arched against the thin mattress, hips shifting restlessly beneath him, like your body couldn’t decide whether to rise into him or melt into the sheets.

“You okay?” he murmured against her skin, still panting. “I can stop. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No,” You breathed. “Don’t stop.”

And thank fuck, because he couldn’t have even if he tried.

He dropped back to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs until they met the waistband of your scrubs. He looked up.

“Can I?”

You didn’t speak—just nodded again, hard.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and peeled everything down. Scrubs. Panties. All the way to your ankles.

When he looked up again, he had to pause.

Because you were bare in front of him now. Completely. Sweat beading lightly at your sternum. Breathing so hard he could hear it—ragged and real.

His mouth went dry.

He swallowed. 

His hands were shaking, but he didn’t even care. 

He ran them down the outside of your thighs, slow and sure, until they found the bend of your knees. He gripped them, spread her open just enough, like he needed to feel the shape of you there, the trembling tension of your body under his hands. 

Your skin was silky under his palms, your thigh muscles fluttering like they weren’t sure whether to resist or give in.

His breath caught in his throat, and he sank lower, drawn in by the scent of your skin, the impossible softness of it, the way you let him take his time.

He kissed your hipbone. Your lower belly. Tasting salt and skin and the ghost of your perfume—sweet and dizzying. Dragged his cheek along the soft inside of your thigh, inhaling the heat of you. Behind that bodywash, he could smell the faintest edge of something else—something completely yours.

It filled his lungs, made his head foggy, like he’d walked into a heatwave and couldn’t find the exit. Until the only thing in the world was you.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“So are you,” you whispered back, fingers slipping into his hair.

He let out a breath, forehead pressed to your stomach. Your nails scraped lightly against his scalp—just enough to sting. He liked it. He wanted more of it.

“I’ve never wanted something so badly,” he said it so quietly, he was surprised you heard him.

Your hand slid into his hair. “Me neither.”

Then your grip in his hair tightened, not guiding—just holding.

So he knelt lower, shoulders between your knees, hands still on your thighs.

He kissed the tender skin at the crease, where thigh met pelvis, and felt you twitch beneath him. His heart was pounding. His mouth dry. And when his mouth finally touched you—just a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, truly tasting you for the first time—you whimpered.

You whimpered.

A tiny, involuntary sound—high and helpless and half-ashamed—but it cracked something in him. He moaned into you, deep and guttural, and started again. Licking you slowly. Carefully. Like you were something sacred, and this was a prayer. 

The taste of you. The smell of you. The feel of your thighs tensing under his palms.

You were gasping now, uneven little breaths, and he could feel every sound you made in the flex of your thighs, the clench of your fingers in his hair. When you tugged—hard enough to sting—he groaned again, sharper this time, and pushed his tongue deeper, tracing circles, lines, little teasing patterns.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

Your other hand reached down blindly, landing on his shoulder, digging in as you rocked against him. He let you. He wanted you wild. He wanted you wrecked. Unraveled. Every breath a surrender.

“Robby—” you gasped. Not a request. Not a protest. Just his name stripped bare.

He slid a finger inside you, slow and careful, groaning at the sudden wet heat gripping him tight.

“God, baby,” he whispered. “You feel... fuck.”

You clenched around him, your back arching slightly, your breath catching on a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He paused, eyes flicking up.

“You okay?”

“Don’t stop.”

So he didn’t. He added another finger, curling them just enough, angling until—

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Oh my God—”

That. That.

He latched his mouth to your clit, and sucked. Slow at first, almost tentative, then faster, more confident. Catching the rhythm of your hips and matching it, feeling you get closer with every broken whisper of his name, every helpless whine. 

Your hand in his hair twisted hard, and he didn’t care. It only drove him harder, deeper, hungrier.

You came with a cry—his name falling from your lips like a sob—and he stayed right there, holding you through it, licking and kissing you softly through the aftershocks. 

You trembled beneath him, gasping, hips jerking involuntarily every time he brushed you again.

He didn’t stop until you whimpered something like “please,” all airy and ruined.

You were panting when he rose again, chest heaving. Your skin was scorching hot. Eyes glassy and unfocused. Lips bruised and parted. 

He kissed your stomach again. Your ribs. The underside of your jaw.

When your mouths met again, it was nothing like the first time.

You kissed him like you needed him to know. Like everything you hadn’t said was being poured into him through her lips. Like you were burning—and somehow, he was both the match and the water. 

Your mouth opened against his, tongue slick and hungry, and he tasted you—really tasted you now. The sweetness of your skin. The heat of your breath. The faint echo of your own release still on his tongue.

You moaned into him, and his whole body tensed. Every muscle tight, every nerve ending screaming. He’d never felt this kind of hunger before. Not even close. It was overwhelming, terrifying. Addictive.

Your hands fumbled at his waistband, fingers clumsy with urgency. You were shaking, breathing like you’d run a mile, and your mouth never left his for more than a second.

“Please,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “I need you.”

The word nearly brought him to his knees. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe.

Because this was happening. You were asking for him. And there wasn’t a part of him—body or soul—that didn’t already belong to you.

“I need you too,” he said. And this time, it cracked.

You pulled him in again, and he kissed you like he meant it.

Like he was starving.

Like he'd been drowning for years, and you were the first breath of air.

Because he had. He had wanted this—you—for so long it had carved itself into him. And now you were here, under him, around him, letting him in.

Your legs tightened around his hips. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, until your chests pressed together, skin to skin, heart to heart.

All he could hear was your breath hitching.

All he could feel was your nails digging into his back, dragging him down like you couldn’t bear a single inch of space between you.

All he could taste was your name, unspoken but alive in his mouth.

He doesn’t let you go.

Not after you cum, not after the trembling quiet that settles over you like fog. His face stays buried in your stomach, the heat of his breath still spreading over damp skin, his hands still firm around your thighs like he’s anchoring you in place. Like he’s not ready to surface. Like he might never be.

You’re shaking. Slowly, silently, in that post-release unraveling. And he holds you through it—like he’s the only thing that can keep you from dissolving entirely.

You thread your fingers through his hair, not gently, not just affection. It’s grounding. A silent I’m still here. A don’t stop touching me.

But then he shifts. 

Your chest was still rising fast when his eyes meet yours—blown pupils, damp cheeks—and you look at him like you can’t believe he’s still there.

And he is. He’s not moving. Not pulling away or deflecting or pretending any of it meant less than it did. He stays above you, arms braced, heart hammering, caught in between whatever feelings you’re not ready to speak out loud.

He watches you trying to catch your breath and thinks: I did that. I got to do that. And it should scare him. It should make him bolt. But instead, it roots him in place. Makes him feel something terrifyingly close to home.

“I—” he starts, voice low and hoarse, but you don’t let him finish.

You pull him up to you. Fist your hands in the collar of his shirt and drag him up until your mouths meet. Kisses him open-mouthed, tasting yourself on him, swallowing the sound he makes into your throat. And when he groans—low, guttural, reverent—it vibrates through you like a second climax.

He breaks the kiss only to mouth at your jaw, your cheekbone, the soft, sensitive skin beneath your ear. Your body arches instinctively into the drag of his weight—hips tilting, thighs parting again, already needing more.

He’s not asking questions anymore, he’s moving on instinct.

When he shifts his hips, the front of his scrubs drags along your thigh—and her gasp punches straight through him.

You lift into it, chasing the contact like it isn’t just friction—it’s relief, a damn finally breaking open. Your legs tighten around him, and you grind against the hardness still trapped between you. It’s clumsy and frantic, but you want him, and he can feel it.

His breath shudders as you grind up again, the soft heat of you dragging against his hard, aching length through far too many layers. It’s clumsy, maddening, perfect. He clutches at your hips like he can’t bear to let you move without him.

And God, you’re killing him—rubbing yourself over him like you’re trying to carve the shape of him into you. Every movement makes him sink deeper into it. He buries his face in your shoulder and lets out a low groan, hips instinctively answering yours.

If they stay like this much longer, he’s not going to make it. He’s going to cum just from the feeling of you writhing against him. Clothes in between or not. 

“Robby,” you whisper, almost a warning, almost a plea.

He hears it. Feels it. Freezes for half a second like he needs permission to keep going.

Your hands fumble between them—fingers unsteady and impatient—and he realizes you’re trying to undo his scrubs. The drawstring catches, knots. You curse softly, and he feels himself smile.

“Here,” he whispers, his voice gone rough, and he helps you. Together, you tear through the last of the barriers—cotton and a little hesitation and whatever thin line you’ve been pretending still exists.

And then he’s bare—finally—his scrubs kicked off, forgotten, the cold air licking over his flushed skin as he covers you again.

Your eyes drag over him—his chest, the line of his stomach, the flush across his throat, and that downright sinful happy trail resting a top his navel. 

No more barriers. No more restraint. He chokes on the sound it drags out of him, the way your thighs fall open to cradle him, so ready for him.

He’s not calm anymore. Not careful. His control’s gone. He fits himself between your legs, shaking with it, dizzy from wanting you for so long. His hands frame your waist like he’s afraid he’ll fall through the moment if he doesn’t hold tight.

You’re everything he’s never let himself take. And now—God help him—he’s about to.

Your damp skin. The way your eyes darken as you drag them over him. He shudders under the weight of it. Not just desire—reverence. 

He touches you again. Slowly, trying to memorize you. Trying not to lose his mind.

And when he settles between your legs, it's not dominance. It's gravity. It’s surrender.

And for a moment, you just look at each other.

Then he reaches down—between you—and touches you again, runs his fingers through the wetness there, swears under his breath when he finds you still open, still aching.

“I don’t—” His voice cracks. “I don’t have anything.”

“I’m on the pill,” you whisper. “And I trust you. Just—”

You break off. Her voice fails under the weight of the moment.

But your hands say it for you. The way you pull him down. The way you guide him.

The way your whole body opens.

He’s shaking as he lines himself up. Not from fear. From restraint. But also from something softer.

He has to breathe through it just to hold himself still.

You’re slick and hot and open beneath him, and when he lines himself up, it takes everything in him not to just take. 

But this is you.

This is you.

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and the sound you make—sharp, helpless, real—almost breaks him. Your back arches, nails dig into his skin, and he feels you take him in like you were made for this.

Like he’s not an intruder. Like he belongs.

Your fingers curl around his shoulder blades, your back arches, and you gasp—a sharp, involuntary sound that drags straight from your lungs.

He groans, deep and raw, like he’s trying not to collapse.

You’re hot and tight and soaking, and he slides, trying not to rush, trying to make this last. But it’s overwhelming—you’re overwhelming—and his whole body is tense with the effort of not falling apart the moment he’s fully inside you.

When your hips finally meet—when he’s there, all of him—you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for ten years.

He doesn’t move.

Just rests his forehead against yours. Your noses brush. Your eyes open at the same time. And there’s nothing guarded left between them.

“This…” he says, barely audible. “God. This feels like…”

He never finishes. But you know what he means.

It feels like everything.

And then he starts to move.

Not fast. Not frenzied. Just deep. Slow. Like he’s building something, not just chasing release. His hips roll into yours with purpose, with rhythm, with care. Every thrust stretches something inside you that hadn’t been touched in quite some time—something you didn’t realize you’d been starving.

You wrap your legs around him, thighs cradling his waist, trying to bring him closer, deeper. He answers with a groan, thrusts harder, presses a kiss to your cheek, your temple, your lips.

It’s not just sex. Not to him.

You moan his name—quiet, almost shocked—and it wrecks him. Because he wants to answer it with everything.

So he holds your hand. Laces your fingers tight and pins it above your head—not to trap you, but to stay connected. To prove he’s still there.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking.

That you’re undoing him.

That he might never recover.

That this is the beginning of the end, and he’d do it all the same.

He moves inside you like he’s afraid to wake from this—like each thrust might break the spell. Slow at first, reverent, then deeper, as your body rises to meet him, to welcome him in like it’s been waiting.

And maybe it has. Maybe you both have.

Your hips lift, chasing him. Your fingers press into your shoulders, then his hair, pulling him closer. Your mouth parts on a breathless sound, and it undoes him. Everything about you undoes him.

He’s not thinking anymore.

He’s feeling—with every inch of her wrapped around him, every soft gasp, every whispered plea. His heart pounds like it’s trying to speak for him. Like it’s trying to climb up his throat. 

Every slick slide of your hips is a plea, every arch of your spine a surrender he wasn’t sure he was ready for. It overwhelms him—how much you give, how much he wants. It’s too much and still not enough.

He buries his face in your neck and lets himself break there, lets himself believe this is real, just for a second. That he gets to be here. That he gets to love you like this—without shame, without hiding. 

Even if he’s never said the words. Even if it’s only here, in the silence between your bodies, that he ever could.

And somewhere in the middle of it—sweat-slick skin and shaking limbs and your name on a loop in his head—he chokes out, “God…” he pants. “You feel so good, I can’t—”

He thrusts deeper, slower. Shuddering. “I don’t wanna stop.”

It slips out without thought, raw and hoarse and truer than anything he’s ever said. “I don’t know how.”

His voice cracks on it.

You go still for a second, your breath caught between you.

Then your hand finds his jaw, trembling slightly as you coax him to look at you. And when he does—eyes blown, lips parted, ruined in the most beautiful way—you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Your other hand moves through his hair, cradling the back of his head as he rocks into you.

“Stay here,” you breathe, forehead against yours. “Just like this—with me.”

He stills for a breath.

God, you’re soft even now—sweet in a way he doesn’t deserve. And the way you say with me like you actually believes he belongs there—like you’re offering him something permanent—he can’t bear it. He won’t let himself believe in it, not really. But fuck it, does he want to.

He presses his mouth to your shoulder to keep from saying something too honest. To keep from telling you he’s never felt more home than right here, skin to skin, heart to heart.

“I’m here,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” A lie. A wish. A prayer.

And maybe you hear the crack in it, or maybe you’re too far gone to notice because then you’re falling apart beneath him, and the sounds you make aren’t words at first—just broken, breathy sounds punched out with every thrust.

“Oh—God—Robby…” you gasp, almost whines. “Please—don’t stop—don’t ever stop—”

Then your voice breaks into soft, helpless babble.

You shudder beneath him, thighs trembling around his waist, and when you fall over the edge, you clutched him and let your nails leave marks down his back.

“Michael,” you breathe.

Then again—broken, urgent. “Oh, michael.”

And he’s gone. Gone.

As he hears his real name fall from her lips, he knows he’s falling. Knows he’s already too far gone.

He stutters out a sound like a sob. And then it hits him.

Your body tightens around him, gripping him like you never want to let him go. Like you won’t. The way you pulse around him—hot, frantic, relentless—undoes him completely. It’s not just the friction, not just the pleasure, it’s you—all of you—wrapped around him, crying his name like a prayer.

His breath catches in his throat. He tries to hold on, tries to stop, but it’s no use.

He spills into you with a groan, low and wrecked, his face buried in the curve of your neck, one arm locked tight around your waist. His whole body shudders with it. Like he’s giving something back he didn’t know he still had.

He keeps his eyes clenched shut. Like if he doesn’t look, the world can’t take this from him. 

They lie there like that, both of them shaking, breathing into each other. Your hand still in his, fingers sticky with sweat. Her chest pressed to his, rising and falling as their pulses slowly begin to settle.

Then—quietly—you let go.

Your fingers move to his hair, soft, reverent, stroking through the damp strands. 

He stays buried in her neck, doesn’t want to lift his head. Doesn’t want to ruin this by speaking aloud, by naming it, by asking for something he knows he can’t keep.

But your touch undoes him all over again.

No one's touched him like this in years—maybe ever. Like he's not just wanted, but known. Like he could stay.

He swallows hard against the burn in his throat, his hand still gripping yours, like if he lets go, the moment will slip through his fingers and vanish.

“Robby,” you whisper.

God, he loves that. How you sabor his name whenever he says it out loud. Trying to feel every syllable and how they roll on her lips. 

A little louder: “Robby…”

His breath stutters. He clings to the moment like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

And then you say it again, louder, almost sharp now—“ROBBY.”

His eyes snaped open. 

Bright light. Cold air.

The sound of his name—still echoing. But it’s not your voice anymore.

He’s standing just outside Trauma Room Two, a clipboard in his hand, with Dana waving her hand in front of his face like she’s been doing it for a while.

“Jesus, Earth to Michael,” she says. “You good?”

He blinks. His throat feels raw. “Yeah. I—I’m fine.”

Dana doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide—for now.

He pivots away before she can press further, walking down the hall like the fluorescent lights might burn him alive. His heartbeat still hasn't evened out. Every breath scrapes. Every step is a reminder that the past is bleeding straight into the present, and there’s nowhere in this goddamn hospital to hide from it.

He passes the nurses’ station, trying not to limp through the ache still in his chest, and that’s when he hears them.

Perlah and Princess, whispering in Tagalog, throwing glances in his direction like he can’t feel them.

“‘Yung reaction niya kanina? Sobrang weird,” Princess murmurs.

“Alam mo, baka may history sila nung babae,” Perlah whispers back.

He doesn’t know what they’re saying. Not exactly. But he knows what it feels like.

He knows the sound of people talking around him—about him. He can feel the weight of their stares, the way they try to glance without being obvious. 

He catches Princess miming a fainting motion and Perlah responding with a wide-eyed shake of her head.

“Ang drama, ‘di ba?” one of them breathes. “Parang teleserye.”

They laugh, restrained but not unkindly. He knows it isn’t malicious. It’s curiosity. Speculation. The kind that blooms in places like this, where drama is the norm and gossip moves faster than blood through a vein.

Still, it grates.

Not because they’re wrong—but because they might be right.

Because he doesn’t have the language to explain it, even if he tried. Because there’s nothing he could say that would make this feel any less insane. Because some part of him—the part still stuck in that flashback—is screaming that he deserves to be talked about like this.

He keeps walking.

He doesn’t look back.

The files are digital now, stored on hospital tablets and synced between departments. He finds one, signs in, and scrolls until he lands on what he shouldn’t be looking for.

Noah. Age: Nine years, three months. 

Sex: Male. 

Arrival: cyanotic and unconscious after blunt trauma from an SUV. Brief cardiac arrest in transit. Bleeding from a head laceration. Resuscitation successful. 

Blood type: AB positive. A rare enough match—compatible with his. And yours.

There’s no last name listed. Just “Mother: information withheld at patient request.”

His thumb freezes above the screen.

Noah.

He stares at the name for too long.

The word blurs and sharpens, then blurs again.

Noah, from the Hebrew—nuach—rest, comfort.

It’s almost funny.  Or cruel. Or divine.

He doesn’t know which.

Because it’s not just a name. Not to him. Not now.

It’s a prayer.

It’s a mercy he’s long forgotten how to believe in.

It’s the kind of name whispered into linen blankets after a war. The kind spoken over sleeping children in stories passed down like blood. The kind rabbis preach about during parsha Noach, reminding congregations that even in destruction, there’s survival. That even in floods, there’s mercy. That one man, alone and chosen, can carry a future in the bow of a boat. 

A name that carried the future in its hands. A name that meant someone made it through.

Noach matza chen b’eynei Adonai—Noah found grace in the eyes of God.

He swallows hard.

He hasn't thought about that in years.

Not since he stopped showing up to temple. Not since he stopped believing God had anything left to say to him.

This isn’t about loss. Not yet. This is about the possibility of something that lived.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He hasn’t known peace in years, not the kind that stays. Not the kind that sinks into your bones and says, you can stop running now.

He thinks of the Shema. The words that still curled around his ribs when he can’t sleep. Not a shield, exactly—more like a thread. A thread he pulls when the world spins too fast, when grief makes the ground tilt.

Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know what he’s praying for. He just knows it feels like a prayer.

A boy named Noah. Nine years old. Hit by a car and still breathing. And his blood type—compatible with Robby’s. And hers. No listed father. No last name that gives anything away. Just—

Noah.

A name that shouldn’t mean anything, but feels like it knows him.

Like it’s been waiting.

His mouth goes dry.

He tries to focus on the chart again. On the vitals, the scans. Anything to keep the rising panic from pushing through his ribs. But he hears footsteps behind him and doesn’t even need to turn around.

Dana.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she says. Half-pissed, half-worried.

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” she snaps, tugging his arm. “Come with me.”

He doesn’t resist.

They step outside through the staff doors, onto the ambulance bay. Dana lights a cigarette, doesn’t offer him one. Just waits, arms crossed and her gaze burning through him.

He stands beside her in silence. Watches as rain starts pouring in. The once sunny sky now a dull gray.

He doesn’t know where to start. Or maybe he does.

“There was a girl,” he says finally, voice raw. “Before I came here.”

Dana raises her brows but says nothing.

“We We were together,” he says quietly. “A year and a half. She wasn’t just some girl—I loved her. Like, deeply. Fully. The way people only do once.”

Dana squints at him through the smoke. “And you left her?” 

He nods. Once. Like the motion itself hurts.

A pause. The words come slower now, heavier. “Didn’t say goodbye,” he admits, voice breaking on it. “Didn’t give her a fucking word. I didn’t even tell her where I was going. I just disappeared. She woke up and I was gone.”

Dana doesn’t blink. “Jesus, Robby.”

“Yeah,” he snaps, his voice sharp with guilt. “Yeah. I know. You don’t have to say it—I say it to myself every goddamn day.”

He looks away, toward the street, where red lights blur in the rain. “She loved me. I know she did. And I—God, Dana. She was everything to me.”

Silence stretches between them. The rain hisses around them like static.

“I thought I was doing her a favor," he says. "I thought if I left… I don’t even fucking know. Maybe she'd be better off without me."

Dana lets the silence linger, smoke curling from her lips. Then she exhales sharply through her nose. "You’re an idiot."

He flinches, but she’s not done.

“You think you saved her? That wasn’t mercy, Robby. That was cowardice."

He bows his head soaking it all in. The taste of the word coward still burning on his tongue because it’s true. It's what he’s called himself every day since. Not in passing. Not just once. But like penance.

Dana watches him for a beat, then steps forward—barely a shift, but enough to make the air between them feel tighter. She speaks quieter now, but it still lands like a blow.

"You didn’t just disappear, Robby. You broke something. Something real."

That’s when it hits him. All at once.

His chest caves in on itself, his throat locking up around something sharp and guttural. The rain feels like needles now, every drop stinging against skin that suddenly feels too thin.

He steps back like her words were physical. Shakes his head once, hard, like trying to dislodge the thought before it roots.

“No—don’t—” he rasps. He tries to look away, but even the shadows feel too loud. His hand grips the railing behind him, white-knuckled.

“She—fuck.” He drags a hand down his face. His voice goes lower, fraying at the edges. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t lie awake every night trying to rewire it—trying to un-ruin it?”

And then quieter.

“I haven’t let anyone close since.”

Dana doesn’t move. Doesn’t rush in. She just lets him crash against the weight of his own words.

“You loved her,” she says, softer this time. “And you punished her for it.”

“I punished myself,” he snaps—but even he knows it’s not the whole truth. “I thought if I buried it deep enough, maybe it wouldn’t rot everything else.”

A pause. His breath shakes. Then he goes still, like he’s finally flatlined.

Dana takes one last drag from her cigarette, flicks it away into the rain.

“So what happened today?”

He presses the heel of his palm to his eyes. “I saw her. With a fucking kid”

There’s a pause—too quiet, too long.

Then: “How long ago was this?”

“Ten years.”

Dana stiffens. Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something, then closes again.

“The kid is…”

“Nine,” he says.

And that’s it. That’s the moment.

The math doesn’t just hang there—it detonates, slow and sharp, slicing straight through the humid silence.

Dana lets out a long, quiet, “Shit,” but there’s no real surprise behind it. Just gravity. Just confirmation.

Robby’s expression doesn’t shift, but something inside him buckles. His throat works like he’s trying to swallow glass.

“She looked exactly the same,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Like time skipped her. But then I saw the kid. And he had eyes like—”

He cuts himself off.

Dana’s voice is gentler now, but steady. “Like yours.”

For the first time all day, he doesn’t try to outrun it. He doesn’t shift the blame or dodge the truth or bury it under sarcasm. He just lets it hit him. Full-force.

The ache of it, the finality—the years lost, the silence, the what-ifs.

He might’ve left her.

But he didn’t just leave her.

He left them.

And now, the cost of that choice stands in front of him with wide brown eyes and a crooked smile—one he might’ve passed on without even knowing.

next chapter ↠

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© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[bruhstories]

decompress

summary: you and silco are business partners pairing: silco x afab!reader warnings: minors dni - swearing, smoking, fingering, lil handjob, unprotected p in v, creampie, some fluff. w/c: 1.6k

a/n: listen, i know this is shit but i need to get back into writing somehow and this is practice. liking and reblogging are heavily encouraged cause i am losing motivation from the lack of interactions lol

Sometimes Silco needed to decompress, to unwind and relax. It wasn't often that he visited you, and every time he did, he swore to never step foot in your establishment again. But you knew better. You knew he always returned. Maybe not in a week, not in a month, but he always came back.

You were a useful tool to him. The owner of the most well-known brothel in Zaun, you always made sure to inform him of anything your girls found out through an effective weapon, one better than guns, blades, or magic — sex. Enforcers, Zaunites, councillors, they all visited your establishment, and they all left breadcrumbs that you pieced up together and sent to Silco. He tried to hire you, but you wanted freedom, and he respected that. He wanted the same for Zaun, and so Silco would've been a hypocrite if he forced you to work for him. Besides, you did him plenty of favours, enough to grant you and your employees independence and protection. It was a partnership that worked perfectly fine.

He entered through the back door, not wanting anyone to spot him visiting a brothel of all places, and he always greeted you the same way — his dagger pressed against your throat, his free hand wrapped around your waist, his breath tickling your ear. It was a power move, one you allowed him to have because you knew he wouldn't hurt you. He needed you in more ways than one.

"Business or pleasure?" You asked him, unable to contain the smile spread on your crimson lips.

"Pleasure." His whisper sent chills down your spine.

You got one of your most trustworthy girls to swap places at the front desk, then lead Silco up the creaky stairs. The corridor was dim and smelled of jasmine and vanilla incense to help your clients relax. At the very end of it was your room, one that Silco was too familiar with. You locked the door after he entered, then slowly untied the knot that held your dress in place, only for him to smack your hands out of the way.

"How many?" "None." You told him, but his fingers dug into your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

"How many men have you fucked since I last visited you?" Silco clarified, as if you didn't know what he was asking.

"None." You reiterated, manicured fingernails dragging down his chest until they found his belt. "You don't believe me?"

"No, I don't." Silco scoffed, his right eye twitching when he felt your hand palming his cock through black trousers.

"Jealous?" You bit your lip grinning at him.

"Don't mock me." His fingers dug into the plush of your hips, pushing you against the wooden door. "You're nothing but a cheap whore."

"Ouch." You pouted, feigning offence. "I'll let you know I'm an expensive whore."

"And yet I never paid for your... services." Silco's hand trailed up your thigh and you whimpered at his touch.

"That's cause you're my favourite client." You gently unbuttoned his vest, letting it fall on the floor.

"Is that all I am to you, then? A client?"

"Business partner." You corrected yourself. "Better?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he crushed your lips under his while you gripped his silk shirt and tore it open, buttons clattering on the floor. He didn't care — you had spares in your wardrobe for him. Silco yanked a fistful of your hair to look at you, at the smeared lipstick and the eyes full of lust. There was one thing he could never understand.

"Why aren't you disgusted by my face?"

You were taken aback by his question. He wasn't much of a talker during your meetings, unless it was business you discussed. He held your head in place, forcing you to look him in the eye, but you didn't want to look any other way. Your hand reached out, fingers ghosting over his scar.

"There's nothing wrong with your face, Silco. You're beautiful."

"Tsk. Are you saying this as my business partner, or as an expensive whore?" He scoffed.

"As me. I'm saying it as me."

You weren't trying to flatter him, to get under his skin. You were genuine with your answer, and it annoyed him. It was as though Silco almost wanted you to lie to him when you told him he was beautiful. But no, you were honest, and it riled him up, because that meant you weren't afraid of him, that you didn’t loathe him. He pulled you away from the door and bent you over the desk inside your room, but you wriggled and turned around, not once wanting to look anywhere but at him.

"Why can't you hate me?" His elbow pushed your knee away, spreading your legs for him.

The lack of response from you almost confirmed his suspicions — you felt something for him, something more than professionalism. And how could your partnership be professional when violently pulled off your lace underwear, and his fingers rubbed circles over your clit? How could it be professional when he easily slipped his fingers past your slick folds, and you fucked yourself on them? How could there be any ounce of professionalism left when you unzipped his trousers and fisted his cock while he tossed his head back, your name spilling from his lips?

No, there wasn't anything professional anymore.

His tip pushed into you painstakingly slowly, until you arched your back and curled your toes, accidentally pushing away the trinkets on your desk. The rattling sound didn't bother any if you, and you wrapped your legs around Silco's waist, and your arms around his shoulders to feel him closer to you. Skin on skin, soul to soul, the desk squeaked with each thrust, each push and pull, and like magnets, you were drawn to each other.

He nestled his nose into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent — roses, patchouli, and him. You smelled so much like him that it intoxicated his brain worse than shimmer could. He believed you. He believed that you didn't fuck anyone else but him, and as a reward, he thrusted into you faster, deeper, harder, just how you liked it. Just how he liked it.

His name was a prayer on your lips and music to his ears. It didn't sound so good when other spoke it. The way you whispered it was intimate, sensual, loving. You loved him. Truly, you did, and you were willing to give everything up for him if he just asked. But he never did. He only came back to fuck you, never to claim you. And you weren't one to beg. Besides, it was better to have him in your bed, or your desk, than to not have him at all.

Electricity seeped into your veins every time he touched you, and Silco tilted your chin up to once again look into your glossy eyes, eyes he always saw when he closed his. Short black strands of hair framed his face, softening his sharp features, and he was so handsome like that. You were a work of art yourself, with your smeared lipstick, long thick lashes and beads of sweat on your forehead. And he asked again.

"Why can't you hate me?"

Silco used your own weapon against you, because the pure pleasure that bubbled in your core broke down all of your defence mechanisms. You were vulnerable and weak, caught in his web of mind games and power play. You tried to deny it, tried to wriggle your way out of it, but you couldn't. Not anymore.

"I love you."

Eyes squeezed shut, you refused to look at him, ashamed not of the squelching sounds and smell of sex, but of your confession. Love made people weak — weaknesses could be exploited. And you refused to be exploited.

"Good." Silco brutally slammed into you, your words like fuel to his fire. "You took too long."

You blinked once, twice, then stared at him in disbelief. Before your brain could form any thoughts, he kissed you, bruising your lips, and his taste lingered on your tongue when he pulled back — tobacco, whiskey, shimmer. He was the drug you eagerly abused, and you were his. You were entirely his, mind, body and soul.

"Forever." He murmured into your skin. "You’re mine forever."

You could feel he meant every single word. He didn’t have to say he loved you for you to know it, and that was enough to gasp and pathetically moan his name as you reached your climax. Your cunt clenched around him, your fingers almost breaking through his skin from the pressure of your grip to just feel him impossibly closer to you. You were made for each other, even if it was difficult for him to comprehend how or why. He was a broken man, broken beyond repair, beyond salvation, beyond redemption. And you loved him just like that.

His hips stuttered, the frantic thrusts a signal of his climax. You held him in your arms as he eased out of you, leaving you feeling empty, despite his cum dripping down your thigh. Silco sighed, his lean body heavy against yours. The haunting silence in your bedroom was soon broken.

"Marry me." "What?" You did a double take, slightly pushing him away to get a better look of him.

He scoffed, reaching into the drawer under your desk to take a cigar you had ready for him.

"Well, you won’t bloody work for me. Work with me, then." Silco exhaled the thick smoke. "As my equal."

"Very weird way to propose." You chuckled. But what else did you expect from him? He was not an ordinary man. And you were not an ordinary woman.

"Yes or no?" He passed you the cigar, and you took it, then kissed him on his scarred cheek.

"Yes. But you’re doubling my security."

"And you’re moving in."

"Deal."

[oatmealwrites]

Sports Car!

CFO! Nanami Kento x F! Reader

Based on the song Sports car by Tate McRae

jjk masterlist | regular masterlist

Synopsis: Visiting a luxury resort for your friend's bachelorette party, you notice a mystery man in the lobby who almost seems to... recognize you? You're certain you've never seen him before, but he seems to notice you right away. Well, it's fine! It's supposed to be a fun girls trip anyways, so who cares if you entertain the attention from him for a bit? Besides, he might even take you for a ride. ;)

Tags: pining down bad Kento [my fav], scheming SatoSugu, french kissing, romantic fluff, miscommunication, road head, slight facial, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, missionary, p in v, slight breeding kink!, jealous nanami, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of infidelity, creampie, soft and domestic ending, p0rn w plot essentially, 18+, MDNI

a/n @ the end; this is so self indulgent

not proofread!

WC: 12k [IM SORRY, lowkey slow burn??]

~~~~~~~

The lobby of the hotel is nicer than the photos you had seen online as you tug your small carry-on suitcase across the granite tiled floors. There’s chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a small team of employees assisting with luggage and valet, and nearly all the other visitors are dressed in expensive suits and tailored clothing. 

You let out a low whistle and follow your group to reception while mentally distancing yourself from the state of your bank account after this trip. The entire budget was far too expensive for you, but the occasion for celebration demanded you absolutely had to be in attendance. 

“Ok, you three are on floor 8, and the rest of us are on 7..” Shoko addresses the group while passing out room cards. “Lets have 90 minutes to drop our things off and get dressed for the first event. Everyone in the lobby with your bathing suits no later than 3:15!”

Maki and Nobara snatch the key and elbow you in the side to keep up the pace as an employee takes your luggage and ensures it’ll be delivered shortly– another service tip slowly chipping away at your finances. The three of you walk to the elevator and awe at the decorations in the lobby while sidestepping to avoid the large crowds of people exiting the exhibition hall for an assumed lunch break. 

You nudge Nobara and keep your eyes on the mass of people trickling from the room. “What do you think is going on?” 

“Business conference.” Maki answers instead, pointing to a small sign for what seems like a financial law themed seminar. 

Nobara lets out a low whistle of “booooring” when a man dressed in a tailored khaki suit turns around at the noise. 

And he’s fine as hell. 

He’s maybe just over 6 feet tall and well built with blonde hair perfectly styled and gentle signs of exhaustion on his face; maybe a few years older than you, but definitely more experienced. 

There’s an expression of disinterest and slight agitation when his eyes scan the crowd in search of the offhand comment until they land right on you; a look of nearly recognition. It’s a brief shiver that shoots down your spine while Maki shoves Nobara for being so careless as to insult the very conference these people were probably paying an abysmal amount of money to attend in the first place. 

A trance in your eyes as you can’t seem to break the stare between you and mystery man, Nobara shakes your shoulder slightly as you find yourself completely glued to the floor. He pivots slightly, as if to move closer, with his mouth open partially to speak, when the rest of your group catches up to the elevator shafts. 

“You guys better not run late! 3:15 is the cut off if we’re gonna have time for this evening’s dinner.” Utahime hands Yuki her room key and turns to you. “And please remember the rule about wearing white.”

Moments before you’re whisked away, it seems another group of men had caught his attention, laughing and ushering him to the next event location with his blonde hair sandwiched between wisps of white and black. Before you can protest her accusation, you’re being shuffled into the elevator with the group of girls and can only get a few glimpses at the man before the doors shut. 

****

The 3:15 event is a pre-game at the resort pool bar filled with lounging next to the water, a poor attempt at volleyball, and enough strawberry daiquiris to make you nauseous from the alcohol and sugar content. Half of the girls take breaks to sit in the sun and tan, occasionally getting glimpses at the men that also linger around the pool, while you sit in the water on the pool stairs while Nobara floats idly beside you in a tube. 

“Can’t believe Shoko was able to organize all of this…”

Nobara keeps her face upwards at the sun with her eyes shut behind a pair of sunglasses. “Hmmm, being the maid of honor isn’t easy work.”

“I’m really grateful for it, I don’t know if I could've planned something like this.”

Yuki slams the inflatable volleyball down against the water and laughs while Utahime whines at the chlorine now soaking her hair; Mai and Maki lounge side by side laughing at the scene unfold. The sun is intense, and despite sitting in the water, you feel more dehydrated than ever before. 

With a soft sigh, you rise from the water and gently kick Nobara’s tube to float further away as light snores can be heard leaving her lips as she relaxes further. The concrete by the pool is hot, and you jump from shade to shade until you reach your chair to towel off.

“Leaving? We still have more time until we need to get ready for dinner, you know.” 

You turn to Maki and wrap the towel around your chest before slipping on your sandals, “Yea, just gonna run inside to grab an extra bottle of sunscreen. Don’t want Nobara to burn if she’s gonna be baking in the sun.”

Maki knows that other people definitely already have a spare bottle poolside, but she understands your silent need for a moment alone and doesn’t question it. You grab the room card from your tote and shuffle back towards the lobby with a shiver as the AC chills your damp skin.

Soft piano music now flows steadily through the large room as the waitstaff power-walk across the floor with preparations for the resort’s attached restaurant. Curious, and with nothing better to do, you walk over to the entrance and watch the way everyone sets white table cloths and candles on each table in preparation for the dinner rush. 

The restaurant has a long bar in the back against the wall, while tables are scattered across the floor all the way to the patio entrance. While the doors are shut for now, at evening time they open up to a large wooden deck that provides a beautiful view of the ocean only steps away from the hotel doors. A large wooden table sits near the patio doors; a floral bouquet, balloons, and candles litter the top as the chairs are draped in white cloth in celebration. 

“I take it you’re not here for the seminar.”

“!!”

You flinch and spin around, hand still clutching the towel, to find a mop of white hair similar to the one you had spotted in the lobby earlier. Clear, celeste blue eyes peer down at you while an intrigued and wolfish smile spreads across the man’s lips. He laughs at your reaction, but makes no effort to move from his position as he patiently waits for an answer. 

“Oh, uh… no, I’m not.”

He smiles a bit more and looks back at the working staff while waiting silently for elaboration. 

“It’s a bachelorette party.”

The man turns back to you, gently guiding your hips to make room for employees to carry in crates of vegetables to the kitchen, and cheekily shoots you another smirk. “Ohhh, sounds fun.”

He’s stereotypically handsome, with strong facial features, tall toned legs, and the air of confidence that leaves you completely at his beck and call. But he’s not him, he’s not the mystery man you saw earlier. 

You shrug and back up to the lobby with the white haired man idly keeping pace beside you with his lanky legs making up the distance in double time. Maybe it’s wrong, but you can’t help but peer around the lobby just in case the other gentleman might be nearby. 

“Looking for someone, sweets?”

Pausing, you clench the towel tighter and roll your eyes slightly at the pet name, but don’t bother reprimanding him for the way it sounded so natural to leave his lips. “Just my friends.”

He looks around the lobby, his hands in his pockets, when you finally take in the fact he had changed clothes from the suit you saw him in earlier. Instead of slacks and a button-up, he adorns slim-fit athletic trousers and a pale blue polo.

“Right, well I don’t think they’re here….?” He edges on, waiting for your name. 

Maybe if you were home, back at your menial job at a dingy bar your friends always drag you to, you wouldn’t bother giving it, but this time you do; he smiles at it and puts out his hand for you to shake. 

“Lovely to meet you–”

“Hey, Satoru! What are you doing..?”

You spin around with the man, Satoru, flipping from your handshake to a position with his hand wrapped around your shoulder blades. The voice radiates from the same man with long black hair you also saw in the lobby; the actual man you’ve been wondering about is still nowhere in sight. 

“Hey Suguru, just chatting with my friend.”

The other gentleman, Suguru, is also dressed in put-together alethic wear and raises an eyebrow at Satoru before dragging his eyes across you. Sandals on your feet and pool towel still wrapped around you, it’s obvious that Satoru had bumped into you rather than actually been hanging out. 

Suguru doesn’t question it though, he offers an introduction and gives Satoru a slight nudge with an eyebrow raise, before walking towards the large entrance doors of the lobby. Despite his hand no longer on your back, you feel yourself being guided to follow suit, as if you were meant to join this strange group. 

“Kento’s gonna be mad if we’re late to golf with Yaga. You know how that old guy is about deadlines.”

Satoru whines playfully at his friend and shrugs. “I win every game regardless, so why do we even bother playing in the first place?”

“It’s about the principle, you know that.” Suguru smoothly responds as the three of you walk to the valet stand right in front of the lobby. 

You follow suit, walking beside the men and taking in the way they acted like a game of business golf with an exorbitant fee was the same as getting a coffee from the convenience store. The three of you make it to the valet stand where Satoru huffs about the fact ‘he’s not even here yet’ before Suguru spins around and finally acknowledges you once again. 

“I take it you’re not playing with us this time? Unfortunately, I don’t think a bikini is allowed on the green.”

You pause, the slight drip of chlorine still steadily falling from your skin and you sheepishly shrink back slightly from the mention that you had no real connection to these men in the first place. “Oh, uh.. No I’m not.”

“A real shame if you ask me.” Satoru dramatically responds, only looking back towards the pull-up area when a dark gray Mercedes [AMG GT coupé] parks in the front. 

Any voice in your throat is cut short as the car remains idling while the driver opens the door and slides out. Standing upright, sleeked and well groomed blonde hair pops into view as the man gracefully declines valet and slips off his sunglasses. 

It’s hard not to stare; the biceps of his arms stretching the short sleeves of his polo while sturdy thighs are pushing the thread limits of his golf trousers. He fills out everything in all the right places. 

Suguru steps down the front stairs to greet the man while Satoru lets out a snort at your obvious stare and gives a quick elbow to your ribs. Another young man slinks out of the back seat spot and runs around to pop open the trunk of the car.

“Nanamin, did you want to put anything else back here?”

The blond man, who you thought was Kento(?), doesn’t pause at the nickname and instead shakes his head. “That’s alright Itadori, you know we will have caddies on the course, right?”

Wait.. Itadori? Where have you heard that name from before….?

A smile akin to blinding sunlight emits from the younger man’s mouth as he excitedly shuts the hatch and nods eagerly. Itadori remains by the idling car, but looks up to assess the woman his seniors are talking to; the expression of borderline recognition crosses his face as it did yours. 

“Nice of you to bring your intern, Kento.” Suguru comments, approaching him.

“He’s good at his job…and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Satoru lets out a wolfish giggle and pushes you slightly forward to get the man who you’ve been searching for. “Well maybe we can use a cart girl for the next game.”

Kento looks up from his small talk with Suguru and his eyes widen slightly at seeing you once again, though this time up close…. and in a pool towel. He stutters slightly before raising a stern eyebrow to the pair of cackling white and blacked hair men. 

“You two–”

“she’s our friend!” Satoru slinks a casual arm around your shoulder, though the act isn’t as flirty as he’s dramatically portraying it to be. “Figured it would be good for everyone to meet, especially if we’re gonna keep bumping into each other for the weekend.”

Kento scowls at him but turns to you with a calm expression. “I’m very sorry for any trouble these two have caused you. If it’s an issue, I can escort you to the concierge desk to report a proper claim against them–”

“HEY!” Satoru interjects. “She’s here for a wedding party and we’re here for a boring conference at the same time. What’s the harm if we make friends with our co-hostages at this place??”

A 5-star ocean-front resort is your last definition of a hostage by any definition of the phrase, but the theatrics Satoru puts on eases the tension regardless. Suguru laughs and places a steady hand on Kento’s stiffened shoulder before walking over to Yuji to claim the shotgun seat of the car. 

“I’m alright.” You finally speak up. “Really, it’s nice to meet other people here too.”

Kento keeps his gaze sternly on Satoru, but eventually eases up to reassess your expression. He keeps his vision on your face, taking in several details, before coughing slightly and nodding once. “Alright then, it’s nice to formally meet you–”

“Ah, too professional!” Satoru pushes you forward slightly and gives a harder smack to the chiseled back of Kento with a cheesy grin. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a little stiff right now.”

The blonde shoots his head in his companion’s direction before the horn of his idling car honks with Suguru rolling the window down. “We’re gonna be even more late! Stop jerking each other off and let’s go!”

“Yea! What he said!” Yuji echoes in the back.

Both men scoff lightly and offer a ‘goodbye’ while walking down to the car; still standing in the towel, you take a slight step forward and raise a hand before they disappear inside. “See you later… Satoru, Suguru,....Kento!”

His name fell naturally from your lips, and you can swear there was maybe the ghost of a blush on his cheeks as he waves back and slides into the driver’s seat. From Suguru’s still open window, you can hear Satoru goading his name was the one you called first, while Itadori is convinced he’s seen you somewhere before. 

From the angle of his side-view mirror, you can see his gaze linger on your figure before the sports car engine roars as it leaves the hotel parking lot. 

****

“Did you move my hair straightener…? I swear I just had it–” The words die on Maki’s lips as Nobara peers out of the bathroom with said device pinching a section of hair. “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking so long! Isn’t your hair naturally straight already?”

Nobara waves her off and continues the finishing touches while Maki stands impatiently in the doorway waiting for her to finish; you shimmy on the delicate pair of heels and test walk a few times to see how badly they hurt. 

Deciding the pain isn’t too intense, as you guys would be sitting down to eat anyways, you move to the large standing mirror in the suite to smooth out any wrinkles of your satin mini-dress. The alarm clock on the desk besides you reads 8 minutes before the reservation time is set for. 

“Shoko is going to kill us if we aren’t in the lobby on time~” You sing out to the two bickering girls as Maki pries the straightener from Nobara and rapidly adjusts her hair. The latter woman waves you off and slides into her heeled sandals before scrolling through her phone idly. 

“Huh, Itadori’s here too?”

You spin around at the name and stand beside her to peer at her social media. On the ‘close friend’s only’ story is a partial selfie with a variety of other men in the background chatting and lining up their next shot on the green. A few guys are unfamiliar to you, but the heads of white, long black, and sleek blonde hair immediately catch your gaze. 

“Huuh? Aren’t those the guys you were talking to?”

You didn’t even hear Maki walk back into the room but Nobara shoots you both a confused glance. Combing her straightened hair into a sleek ponytail, Maki shoots you a side glance. “You took too long to get the sunscreen earlier so I was gonna check up on you… but once I saw you with those meatheads I figured it would be best to give you some space.”

A hot blush and panic spreads across your face while Nobara makes fake vomit sounds and retches beside you. “Ewwww! We had a rule of ‘no men!’ for this trip, and you go hang out with Itadori?!”

“What? No!... he was just there when I was already talking to Kento.”

“Kento?!” They scream at the same time. 

You raise a hand to drag across your face, but pause at the threat of ruining the makeup you spent the last 35 minutes doing. “There were a group of guys there for the financial seminar… Satoru, Suguru, and Kento…”

Maki and Nobara stare at you incredulously before peering back down at the phone. Feeling left out you nudge them both. “Ok, and now can you two explain how the hell you know them??”

Nobara taps through his story a few times more and holds up a better photo of Itadori, “We went to high school together and he didn’t transfer into our undergrad university until like junior year. I’ve mentioned him a few times, but you two were in different majors so you probably never bumped into him.”

Maki leans forward and points to Satoru and Suguru, “Mmm I’m pretty sure these guys have beef with like my uncle or something. A rivaling firm for whatever shady business schemes they’re all roped into.”

You lean in and watch each photo tap by, your gaze lingering on the shamelessly glazed photos Itaodri pridefully posts about his mentor. The sweat dripping from his temple as he swings his club, the casual steering of the golf cart, and the way he flexes his thighs juuuust a little before lining his next shot. 

“She’s totally gone.”

“Hey.” You blink back at the two of them. “Anything on the mystery blonde man? Suguru mentioned something about Itadori being his intern.”

Nobara taps her chin once but can’t seem to come up with an answer. “Can’t say for sure. I’ll just text Megumi and have him fill me in–.”

“Oh shit, it’s 7:20!” Maki scurries for her shoes while you leap across one of the beds to grab your purse and Nobara dives for her lipstick on the bathroom counter. 

The three of you run for the elevator, ignoring the tourists and other visitors in the hallways, and pant when you reach the resort restaurant entrance to an annoyed Utahime. She has her arms folded but lets you all off with a sigh and a stern look before guiding you to the table where the rest of the girls sit languidly chatting and browsing the menu. 

Mai chuckles at the three of you and places the drink menu down with a chuckle. “Ah, nice of you to make it.”

Maki rolls her eyes while Nobara scans down the table to make sure no one else is within ear shot. “It’s not our fault! She was talking to a guy!”

“What?!”

Yuki and Shoko turn to look down the table while you sink your seat and hide behind a menu card before Mai repeats her shock again, though this time in a lower volume. 

“What do you mean you were talking to a guy? The first rule of this whole trip is no men.”

You whine when Nobara and Maki snicker beside you and fiddle with the edges of the menu before defensively sitting back up and using the extensive wine list as a barrier. “Listen, they approached–”

“They?!”

You cough and kick her shin. “Yea, they approached me and I was just being friendly. Nothing else.”

Nobara peers down at her phone and slides it on the table between the four of you. “Yea, sooo friendly with Itadori’s mentor from the consultancy company he’s working for.” 

Megumi’s contact is pulled up on the screen with a variety of images of him walking a pair of dogs, followed by Nobara’s sudden question, his answer, and then his follow up of asking why she wanted to know in the first place. She leaves him on delivered and places the phone back in her purse. 

Maki lets out a low whistle and clicks her tongue a few times. “Yuta told me he was thinking of applying there; the salaries are no joke. Starting wage for a consultant is 150k.”

You nearly choke on your order to the waiter for a glass of wine and gawk at her in shock. 150k… starting??? You really should’ve changed career paths. 

Mai hums in approval and sips her cocktail while Nobara opens up a new text chain to Itadori reminding him that he should take her and Megumi out to dinner some time to congratulate him on the position. Maki crosses her arms and shuts her eyes with a look of pride on her face. “You know what, I can’t even be mad that the guy you’re talking to works there. If he’s not a junior consultant, I can only imagine the paycheck he must be packing.”

Now that you think about it, all three of them were oozing wealth when you bumped into them. Satoru’s sunglasses were definitely prada, the clip holding up Suguru’s hair was Chanel, and fuck, even Kento’s car was probably more than your entire annual salary for 3 years. 

But why the hell were they even giving you time of day in the first place? It’s not like you really knew them– only a small string of mutuals that wasn’t discovered until now. 

“And, I just want to thank all of you for being here on such an important trip. It’s not everyday that one of our friends is getting married!!” Yuki says, standing and speaking loudly with her glass raised up. 

She takes one look down at you and coughs slightly at your faraway state. “Right?”

You cough and raise up your now delivered wine glass. “Oh, yes! It’s a very important moment.”

Shoko looks down into her glass with a muttered ‘Jesus’ and waits for Yuki to finish her toast before downing the entire thing. The table erupts into cheers and celebration as the waitstaff open the patio doors to the evening ocean view only footsteps away. A few claps emit from the restaurant, as people joyously applaud and the live background music grows louder. 

With the doors open, wafts of fresh salty air carry throughout the restaurant as the group begins the first of many hours of wining and dining. Each course is more delicious than the last, each bottle of wine has a higher alcohol percentage than the previous, and by the time dessert rolls around, you barely have the ability to sit upright. 

Mai is roped off into a conversation with Utahime as the girls slowly spread to the patio fence to overlook the ocean, to the small dance floor by the live band, and the bar along the back wall. From beside you, Nobara sends a few texts to Itadori while Maki leans her head on her shoulder, making an occasional comment.

With your wine glass empty and a heat on your cheeks, the cool night air doesn’t leave you shivering, but instead seems to be inviting you for a walk on the beach. Though, what’s a walk on the beach without a drink in your hand?

Standing up and heading to the bar, you idly glide past a few bodies until you lean against the counter and look at the drink list offered. Nothing in particular seems to catch your eye, and in a moment of consideration for just another glass of champagne, a deep voice rings out behind you. 

“Would you like a recommendation?”

Kento moves to stand beside you, his golf attire replaced with a turquoise button-up and tan slacks, as he gives you a soft smile. Woodsy cologne radiates from him and his hair is wind blown from the ocean breeze that drafts into the room. You smile at the man and blush slightly before pointing to your own empty flute. 

“I honestly might get a refill since I know it’ll be good. And besides,” you give him a once over with an earnest smile. “You look more like a whiskey-neat kinda guy.”

Kento chuckles slightly, but doesn’t counter the claim at all; when the bartender comes around, he orders exactly that. You place the flute on the counter upon asking for a refill and move to grab your wallet when Kento tugs your hand away and yells over to the waitstaff to place it under the tab ‘Nanami’. There’s a comfortable pause as you slide your wallet away. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Kento smiles into the drink and passes you your refill with a shrug. “It’s the least I can do, it seems you and your friends are… celebrating.”

The word is forced with a stiffness in his jaw that you can’t quite discern before a few wolf-whistles can be heard from behind you. Two sets of footsteps approach as Satoru and Suguru saunter up with questionable posture from their current tipsy state and laugh at the two of you. 

“Ah, didn’t mean to interrupt anything. Just grabbing another drink while our dear friend here is still offering to pay.”

Suguru chuckles at his companion and leans against the bar. “Yea, despite knowing Satoru and I would win, you still offered drinks to the victors. “

Kento scoffs at the two of them, half gracefully accepting his sportsmanship compliments and half for their inebriation when they have another round of seminars starting at 8am the next morning. Satoru whines a few times and slings an arm around the black haired man before shuffling closer to the bar to place another order as if they could simply ignore the blonde who stood just feet away. 

In exasperation, he pinches the bridge of his nose before you place a gentle hand on his forearm and tilt your head to the wooden patio stairs. “I was gonna walk along the beach, if you want to join me? Maybe get some fresh air?”

Despite the question being for Kento, Satoru whips his head around and gives a sharp elbow to his dark haired friend with a knowing look. The drink order is in the back of his mind as he gains sobriety for just a brief moment. “You know, that’s a great idea. Kento loves the beach, and Suguru and I would join you but…” He looks at his friend. 

“–But we have plans already. I saw on Shoko’s social media that she’s staying here too, Satoru and I were going to say hello…and we’ll tell her you said ‘hi’.”

You weren’t really inviting them too, but their not-so subtle rejection gave you a bit more relief than you’d like to admit. 

Kento pauses for a moment, obviously aware that the two men were scheming something, but looking back at you, he already had his answer. Moving his whiskey glace to the other hand, he puts out his forearm as a way for you to steady yourself and offers a gentle smile. “I’d love to accompany you, if that’s alright.”

A tried and true gentleman, Kento guides you to the patio stairs and gives you a moment to slide off your heels to avoid breaking an ankle in the sand. Hammocks are splayed out between a variety of palms, and there’s a system of twinkling outdoor bulbs that create a guided path along the ocean. A few other people still linger by waves while a handful of couples chat idly by the outdoor sports activities set up. 

“It’s a beautiful night, huh?”

Kento holds his loafers in one hand and his whiskey glace in the other, mirroring your position. “Yes, it is.”

Despite the lack of conversation, the atmosphere is calm and lively. Waves crash against the sandbank while live music from the restaurant still lingers in the air as you two continue walking along the coast. When Kento’s not admiring the scenery of the ocean, he’s stealing occasional glances at you. 

You catch his gaze on one of these moments, and despite being caught, he holds your stare before gently smiling to himself and looking back towards the water. Swirling some of the bubbly in your glass, you match his leisurely pace and nudge him slightly. 

“Were you aware that we already kinda know each other? Your intern is close with my best friend.”

Kento sucks in a short breath, not saying anything; you watch his stiffened body language and backtrack at how weird you must sound. “I mean… it’s not like a close connection, but isn’t it coincidental that we have mutual acquaintances?”

Upon hearing that was the end of your recollection, he lets out a short sigh and finally turns back to you. “Ah, it’s a small world then.”

The two of you continue walking along the beach, talking about anything from your interests to small anecdotes about the beautiful view. You learn he loves to read and has a soft spot for baked goods, while he learns about your job and the little hobbies you always wish you had more hours in the day to make time for. 

After a while, you both turn back and sit at a small hill of sand that overlooks the waves. Your wine glass is empty and sitting far to the side with your hand propped up behind you slightly for support. It feels so comfortable in the moment, and looking up at the stars above, you barely notice when Kento slides his hand to gently rest atop yours.

“Hm?” You don’t mean to immediately look over, but the moment you do, Kento draws his hand back like he’s been burned and stares off into the distance. 

“I’m sorry that was wrong of me.”

You blink a few times. “Wait, what? No, I don’t mind! I was just surprised.”

He shakes his head and mutters a string of profanities to himself before rubbing his face and glaring at the ocean waves ahead. 

“No, it’s wrong. All of this. I should have never introduced myself, bought you a drink, and came out here with you… I also should have never let those two idiots meddle in things either.” He mumbles the last part mainly to himself.

You flinch and slink back at the sharp rejection he quickly laid out. Tugging your hand away from its position on the sand, you dust the sand from your dress and prepare to stand up. “Oh. If you didn’t want to be around me, you could’ve just said so.”

“What?”

You both stare at each other, still seated on the sand, in complete shock at each other’s responses. 

“What…?” You parrot back to him. 

Kento opens his mouth before sighing and scratching his jaw. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here– I do. But it’s wrong. Simple as that.”

“What are you talking about? If you want to be here, with me… and I want the same thing, then why does it matter–?”

“It matters because you’re getting married.”

A heavy silence falls over the both of you, with nothing but the sound of waves lapping at the sand filling the air. Kento lets out a breath and tucks his forehead to his knees, testing out the words on his tongue before saying them. 

“You’re getting married. The last thing you should be doing is sitting here with me.”

You blink a few times. “I’m not getting married though?”

…

Kento looks up, his brain short circuiting as if he either didn’t hear you or didn’t believe you. “What…? But the wedding party–”

“Bachelorette party.” you correct.

“The ‘wearing white’ rule–”

“My bathing suit earlier wasn’t white… just my towel covered it.”

“And the toast…?” He asks, quickly unraveling the embarrassing truth himself.

“Yuki just called me out because I wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t a toast for me.”

Kento pauses. “And the setting of the table for the bride…”

“Is for my friend Mei Mei. She’s marrying some random millionaire man in a few months and her maid of honor, Shoko, planned this trip.”

He pauses before grabbing ahold of your left hand and finally notices an obvious lack of engagement ring. A laughter escapes your lips and his ears burn red and he lets out a breath of relief and frustration. “I should’ve known better than to listen to them.”

NO, YOU AIN'T GOT NO MRS.

You let him wallow in self grievances for a moment before reaching across to tug his left hand up for inspection. “No ring on you either. I take it you’re also not married, given the sports car as well.”

Kento intertwines his hand in yours for a moment, a melancholy look on his face that melts when his gaze scans your features again under the moonlight. He runs a thumb over your knuckles before pulling you to stand up next to him. 

“No, I’m not. But…almost.”

His voice is quiet, though not inherently sad, and you keep silent at his honesty. You didn’t mean to pry for such a sensitive subject and find interest in kicking the sand as you walk. 

“I’m sorry.”

Kento tugs your hand to remain next to him; your other hand balances the stem of the flute and the straps of your heeled sandals. 

“Don’t be, you didn’t know.” He tilts his head to the side and lets out a steady exhale. “I was engaged a little over a year ago. But there was infidelity on her side… and the plans quickly fell apart. It’s all in the past now.”

You bite your lip and lean slightly into his bicep, in an act of comfort and confidence from the alcohol in your blood. Craning your neck up at the mountain of a man, you can’t even imagine cheating on him. The idea is so bewildering to you that you don’t realize he continued the conversation. 

“Though I’m surprised you made the car connection.” He chuckles dryly in embarrassment. “I admit… I used some of the money I set aside for the wedding payment.”

You continue walking side by side, as if it was the most natural way to spend any evening, and can begin to hear the music from the restaurant get louder the closer you get. 

“Well… it must have been a very extravagant wedding you were planning; your car is very nice.”

Kento lets out a low chuckle and continues guiding you towards the resort area once again, though his pace is noticeably slower. Despite the amount of drinks in your system, an ounce of sobriety has led to a slight shiver at the cool evening wind that nips at your exposed skin. 

“Forgive me, I left my jacket behind, otherwise I would offer it.”

You try to play off the goosebumps on your arms and shake your head. “Ah, I’m alright. To be honest I wanted to keep walking.” The interior of the restaurant is semi-visible, though you can make out the chaotic dancing and giggling of the girls at your table. “I don’t think they mind too much that I’m out anyways.”

Kento follows your gaze and stops walking, the crash of the ocean waves fills the silence as he finally spots the bride-to-be inside before pivoting to turn to you. Salty air pulls your hair in a variety of directions, and he pushes back a few strands to get an unobstructed view of your face. 

“To be honest… I was so worried that this bridal trip was for you…” His hand cups your jaw and lets his thumb trace the lower line of your lip. 

“...Really…? Why…”

You’re standing breathless as Kento looks from eye to eye before his gaze lingers on your lips. The music still pouring out from the patio and far away voices are defined as he leans down to connect his mouth to yours. 

It’s slow and gentle at first, as if he wasn’t too sure if this was the right move but he molds his lips against yours with the impatience of waiting for you to kiss him back. And you do. 

Arms wrap around his neck and haphazardly drop your sandals into the sand while Kento tosses his loafers to the ground and wraps his hand around your waist to keep you pulled into him. Patience gone, he rocks his lips into yours with experienced force as if he had been waiting for this moment. 

It’s hypnotizing, the way he molds his lips to yours and runs his tongue out just slightly before slipping it into your mouth as if it was his to do so. Everything feels so hot as his tongue rubs against yours and saliva begins to drip from the corner of your mouth from the messiness. Teeth occasionally clinking when you pause to breathe; he urges forward with no desire of letting you go, even for a moment.

Large hands rub circles on your hip bones through the thin fabric of the dress, and when he grinds his pelvis forward just slightly, you can feel the rough outline of a bulge forming in his slacks. The pressure emits a gasp from your throat that leaves him pulling back slightly, worried if he was coming on too strong for the first encounter. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to…”

“N-No!” You quickly interject before cringing slightly at how desperate it must sound. “I mean… it’s ok…”

 Kento nods once and swallows thickly; his hand still possessively keeping you pressed into him. The chatter from the restaurant pours out from the patio, and you look up at the people stumbling to the beach before turning back up to the man at your side. You both must be thinking the same thing, that you don’t want to go back just yet. 

Realistically, if Kento’s worried that he’s overstepping a boundary just by being erect, then it’s you who has to take the initiative for this. 

“We don’t have to go back inside, you know.” You smooth out an invisible wrinkle across his chest and nearly falter from the low voice that replies.

“But you’re cold.”

Pursing your lips, you think about it for a moment but tetter on the edge of actually committing to the offer. The last thing you want to come across as is a gold digger, but it’s the only option you can think of. 

OH, BUT YOU GOT A SPORTS CAR

“What about going for a drive?”

Kento holds your gaze, letting the phrase sit in his head for a few moments before smirking slightly and tugging you in closer. “Yea? Didn’t take you for the type to wanna go on joyrides.”

You suck your bottom lip in slightly and shrug. “Well if you’d rather we go back inside–” he pulls you back into him when you feign walking back towards the patio stairs and chuckles dryly. 

“Alright then, follow me.”

You both pick up the fallen (thankfully) unbroken glasses from the sand and slide them on the patio floor for an unfortunate closing employee to pick up later, before walking around the restaurant to the side parking lot. Kento holds you for support so you can kick the sand off your feet before assisting you into your heels and guiding you to the ‘reserved’ spot. 

“Doesn’t the valet have your keys?”

He keeps one hand on the small of your back and fishes out his keyring from his front pocket with a sideway smile. “I don’t enjoy leaving things precious to me with amateurs.”

It’s surprisingly cocky, but it goes straight to your cunt, as he easily guides you to the sleek dark-gray sports car that roars to life with the remote start he clicks on. The LED headlights illuminate the asphalt of the parking lot, and when Kento guides you to the passenger side and opens the door, there’s a projected ‘Mercedes’ logo shining down against the concrete. No expense is spared. 

“After you.”

He guides you inside and only releases his grasp on your hand once you’re completely seated inside. In a few short strides, he crosses in front and takes his position behind the wheel before shifting gear and pulling out of the parking lot. 

Kento drives slowly at first, letting you take in the sights of the town that accompanies the resort before you turn to him and trace the angle of his jaw; he takes your palm and kisses the back of your hand without ever taking his eyes off the road. 

“I thought you said this was going to be a joyride? Hmmm?”

He chuckles and peels his eyes off the road to give you a sideways glance before releasing your hand and pinching the top of your thigh. “I don’t want you getting motion sick on me… and besides, I don’t like driving like that with important cargo.”

“Oh come on,” you tease at him, placing his hand flat on the upper flesh of your thigh and batting your eyelashes at him. “Just for a little bit, for me? Pleaseee?”

Immune to your charm, he gives your thigh one more squeeze before pressing his foot against the accelerator and taking off down the empty road ahead. With a slight squeal, you recover from the pressure and roll down the windows and peer out at the hills of golf courses that pass by in flashes. 

Kento shifts the gear for an upcoming curve before placing his hand back on your leg and gripping it a bit tighter. “Hang on angel, might get a little bumpy.”

The car roars down the road, with the only illumination coming from the headlights and occasional streetlights that border. Your hair whips in every direction as the speedometer steadily increases as you make it to the straightaway, Kento occasional glimpses over at your direction with a smirk splayed. 

Caring less if you crashed (though with his smooth operation, you’re convinced it would be impossible), you pivot in your seat and face him fully as the world flies by outside the window. Tracing the veins on his forearm of the right arm on the wheel, he gives you a sideways glance but doesn’t say anything until you skim the buttons of his shirt and toy with the seam of his slacks. 

WE CAN UH-UH IN IT

WHILE YOU DRIVE IT REAL FAR

Palming the belt and clicking your manicured nails against the buckle, he shifts his hips slightly as if suddenly aware of the bulge that had been pressed against his fly for the entirety of the drive. 

Kento sucks in a breath and slows down slightly. “What are you up to?”

You laugh and place a firm hand against the muscular curve of his thigh and push his leg down onto the accelerator to speed up once again. “Nothing in particular… but I can stop if you want.”

A throaty groan escapes his lips when you trace the outline of his cock through the fabric before he leans back in his seat and jerks forward slightly. “Don’t– please.”

Never one to displease, you turn your attention back down to his erection and trace the outline once more until you reach over with both hands to release the buckle. Pulling the leather from the fabric loops, you toss the accessory to the backseat with a slight ‘clink!’. 

Kento’s eyes are still on the road, but his knuckles are white at the way they grip the wheel and his pelvis twitches against the seatbelt snug against his hips. Clicking the release and letting the material shrink back to the holder, he gives you a sideways glance before guiding your hand to the fly of his slacks. 

“Are you gonna make me ask again?” He gruffly teases without any real bite behind it.

You keep your hand on his groin but lift up slightly to plant a small peck to his jaw with a ‘no~’ before undoing the button and letting the zipper down. Navy blue boxer briefs are stained with a dark patch and immediately push through the now open layer of his slacks; still confined in his underwear, his cockhead pries though the fly painfully. 

It twitches a few times under your touch as you pinch the fabric around the elastic band to slide the material down just a few inches more; Kento lifts his hips to assist and the car speeds up as the pressure on the accelerator grows. 

His cock is long, pushing 8 inches, with a fair thickness that remains from the base to the tip. Dirty blonde pubes fall in messy tufts along his navel and litter down to his swollen balls; his cockhead weeps pearls of precum from the pretty blushed slit [#e59d9d]. Nearly drooling at the image and your poor unstretched cunt clenching at the idea of it somehow fitting inside, Kento looks over with an undescernable expression on his face. 

“I know I haven’t exactly kept up… appearances down there…” He quietly speaks, eyes on the road but foot letting up on the accelerator just a bit. 

You smear some of the lubricant down his tip and push down on the throbbing engorged veins that run along the flesh. As if you would really care about the fact he hasn’t shaved in a minute, the man is the epitome of pure sex appeal. Plus there’s something about a man who hasn’t had any action in a while acting so desperate for you, that it’s even more of a turn on. 

“I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Before he can protest again, you run your tongue flat across his slit and take in the salty taste of his arousal before letting long strings of saliva drip from your lips and coat his shaft. Tongue rutting against his frenulum a few times, you rub the mixture of pre cum and spit along his cock before guiding it into your mouth. 

“O-Oh– fuck.”

One of his hands immediately leaves the wheel and finds purchase in your hair, partially pulling it out of your face and partially pushing your head down juuuust a little further. 

The staggering number of inches can’t fit entirely in your mouth, so you take in what you can while one hand jerks off the rest with the same rhythm as the bob of your head while the other hand cups his balls. A few pubic strands tickle your nose as the occasional bump in the road causes you to reach a bit further down his length. 

“Ngh– just like that.. Ah–”

Kento’s head is pushed back into the headrest of his seat while his hips slide further and twitch as you suck the soul from him. Each thrust of his pelvis to reach further in your throat is matched with a purr from the engine as the weight of his foot presses down on the gas further; the gusts of wind from outside aren't loud enough to drown out the groans that fall from his lips. 

Your hair is still blowing in every direction and the gloss that once adorned your lips has now created a shiny smear of pink along his shaft. Jaw slightly aching, you slip him from your mouth and run the flat of your tongue over his head a few times before placing it in your wet palm and jerking off just the tip. Keeping your head lowered, each jerk of your wrist guides it up onto your awaiting tongue with rhythm. 

After a few moments, and a substantial rest of your mouth, you pop him back between your lips and hollow your cheeks to suck him off once again. Kento’s thigh flex beneath you and a steady string of muffled curses fall from his lips before he tilts his head back once more. 

“Ahh, close… fuck I’m close..”

Kento gnaws on his bottom lip and furrows his brows before applying the brakes and swerving to park on the side of the road. Far from the resort but still by the sandy coast, there’s not a single headlight or streetlight in view as he hastily puts the car in park and slides his seat back just a tad. 

Both hands now on your head, one holding your hair and the other guiding your movements, he plants his feet on the car floor and begins fucking up into your mouth. 

“Trying to make me fucking crash, huh? Acting all sweet with a filthy mouth” He groans out while jerking up an erratic rhythm.

Tears fall from your eyes at the lack of oxygen as the once gentleman has seemingly flipped a switch and has begun manhandling however he sees fit. “Mmfpgh-!”

“Haaa” he sarcastically coos above you. “So fucking good, knew it… ngh– the moment I saw your photo”

Kento continues mumbling a string of incoherent phrases until you feel the large vein running under his shaft throb a few times and he’s cumming hot ropes of semen down your throat. The consistency is a bit watery and slides down relatively easily with a sweet taste as he fists himself a few times when your lips pop off him to shoot a few more residual drops onto your face. 

“Cumming! F-Fuck I’m cumming–”

It drips down your cheeks and slightly stains the fabric of his slacks as you swallow the load in your mouth and Kento breathes heavily. Wiping the corner of your lips and peering up at the man, his eyes are wired shut as a few beads of sweat slip down his temple and hot pants leave his open mouth. 

Once he comes back to his senses, he sits upright and shuffles around in his seat to find a spare silk handkerchief and wipe along your face– gentle to not smudge anything.

“Sorry, I should’ve given you a proper warning.” His touch is soft, a complete 360 from seconds ago, and his voice is warm. Upon finishing cleaning you up, he lets you fix your hair before tapping your jaw and nudging you for a kiss.

It’s a strange exchange, though not an unwanted one. Despite just treating you like some cum slut and jerking up into your throat, he now plants lingering kisses against your lips and keeps his hand firmly on your thigh after he tucks himself back into his pants. Shutting the windows and placing your seat warmer on, he puts the Mercedes back into drive and begins the drive back to the resort with his touch still on you. 

“Let me repay you, please.” He offers, eyes still dilated as his fingers pinch the exposed pieces of flesh your dress doesn’t cover.

You rub your hand along his knuckles and lean into your seat; nipples hardening under your dress and cunt weeping into the flimsy fabric of your panties. 

“When you say ‘repay’, it makes it seem like I’m just a girl you hired.” 

It’s harmless teasing at his wording, but Kento’s expression falls slightly and the grip on your thigh tightens almost possessively. “No. Never.”

You blink at him with a blush and look at your hands with fluster as he takes his hand from your leg for a moment to bring your palm to his lips and plant a few kisses before finding its spot back on your thigh. 

The drive back to the resort is nearly tooth-rottingly sweet. Kento ensures, once again, that he wasn’t too rough on you and makes offers for future meetings before you’ve even finished this one. He tells you that the seminar going on happens every year at this location, and he’s come to learn a lot of good local spots. The best seafood restaurants, marine centers, and even the hours when the boardwalks aren’t too crowded; he offers to take you to all of them once his conference ends for the day during the week. 

“I do have a few bachelorette activities to attend though” You remind him with a squeeze of his hand. 

He frowns and gives a slight pout before clearing his throat and tilting his head. “Well, in the moments you are available, I’d be happy to have your company…. Or even after we go back home.”

The resort comes into view in the window and you turn to him with a smile. “Oh yea, the company you work for is by me– I nearly forgot Nobara mentioned that Itadori got hired there recently…”

Kento swallows slightly and the Adam’s apple in his throat bobs once as you continue talking. “She mentioned that he’s working as an intern in the finance department… Are you like his manager?”

He tilts his head and directs the car back into its reserved spot. “Sort of…I have a comfortable position as the head financial officer of the company.”

You nod at first and get ready to leave the car until the words actually seep into your mind. Wait.. CFO?! Of an international consulting company?! A company with a net worth in the billions. With a ‘B��?!?!

He slips out of his seat and walks around to your side to open the door while you attempt to act as casually as humanly possible that this man might have more money than the GDP of several nations combined. Slipping his hand behind the small of your back to guide you back to the entrance, he stops short and slips his hand naturally into yours when a familiar set of heads loiter by the valet stand. 

“What do you meaaaan he’s not here? Aren’t you supposed to be in charge of this very thing?” Satoru’s voice reverberates as he whines against the podium at the underpaid employee.

Suguru sighs and shakes his head with a shrug while Itadori scrolls on his phone frantically reading text messages “Maybe he’s at the spa?”

The white haired man instantly snaps up and gives the younger man a pat on the back way too hard before dragging the two of them back through the lobby. “Come on everyone! We’re his only hope if this is gonna work!!”

Itadori is effectively yanked back into the building while Suguru lets himself be guided by Satoru as the three disappear out of sight. You and Kento wait an extra moment before their voices no longer echo before tepidly climbing the stairs and looking around once for good measures. 

“Those idiots…” Kento grumbles, rubbing his face with a sturdy hand as he gently guides you to the elevators. “Oh, is it alright if I bring you to my suite…? I don’t mean to be so forward this soon but…” he dips down and tilts his lips to brush against your ear as the doors shut. “I’d just like to return the favor from earlier.”

You shiver and smile up at the man with a nod before letting him guide you to his hotel room… on the top floor…

Though the entire walk has a different feeling swirling in the back of your mind; specifically his attitude whenever Itadori comes into mention. You let it linger a bit more, walking into the suite and staring awestruck at how much larger his single room was compared to the one you, Maki, and Nobara were crammed into [without hotel knowledge of being over capacity].

The kitchenette area also had a sofa and television in the area before being cut with a partial wall for privacy of the king sized bed that laid on the other side. Large ceilings and warm lighting filled the room and you noticed the lack of suitcases– noting that Kento was the kind of man who fully unpacked into the drawers and closet when traveling. 

He lets you admire the suite for a few moments, an entertained smile on his lips, as he re-rolls up his sleeves and turns the kettle on for tea and coffee. From your position standing in his bedroom area, you can see into the ensuite bathroom at the soft plush robes hanging above the large jacuzzi style bathtub. His hotel room is bigger than your entire apartment at home. 

ON THE CORNER OF YOUR BED

“Is it to your liking?” he calls out, not hiding the teasing tone in his voice. 

You come out of the bathroom and laugh before calling out for him to join you; he shuts off the kettle and immediately walks over. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and his arms around the small of your waist, you tilt your chin upwards and press your lips against his. 

It’s slow and sweet at first, rocking against each other a few times before Kento is rubbing your hips bones with his thumbs and grinding another growing erection into your pelvis. Tongue slipping in, he brings a hand up to hold your chin steady as he explores your molars and refuses to break the connection until you’re clawing at him to be even closer. 

The kiss breaks with a string of light saliva that snaps when he attempts to push your thighs against the bed; you stop him and spin to guide him to sit on top of the comforter. Kento doesn’t complain though, he lets himself be swayed by your touch and sits on the corner of the mattress with his hands on your waist and impatiently tugging you closer and your dress upwards. 

Your hands steady his with a slight smirk on your lips. “Wait a moment–” he stops and looks up as you continue. “What was it that you mentioned earlier? Something about, ‘ever since I saw your picture’?”

Kento pauses and drags his dilated pupils away from your face to the corner of the room with a tense swallow. “I’m sure I’m misunderstanding you–”

“–And how tense you seem to act when Itadori is mentioned? I can always ask Nobara if there’s some sort of connection I’m missing here..”

You move to grab your phone but he immediately reaches out and stops you. “Wait.” 

He gnaws his bottom lip and looks up at you with pleading eyes before sighing and pressing his forehead to the area just below your breast with a guilty expression. 

“I may have seen you before, from Itadori’s social media… He was always on his phone during work when he first started a few months ago… so one time I looked over his shoulder to see what could be so important, when I noticed the most recent social media post pulled up happened to be Nobara’s profile image with you in it.”

… now that you think about it, there have been a few more rando empty accounts that started following you… 

He rests his cheek into you and pulls his head upright with more confidence for the confession. “Well, Suguru and Satoru soon found out that I was…uh interested in you, and have been trying to hatch some scheme to get me to talk to you…”

You blink and comb his silky hair a few times before cupping his face with a coy look. “Why didn’t you just ask Itadori to have Nobara introduce us if you thought I was cute?”

He huffs and pouts slightly. “Asking my subordinate for his permission to date his mutual friend is hardly professional.”

‘Date’ isn’t a term either of you have mentioned yet, but now that it’s out there, you don’t want it taken back. Nodding in understanding, you trace his cheekbones and jaw before pressing your thumb on his lips while his hands still grasp and knead the flesh on your thighs and waist. 

“And that photo– all my photos I have posted, what did you do with it?”

He pauses. Coughing slightly at the surprise and attempting to tilt his head down but being blocked by your hands. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean–”

“Kento.” You take a hand from his jaw and trace down his buttons to the bulge in his slacks and press. “What did you do with that photo of me?”

He groans slightly and twitches before locking eye contact with dilated pupils so large the irises are nearly hidden. 

YOU COULD DO IT ON YOUR OWN

WHILE YOU'RE LOOKIN' AT ME

“I masturbated to it.”

“Show me.”

Slowly, without breaking his stare, he releases the fly of his slacks and shimmies them down to the floor before tugging the elastic of his boxer briefs down to his mid-thigh once more. You take a slight step to the side and tug his hand to your mouth and spit into his palm before guiding it back down to his throbbing erection. He presses a kiss to your lips and brings his saturated hand to pump his cock a few times.

He sets a steady rhythm and keeps his neck craned to look at you as he touches himself, groaning and panting as he takes in the real image and not one on a screen. You watch the erotic scene for a few moments before tilting down and planting a few open-mouthed kisses and bites along his neck and stepping away from bed. 

“Don’t stop.” You order when he briefly pauses in confusion, and Kento immediately returns his pace. 

Popping the buttons of his shirt, he lets you guide the material off him and to the floor, revealing a body sculpted from marble. Hefty pectoral muscles, soft but defined abs, and biceps that could probably lift a refrigerator are on display as he continues to pump himself. 

It’s a view you could stare at for a lifetime, but you snap out of it and slowly slide the straps of your dress off your shoulders. The strip tease is done while entirely maintaining eye contact; when the satin material drops to the floor and you’re left braless in your dripping lace panties, Kento audibly groans. 

“Fuck, baby… look even ngh– better than my imagination…”

You smile and snap the elastic band of your panties against your hip before sloooowly sliding it down one leg and then the other, showing your wet pretty pussy on full display. Kento’s hand speeds up, giving extra attention to his tip as you put on a slight show and pinch your own nipples and snake a hand down to rub a light circle to your clit. 

“Please…” He huffs out, slowing his pace. “Don’t wanna cum if it’s not in that tight cunt.”

Kento rises to his feet and scoops you into his arms before tossing you back on the bed and kicking his underwear off the rest of the way. Laying flat against the plush mattress, you shimmy up to the pillow while he quickly climbs to hover over you and presses hard kisses into your lips with hunger. 

His erection drips onto your navel pathetically as he grinds against you a few times; blonde pubes scratch your skin as he drags his cock up and down the mound of your pussy before lining up with your needy hole. 

“Promise to haa– treat her right later, ‘kay baby? I’ll give her plenty of kisses later, I just.. Need to be inside you”

He’s talking to you about your own pussy before spitting down on his dick and teasing your entrance with the head a few times before slowly stretching you wide and sliding in. 

Hands immediately digging into his shoulders, Kento waits a moment with peppered kisses along your temple as he gives a few shallow pumps to get you properly adjusted to the sheer girth. His knees splay your thighs a bit wider and one hand reaches to place a pillow below your hips before he sinks in steadily. 

“Oh fuck– Kento!”

“I know baby, I know… just a bit more for me okay?” He presses his hips further in until his cockhead is kissing your cervix and his pubes are kissing your clit as he bottoms out. The sting of the stretch turns delicious as gives a few gentle strokes before snapping his hips up and forward into you. 

Tits bouncing with each thrust, you hold onto him for dear life as he molds your pussy to the shape of his dick with each pump. Kento throws his head into the crook of your neck and nearly crushes you from the weight of his frame, but the close proximity creates perfect friction against your clit as his cock bullies against your cervix. 

“Nghh.. feels so good– like you were made f’me…”

You toss your head back into the pillow and give him access to mark up your neck while his hips don’t relent. “Ahhh d-don’t say things like t-that unless you mean it…”

He takes a stronger bite to the throb of your pulse and gives a harsher snap of his hips. “I do.. Fuck– of course I mean it… ‘been thinking about you longer than you know…” he sits upright on his knees and pins your hands to your navel and bullies your pussy even more. “Made me so mad to think that the wedding might be for you… before I even had the chance to make you mine…”

You’re borderline drunk on his cock already, and he fairs no better above you with irises practically in the shape of hearts. Large hands keep your own pinned down as the room is filled with the wet squelches coming from where your bodies meet and the plap! of his balls smacking the flesh of your ass. 

With the residual amount of coyness left, you bat your eyes up at him. “O-Oh yea? Nfgh– and what if I was getting married, huh?”

Kento furrows his brows and nearly snarls at the image of you with someone besides him– like the idea of another person getting to fuck your perfect pussy was blasphemy. 

He jerks his hips up to rut against your g-spot and groans as you clench around him. “It would be w-wrong but… fuck so tight– I’d still… still try and make a move…”

One of the hands that pins down your own snakes to the plush area below your navel, right above where his cock drills into you from the inside. He pushes down. “Haaaa… imagine if I could have you like this, b-but you were already engaged…? God, I'd at least wanna– wanna send you down the aisle knocked up with my kid.”

Your eyes practically roll back into your skull as he snakes that hand down further to rub circles on your swollen clit while his tip grinds against your g-spot over and over again. Toes circling and voice wavering into a high pitch, you screw your eyes shut and feel your orgasm slam into you. 

The sound between your bodies is nearly palpable from how wet you’ve become and Kento releases his upright position to hover back over you and increase his own pace. Mind going numb from the aftershocks, he pulls out partially to fuck his tip in and out at an erratic pace before slamming back in and twitching as he cums. 

Hot semen pours out with each weakened snap of his hips as he fills your pussy up with his seed and keeps your bodies connected even after he’s finished cumming. A cream ring around his shaft and smeared on his pubes, and semi-opaque cum dribbling from your cunt and onto the sheets, Kento winces as he pulls out his softening erection. 

You keep your gaze on the ceiling for a moment as you catch your breath and wipe the few drops of sweat that fell from Kento’s face onto your chest in the moment. His gaze lingers on the way his semen slowly begins to drip from your pussy with an indiscernible face, before he’s sitting upright and guiding you to rest against him.

“Ah, sorry. That was…. A bit much, maybe?” he sheepishly coughs out while rubbing a warm hand on your shoulder.

“No, it was really nice– you were amazing.”

He pauses at the compliment, but you simply offer a smile and plant a quick peck to his cheekbone while wondering what the move was now. 

He had mentioned something about dating earlier…. But does the post-nut clarity change anything..?

Before you can dwell on it too long, he rises from the bed and gives your hair a quick comb with his fingers and tilts his head for the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yea?”

The marble tilted floors are cold against your feet as Kento reaches over the tub to start the warm water; he helps you climb in and takes a spot next to you in the large jacuzzi as the jets slowly push bubbles around the surface. 

Each action is soft and sweet, as if he wasn’t just rearranging your guts and threatening to get you pregnant just moments ago. He passes the soap, rubs your shoulders, and lets you play with his hair when you offer to assist in applying shampoo. 

That is, until he guides you to sit in his lap because ‘it offers a better position for relaxing the muscles’, and when he drags his hands over your breasts because ‘it’s important to get them routinely checked’. 

Not that you mind it, the heat between your legs getting warmer as his hands work their way down further and his lips plant a variety of kisses and bites to the flesh on your shoulders. When his hands hover just above your cunt once more, and a new erection now growing behind you, he stops short as if it pained him to not continue.  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about this..”

Your heart drops for a moment– he’s a man richer than you can imagine and drives a car worth more than your annual salary… he’s probably got tons of women like this on the side. Mentally scolding yourself for thinking that he would actually want something more than a one night stand, Kento nudges your face to the side in order to get a better glimpse at your expression.

“Whatever is running through that mind of yours, please stop it.” He traces the curve of your jaw and taps your pulse point underneath. “I want to do this again, but– forgive my ‘old fashioned’ opinion– the right way.” 

He pauses a moment, nearly nervous. “On a date. I’d still like your company during this weekend if you’re not busy, but maybe when we return home I can take you to dinner sometime? It would be nice to actually go on a date if we’re going to be dating.”

…

He’s so painfully forward that it actually turns you on more. 

Blinking a few times and bashfully shrugging– as if you really had to think about it– you lean closer and smile up at him. 

“I’d like that. My only request…”

He sucks in a still breath, ready for you to put some sort of cap on the amount of times he can see you, or the amount of gifts he’d like to order to your house, or–

You laugh at his worry and guide his hand further to right above your clit. “Is that you pick me up in your sports car each time.”

NO, YOU AIN’T NO MRS.

OH, BUT YOU GOT A SPORTS CAR!

ok I DID NOT mean for this to be so long, i just think it's borderline impossible for me to write smut without a plotline idk why

sorry it's so dayum long, but hopefully you pookies liked it!

-> next post should hopefully be CKNF or a small headcanon

also im obsessed with this song currently and Kento fits sooo nicely... though I was also debating writing this for Higuruma instead!

lemme know what you think<33

likes/comments/reblogs all appreciated

ILY

-oatmeal

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ❞

KINKTOBER WEEK TWO.

⤿ pairing(s): halbrand!sauron x fem!human!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.6K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.

⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.

In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.

Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.

The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.

It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.

There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.

The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.

Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.

You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.

In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.

The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.

If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.

In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.

It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.

A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.

Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”

“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”

His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.

Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”

You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.

A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.

He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.

“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.

Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.

“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.

There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.

“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”

“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.

A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”

Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.

“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”

“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.

Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”

With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”

In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.

Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.

“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.

“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”

If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.

There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”

A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.

Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”

Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.

“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”

“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.

As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.

“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”

This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.

“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.

“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”

You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.

To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.

“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.

Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.

Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.

To be loved, to be coveted.

“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”

A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.

Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.

Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.

“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.

Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.

Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.

He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.

His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.

Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.

The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.

Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.

His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.

Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.

Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.

Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.

As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.

“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.

“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.

Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.

It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.

There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.

He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.

As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.

Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.

Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.

“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.

“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.

A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.

Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.

Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”

“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.

An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.

Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.

With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.

Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.

Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.

“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.

He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.

Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.

His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.

Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.

There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.

Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.

“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.

Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.

The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”

Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.

The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.

A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.

Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.

The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.

It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.

He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.

Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.

The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.

His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.

Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.

The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.

Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.

Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.

“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.

“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.

Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.

Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.

“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Consider it a gift.”

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Joint Mission Author's Notes: This was supposed to be short but I had an epiphany after I finished Warnings: MDNI, Angst

This was a standard joint mission. Two teams, one task, in and out, and it's done. So why did John Price feel so nervous?

The mission seemed pretty straightforward and the new guys seemed formidable. Not at the same caliber as the 141, but they're getting there.

Really, everything looks fine, so why is he nervous?

But it didn't matter as he pushes his concern to the side as he greets the team of three on the tarmac. After some quick introductions, he guides the trio to the conference room where the rest of his team waits.

As they got closer, John felt his heart beating faster and faster. What was going on with him?

And he wasn't the only one as Johnny also had a bad feeling about this mission. However, unlike his captain, he actually voiced his concerns out loud.

"And why were we paired up with these guys again?" the Scotsman asks for the 5th time today. Ghost glares at him while Kyle groans. Gaz shoots you a quick glance to see if that had caught your attention. It didn't.

"I mean, why couldn't we get Farah and Alex to help us on this or even Los Vaqueros?" Soap adds.

"Laswell's orders," Kyle grunts out.

Honestly, the fellow Sergeant wasn't sure what the concern was. He could tell Price was also feeling something, but what? Laswell has never led them astray so this should turn out fine, right? The last time Laswell sent someone, things started out perfectly. As long as the 141 can act right, then things should go swimmingly.

Well, after first introductions, Kyle realizes that they're not the ones that need to act right. It's the new guys. Gaz caught the extra attention you got from the three.

"Sergeant Keegan P. Russ, at your service."

"Sergeant Kim Hong-jin, but you can call me Horangi."

"Lieutenant Nikto."

That last one would not have been so bad if you weren't the only one who got a handshake from the Russian.

Kyle knew he wasn't the only one to notice as he caught Ghost clenching his fist.

And Ghost was not going to let you go without a fight.

"Isn't there supposed to be four of you? Where's your captain?" he asks. Ghost stands tall and stares them down.

The three don't react as they take a seat at the table. It isn't until the three have settled in their seats that one of them speaks up.

"Our Captain already talked to yours so don't worry about it," Keegan replies. He stares back at Ghost, clearly not intimidated by the British Lieutenant.

"Great, so we're stuck with a Yankee, a gambling addict, and a commie," Ghost groans out.

"That's enough," you bark out. You shoot an incredulous look at the Lieutenant who immediately buckles down. You order everyone to take a seat so you can start your presentation. "The faster we get this done, the faster I can get back to work and you guys can continue whatever this is," you chastise.

The new team immediately voices their agreement which made Ghost's blood boil.

As you go over the details of the mission, Price looks around the room and catches the way the three new soldiers stared at you. Something in their eyes didn't sit right with him. It looked way too familiar, it almost reminded him of his bo... oh hell no.

He calls out your name and says, "you know what, I can take it from here." He pushes his chair out and places his hands on his knees, getting ready to stand up. However, before he can even get up, you immediately speak up.

"What do you think you're doing?" You ask. You're clearly not impressed.

Price feels the energy in the room shift. He looks at you sheepishly and repeats himself. "I can finish it from here."

You scoff. "Captain Price," you slowly say, "what's my position here?"

"The 141's Intelligence Operative."

"Close, the 141's temporary Intelligence Operative," you correct him. John feels his heart clench. You fail to notice his heartbreak and continue, "and what's my role as the Intelligence Operative?"

"Deal with anything and everything that has to do with intelligence. I think I got it, I'm--"

"No, no, no. I'm not done," you bite back. You're obviously annoyed. It seemed like you were annoyed most days here. "And this presentation, what is it about?"

"Intelligence surrounding our newest mission," John grumbles out.

"Okay, okay. So, if this presentation has to do with intelligence, who should do it?" You stare at him, eyes wide, waiting for an answer.

Horangi raises his hand which catches you off guard. "Yes, Sergeant Kim." Now you're sheepish, embarrassed that the new guys had to see you like this.

"Please, call me Horangi," he assures you. Much to John's dismay, that seemed to ease your concerns. "If I may, I think the answer that you're looking for and your captain forgot is that you should be doing this presentation, and I completely agree." Despite your straight face, your eyes glowed with content. You thanked Sergeant Kim and turned your attention back to Price.

"Is that okay with you Captain? May I continue?"

John just nods, feeling absolutely embarrassed and ashamed with himself. What the fuck was he thinking?

As you continue with your presentation, the 141 oscillate their attention from you to the new guys. Ghost catches the gentle look in Nikto's eyes. Johnny recognizes the look of admiration on the Keegan's face and Kyle notices the excitement in Horangi's eyes. And Price finally understands the root of his worries as he realizes that this new task force is looking at you the exact same way that you used to look at them.

It seemed like the one thing that the boys were avoiding could very much happen now and it would all be their fault.

Word Count: 980

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[ariesprincesss]

Super Random Astro Observations :P

View more Astro Observations here🔽

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. II

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. III

Super Random Astro Observations Pt. IV

(Disclaimer, I am not an astrologer just a silly girl that knows a ton of information on astrology🤓)

•When I had my first kiss, I had transit asteroid kiss (8267) conjuct my chart ruler & also my natal kiss conjuct transit moon & mercury.

•i feel like gemini placements are good at customer service jobs (not that they enjoy it) but just because it can be easy for you to switch the personality “on” when you need to communicate with others.

•when i had an event that happened to me that literally changed the course of my life through a mental (good) shift that led to me changing how i looked/wanted to look physically, i had pluto in the 1st house & also sun, vertex, & venus in the 8th house in my lunar return chart.

•as a someone with both capricorn moon & 4h pluto i have a hard time believing that these placements always indicate something bad. i’ve seen a lot of fear mongering regarding both, however for me it manifests as having a hardworking mother with a prominent job🤷🏾‍♀️

•i’ve had sooo many situationships with 7h moons & each one basically ended up bad LMAO but during they treated me perfectly??? #lovebombers. my 5h neptune can’t help but love u guys.😫

•context is SUPER important because i have mars in the 10th house BUT i also have saturn there too. because of that i currently don’t have the clearest image of a real career i want yet :/ this is why it’s def important to take single placement observations w a grain of salt!

•8h synastry where my sun and mercury was in his 8th house the intimacy…oh. my. god. like nothing i’ve ever experienced we never even fully had sex just making out but lord the eye contact ,the breathing…amazing and very intense .

•my name asteroid was in a partners 1st house in their lunar return chart conjuct sun & mercury when we met , had an instant connection & talked all day to night !!

•neptune, saturn, & north node in 7th house lunar return chart my dating life was HORRIBLE but from it i finally became aware of horrible patterns that i allowed in my dating life.

•transit moon conjuct natal 9h venus when i went on a tropical vacation to an island!!

[deen-djarin]

Suds n’ Trunks

Summary: Joel ordered a car washing service…bikini car washing service.

Tags: 18+, No Outbreak!Joel, Cheeky Flirty!Reader, Porn with a sprinkle of plot, Daddy kink, Choking, Joel is a menace and so is reader, Oral (m & f receiving), Unprotected P-in-V, Consensual Creampie

—

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes… It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i’m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

author’s note: THIS WAS MY FIRST FIC EVER AHSHSHEH so forgive me if its shitty or the grammar is horrible bc english is my 2nd language:3 ALSO i have never written smut before heheheh, your feedback is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading this horny piece of literature!!

[bucks-babe]

See What I See

Pairing: Husband!Dilf!Bucky x Wife!Milf! f reader

Summary: You husband shows you how much he loves your postpartum body

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Slight angst (Petal is insecure about her body after birth), postpartum sex, fluffy smut, safe sex (for once), body worship, they are in love, stretch marks, weight gain, struggles with weight loss, lactation kink?, husband kink?, lube, fingering f!rec, p in v, oral f!rec, praise kink, talk about sexual dysfunction, struggling to orgasm, sex toy (vibrator), Bucky is the perfect man, safe to say that he is officially a Dilf, mentions of masturbation, mentions of their daughter, small mention of a hypothetical fire and burns (like one line)

A/N: Part 2 of Let Me Be of Service but can be read alone. Don't know how good this will be but here it is. Thanks to my girl, @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are my own

You know that Bucky is getting antsy; he’ll never say it, but he misses your body, craves the warmth of you engulfing him in your tight heat. Even more than that, he misses holding you, having you sit in his lap, his arms wrapped around you, every part of your body pressed against his, your nightly cuddles, all of it.

He knows that your body has gone through a lot, but he needs to be close to you again, sex or not, he just wants to hold you. Of course, he’ll never say anything; he doesn’t want to pressure you into having sex with him. He’s been patiently waiting to make love to you for eleven weeks. Recently, he and his right hand have been best friends.

Tonight is the first night that he’s able to take you on a date. It’s not a very lavish date - takeout and a movie, but you didn’t want to leave the house, too much packing with your padded bra that you would have to change, and the thought of leaking through your dress was too much to handle. 

The date was perfect, finally able to feel like yourself again; you weren’t mom and dad, but Duckie and Petal. It’s not like you don’t want to have sex with your husband, quite the opposite, but between little Bug and your hormones you’ve been struggling. On top of that, the insecurities about your body have been running rampant in your mind.

Your breasts aren’t as perky, stomach softer than it's ever been, raised stretch marks cover your stomach, breasts, and thighs, cellulite dimpling the fat on your ass and thighs. Your body isn’t the same as it was before. You knew that it wasn’t going to be the same, but you didn’t expect such a drastic change. Other women seem to be able to lose their pregnancy weight in weeks, but you’ve somehow gained weight. Maybe it was because Bucky made sure that you were eating, saying that you needed your nutrients to feed Bug, but it didn’t help your confidence either way.

But by the end of the night you weren’t thinking about that, you were thinking about how sexy your man looked in his blue button up, hair perfectly styled, your favorite scent on his skin - you wanted him. It started slowly, gently straddling his lap.

“Petal, what are you doing?” He wasn’t going to complain about your position, warm palms already tracing the exposed flesh of your thighs.

“You just look so good, Duckie. Could eat you right up.” You place your hands on his shoulders, lightly grinding your pantie clad core against his already hard bulge. The lopsided smirk on his face makes your cunt pulse with need. “S’been too long.”

“I’ll wait forever and a day for you, Petal.” His right hand cups your chin, leading your lips to his. Your shared moans mix together, only sharing pecks for too long, never sharing deep, languid kisses like you used to. He flicks his tongue on your lower lip and without hesitation you open up.

The kiss doesn’t speed up. Bucky has waited too long to rush this moment. His left hand moves to your hip, encouraging you to grind against him. At the first motion, Bucky breaks the kiss, tipping his head back, looking at you with half lidded eyes, pupils blown and a dopey smile on his face. “Petal, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Bucky catches the way your demeanor shifts, almost cringing away from his praise. “I mean it. You’re so fucking perfect.” The movement of your hips stop completely and you try to leave his lap but Bucky only pulls you closer.

“Duckie, I don’t look the same as I used to. I’m scared you won’t find me attractive anymore.” The words come out so easily. It’s your Bucky; you could tell him anything.

“Ah, ah, Petal, I will not tolerate you talking about my wife like that, you hear me? This perfect body, all those changes that you think ruin you? Fuck, they make me fall harder for you if that’s even possible. You gave me my daughter; how could I think that you are less than the goddess you are?” 

“Duckie, I..” He cuts you off, his eyes full of sorrow for not making you see how wonderful you are sooner.

“Shh, let me show you. Let me show you what you do to me.” You nod, trusting him to bring you to the surface. He starts with feather light kisses down your neck, tongue lapping at the sheen of sweat starting to form. “Skin so soft, tastes so good.”

Easing one of the straps from your sundress down your shoulder, he trails his lips all the way down your arm, eyes meeting yours as he gets lower. He does the same on the other side, only pressing extra kisses to your ring. You can feel his grin against your skin as he sucks on your collarbones.

Your breath hitches as he lowers the fabric, exposing your sensitive breasts to him, cupping one in each hand. “Perfect fucking tits. So beautiful, feeding our baby, keeping her strong and healthy. You do that, Petal, your body does that for her.” A lump begins to form in your throat, his gentle touches and praises almost too much and he isn’t even inside you yet.

As his thumbs graze your nipples, milk leaks out. “Oh my god, Duckie, I’m so sorry.” Before you can move to clean them up, Bucky latches on, suckling, his eyes locking onto yours. A heady moan leaves your lips; breastfeeding wasn’t something that was pleasurable. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but the sight of Bucky latched on is erotic, your husband worshiping your breasts has your pussy clenching around nothing.

A distinct pop sounds out as he pulls off of your nipple, only to move on to the other. You can’t control the swirl of your hips against his crotch or the continuous leaking of your breasts. “Almost as good as your pussy, but nothing can beat the taste of my sweet girl. C’mon, let me take you to bed.”

He picks you up with ease, your naked breasts rubbing against his shirt, soaking the front of it. In the room, he sets you down, pulling off the rest of your dress, letting it pool at your feet, taking your hand as you step out. You whimper at the sight of his hand rubbing his bulge. “Duckie, please, need you.” 

“In time, sweetheart. I’m not done with your body just yet.” With one hand on your waist and one on your head, he lowers you to the bed, only your panties remaining. “Don’t know how you’re so goddamn gorgeous.” You feel your body go lax as he crawls over you, lips tracing every mark on your stomach, moaning at the soft skin there.

“Love these stretch marks. Makes me so hard knowing that my baby did this to you. My baby gave you these pretty stripes.” Your legs fall open on their own accord, desperate for his mouth or fingers to touch your pussy. But he only does the same thing to the stretch marks on your thighs, sucking bruises the closer he gets to your cunt, and you’re sure that you’re dripping.

“Duckie, please I need you to touch my pussy. You make me feel so good, s’been so long.” Bucky groans at the breathy moans leaving your perfect lips. He keeps his eyes on yours as he eases your underwear down your legs and throws them across the room.

Still holding eye contact, Bucky brings his middle finger to your core. To both of your surprise, you aren’t wet - at all. Mentally you were so turned on but physically your body wasn’t. “I don’t, Duckie, it’s not, you didn’t.” You don’t know what you were trying to say, embarrassment flooding your stomach. 

“I know, Petal, s’not your fault. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed about.” The love and safety in his eyes relax you. Bucky leans down, tongue running through your slit, pulling back just to spit on your clit. “Still the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Only pussy I want to see for the rest of my life.” Laying flat on the bed, Bucky lifts your thighs on his shoulder and dives back in, purposefully getting his spit all over your cunt, acting as lube for his motions.

Bucky’s always known exactly how to fuck you, how to lick you, to make you cum, but the first suck has your body jerking, a hiss escaping you. “Duckie, just lick, please, too sensitive.” He doesn’t pull away from your center but changes from sucking to licking. Your hand drops down to thread through his hair. “Just like that, baby. Love your tongue on me.”

You see his hips grind down on the bed, the vibrations of his moan almost send you over the edge. “Give me your fingers, please.” Bucky has to use all the restraint in his body not to cum on the bed; it’s been too long since he’s heard your pretty moans. His middle finger teases your entrance, slowly sliding in, groaning at the tightness around his finger. 

“Oh, shit, m’gonna cum, don’t stop, just like that.” Your hips grind against his face, chasing more of him, pussy pulsing around his digit. He keeps the same pace, not changing the rhythm at all, but your orgasm is just out of reach. Vibrations of his encouragement don’t do anything and your orgasm slowly fades away.

Tapping on his head, Bucky pulls away, clearly confused as to why you wanted him to stop. “Can’t cum, Duck.”

“Why’d you stop me? You know I’ll go until you soak my face, Petal.”

“Because I could feel it, that I wasn’t going to cum.” You run your hands down your face, groaning in frustration. “I’m sorry, I ruined the moment. If you want I can suck you off.” Bucky only raises an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Duckie, I haven’t done anything for you in almost three months. I can’t leave you high and dry.” 

“Get over here.” He swifty pulls you onto his lap, grabbing both sides of your face. “First of all, you can never ruin the moment. When you were still pregnant you accidentally pissed on me and I still finished fucking you. You think that some trouble cumming is going to ruin the moment?” You suck your teeth at his pointed look but don’t interrupt him.

“Second of all, and this one is very important. You will never and I mean never do anything that you do not want to do. I don’t give a shit if we haven’t had sex in three years; I will not make you feel like you have to please me.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do, but I don’t want to disappoint you if I can’t cum. Don’t want you to think it’s your fault. I want to feel you inside me, but what if I can’t cum? What if it isn’t good for you? What if I’m loose and it's not the same?” Bucky rubs his thumbs through your tears before they fall down your face.

“Petal, my perfect wife,” he presses soft kisses to both your eyes, “all I want is to make you feel good, show you how much I love your body.” Gently, he lays down, pulling you on top of him again. “Of course it’s going to be different. You gave birth, sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean that your little pussy isn’t going to make me bust.” You swallow, trying not to cry again. “Come here.”

He quickly pulls his shirt off and tosses it across the room, pulling you down, feeling your naked chest against his, a few droplets of milk leaking out. You bury your head in his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Tracing his hands up and down your back, you feel your body go lax, missing being so close to your husband. “My pretty Petal, your little pussy was squeezing my finger so damn tight that I don’t know if she can still take my cock.”

You perk up at his words. “Really?” Bucky giggles at how easy it was to make you feel better. It wasn’t a lie either, after so long of not stretching around his cock your pussy forgot how to welcome him. “Can we, can we try again?” Grinning at your question, Bucky reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom, lube, and your favorite vibrator. “Duckie, when did you buy condoms?”

A blush creeps up his cheeks. “When you got cleared for sex.” At the look on your face he quickly explains himself. “Not that I was expecting anything. I just wanted to be prepared, you know, since you’re extra fertile after giving birth. And I wouldn’t complain about having another but I figured you would want to wait a bit, because we just had little Bug but-” You cut him off with a deep kiss, his hands immediately caressing your body.

“I love you, you’re the perfect husband, you know that?” 

“Well, you married me for a reason.” You just shook your head at him in disbelief, grinding your hips against his, drawing a groan from him.

“I want you inside of me, Duckie. Can I please have your cock.” Bucky groans, throwing his head back. Flipping you both over and standing up, Bucky takes off the rest of his clothes. “Shit, I almost forgot how beautiful you are, Duckie.”

Climbing back on top of you, he smirks at you. “I would never forget how gorgeous you are, and I’ll be damned if I let you forget either.” You almost drool at the sight of your sculpted husband rolling the condom down his thick cock. “Damn, Petal, I can’t remember the last time we used one of these. Could barely remember how to put it on, maybe I should have asked for help.”

“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable.” No matter where you are, Bucky always has to make a joke. Half of the reason is because he loves to see you smile, but the other half is because you make him comfortable enough to leave all inhibitions at the door.

His warm hands gently spread your legs, allowing him to settle in between. “Holy fuck. I’m not gonna fucking last, I can guarentee it. Look at you, all spread out for me, all your curves - pulchritudinous.”

The clenching of your cunt is ignored at his last word. “What the fuck did you just say? Pulchritudinous? Really?” Bucky’s eyes snap back to yours, previously latched onto your body, a huge smile gracing his features, the cutest giggle leaving him, eyes bright and shining.

“Sorry, Petal, pussy got me feeling philosophical.” Your mouth falls open and you blink at him - once, twice, before bursting out in laughter.

“There is something wrong with you.”

“But you love it.”

“I do, but are you going to fuck me or not?”

“No, Petal, I’m going to make love to you.”

He grabs the lube, letting a glob fall onto your cunt before rubbing it in, cooing at the hiss you let out from the coldness. “Are you ready, sweet girl?” Your breathy yes has Bucky lining his tip up. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” You nod, reaching out to grab his hands.

Callused fingers rub the back of your hands, soothing your nerves. Somewhere along that way, you’ve relaxed, mind no longer worried about how you look, not when Bucky is worshiping every inch of you. Easing in, you both gasp, Bucky at how tight and warm you feel, you at the uncomfortable stretch. “Wait, Duckie.” Bucky immediately stops, only his tip inside. 

“You alright, Petal?” You close your eyes, nodding between deep breaths. The rhythmic pulsing of your tight cunt has your husband holding in a groan. His hands run up and down your thighs, resting them over his own, using his position to take in how beautiful you are, soft belly on display, heaving, wet breasts, the most beautiful stretch marks lining your belly and thighs. He catches the bright pink of your vibrator out of the corner of his eye, reaching out to grab it, slowly tracing it on your inner thighs.

“Yeah, just need a minute. Need more lube, please.” You're ready for the chill this time as he adds more lube. “Can you use the vibrator while I relax, please?” It takes every muscle in Bucky’s body to not slam the rest of the way into you, pounding your perfect pussy with your toy on high, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you, but he knows you need time.

He starts on the lowest setting, trailing it around your lips, feeling the vibrations on his cock, before gently placing it on your clit. “Oh.” Your little gasp has Bucky leaking precum into the condom. Slowly, you start to roll your hips, taking a little more of his cock each time, chasing the pleasure from the toy.

“That’s it, good girl.” You squeeze the hand that’s still laced with yours, soft moans leaving your lips at his praise. “Take what you need, Petal, I got you.” The ache in your cunt dies down little by little, still trying to accept his cock after months of recovery. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, just as good as I remember. Fuck, maybe even better. You wanna know why, Petal?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, words coming out between breathy groans. “Because this perfect pussy, this perfect body, gave me the most beautiful gift. Can feel you clenching around me, so close to cumming on your husband’s cock.”

You don’t even realize that you’ve taken his entire length inside of you until the warmth of his heavy balls rests against your ass. Clit pulsing under the tiny bullet, ready to let go and give your husband what he wants. “M’gonna cum, oh, please. Baby, I need it, been your good girl. Let me cum.”

Your eyes open, meeting Bucky’s loving gaze. “Always been my good girl, Petal. I’ve got you, let your husband take care of you. Cum for me, soak my cock, m’already so close for you.” It doesn’t take much to send you over the edge, Bucky doing everything in his power to empty your mind, making you only know the pleasure he’s giving you. 

“Fuck, baby.” You can’t finish the rest of your sentence, eyes rolling back as your orgasm rolls over you. Bucky leans down, taking your lips in his before his own release floods into the condom, his groans falling into your mouth. You both stay like that for a while, breathing in each other’s scent, words of praise whispered in your ear.

Eventually, Bucky rolls off, taking off the used condom and tossing it in the trash. “Could’ve given it to me, Duckie, missed the taste of your cum.” You giggle at Bucky’s groan.

“I could get it out from the trash?” He words it like a question, but you know he is 100% serious.

“No, you dirtball.” Bucky laughs before scooping you up into his arms, holding you so close to him that you can feel every breath he takes. 

“Petal, I will spend the rest of my life proving to you how beautiful you are. It doesn’t matter if we have another baby, we get old together, you get in a fire and burn 90% of your body.”

You smack his arm at his last point. “Duckie! Don’t say that or it’ll end up happening and I don’t want to go through that.”

“Neither do I, Petal, but I’m letting you know that my cock will always be hard for you, even when I’m 80.”

“You don’t think you’re going to need pills by then?”

“Of course not, not when I have you. It would be impossible for me to not get hard when it comes to you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Hell, I’ll probably still be hard when I’m dead.”

“Duckie!”

He only laughs and somehow pulls you even closer. “I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, Petal. You’re the love of my life and it breaks my heart that you don’t see what I see.”

The mood in the room suddenly changes. “You’re my soulmate, Duckie, and it may take some time, but I think it would be impossible to not feel like I’m the sexiest woman alive when I’m with you.”

“Good, because it’s the truth and I get to have you all to myself.” You fall asleep in his arms feeling much better about your body, already planning on how you’re going to reward him for being the perfect husband. Maybe you’ll wake him up with the sloppiest blowjob. Yeah, he’ll love that.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How an obscure advisory board lets utilities steal $50b/year from ratepayers

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in NYC on WEDNESDAY (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN and at PENN STATE on THURSDAY (Feb 27). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

Two figures to ponder.

First: if your local power company is privately owned, you've seen energy rate hikes at 49% above inflation over the last three years.

Second: if your local power company is publicly owned, you've seen energy rates go up at 44% below inflation over the same period.

Power is that much-theorized economic marvel: a "natural monopoly." Once someone has gone to the trouble of bringing a power wire to your house, it's almost impossible to convince anyone else to invest in bringing a competing wire to your electrical service mast. For this reason, most people in the world get their energy from a publicly owned utility, and the rates reflect social priorities as well as cost-recovery. For example, basic power to run lights and a refrigerator might be steeply discounted, while energy-gobbling McMansions pay a substantial premium for the extra power to heat and cool their ostentatious lawyer-foyers and "great rooms."

But in America, we believe in the miracle of the market, even where no market could possibly exist because of natural monopolies. That's why about 70% of Americans get their power from shareholder-owned companies, whose managers' prime directive is extracting profit, not serving their communities. To check this impulse, these private utilities are overseen by various flavors of public bodies, usually called Public Utility Commissions (PUCs).

For 40 years, PUCs have limited private utilities to a "rate of return" based on a "just and reasonable profit." They always gamed this to make it higher than was fair, but in recent years, the "experts" who advise PUCs on rate-setting have been boiled down to a tiny number of economists, who have discovered that the true "just and reasonable profit" is much higher than it's ever been considered.

Mark Ellis worked for one of those profit-hiking "experts," but he's turned whistleblower. On paper, Ellis looks like the enemy: former chief economist at Sempra Energy, an ex-Exxonmobile analyst, a retired McKinsey Consultant, and a Socal Edison engineer. But Ellis couldn't stomach the corruption, and he went public, publishing a report for the American Economic Liberties Project called "Rate of Return Equals Cost of Capital" that lays out the con in stark detail:

https://www.economicliberties.us/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/20250102-aelp-ror-v5.pdf

I first encountered Ellis last week when he was interviewed on Matt Stoller and David Dayen's excellent Organized Money podcast, where he memorably referred to these utilities as "pocket-picking machines":

https://www.organizedmoney.fm/p/the-pocket-picking-machine

Dayen followed this up with a great summary in The American Prospect (where he is editor-in-chief):

https://prospect.org/environment/2025-02-21-secret-society-raising-your-electricity-bills/

At the center of the scam is a professional association called the Society of Utility and Regulatory Financial Analysts (SURFA). The experts in SURFA are dominated by just four consulting companies, who provide 90% of the testimony for rate-setting exercises. Just two people account for half of that input.

In order to calculate the "just and reasonable profit," these experts make use of economic models. Even in normal economics, these models are the source of infinite mischief and suffering, built on assumptions that legitimize the most abusive conduct:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

But even by the low standards of normal economic models, the utility models are really bad. They rely on unique "risk premium" and "expected earnings" calculations that no one else in finance will touch. As Dayen explains, these models are "perfectly circular."

This might be a bit confusing, but only because it's one of those scams that you assume you must have misunderstood because it's so, well, scammy. In the "expected earnings" analysis, the "just and reasonable profit" a utility is allowed to build into its rates is defined as "the amount of money it would like to make." In other words, if a utility projects future revenues of $10 billion over the next ten years, that is its "expected earnings." "Expected earnings" are treated as equivalent to "just and reasonable profits." So under this model, whatever number the utility puts in its financial projections is the number that it's allowed to take out of the pockets of ratepayers.

This is just as bad as it sounds. In 2022, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission said that it "defied financial logic." No duh – even SURFA's own training manual says it "does not square well with economic theory."

In the world of regulated utilities, this kind of mathing isn't supposed to be possible. The PUC and its "consumer advocates" are supposed to listen to these outlandish tales and laugh the utility out of the room.

But it's SURFA that trains the consumer advocates who work for the PUCs, the large energy customers, and community groups. These people – who are supposed to act as the adversaries of the companies that pay SURFA members to justify rate-hikes – are indoctrinated by SURFA to treat its absurd models as accepted economic gospel. SURFA has co-opted its opposition, transformed it into a botnet that parrots its own talking-points.

Because of this, the private power companies that serve 70% of US households made an extra $50b last year, about $300 per household. What's more, because the excess profits available to companies that simply bamboozle their regulators are so massive, they swamp all the other tools regulators use to attempt to improve the energy system. No incentive offered for conservation or efficiency can touch the gigantic sums energy companies can make by ripping off ratepayers, so nearly all the incentive programs approved by PUCs have been dead on arrival.

What's more, utilities are allowed to fold the cost of hiring the experts who get them rate hikes onto the ratepayers. In other words, if a utility hires a $10,000,000 expert who successfully argues for a $1,000,000,000 rate-increase, they get to recoup the ten mil they spent securing the right to rip you off for a billion dollars on top of that cool bill.

We often talk about regulatory capture in the abstract, but this is as concrete as it can be. Ellis's report makes a raft of highly specific, technical regulatory changes that states or cities could impose on their PUCs. These are shovel-ready ideas: if you find yourself contemplating a sky-high power bill, maybe you could call your state rep and read them aloud.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/24/surfa/#mark-ellis

[juletheghoul]

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

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War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

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[austinbutlerslovers]

Pleasure Palais

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin’s eye catching ensemble is so distracting it brings you to your knees.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin in work mode• teasing • flirty •romantic• eye catching imprint• bj in the green room • semi public • size kink •cum eating/swallowing• orgasm denial • kiss it better •oral on fem against a wall • p in v against a wall• orgasms •cream pie • after care

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✨Inspo multiple DMs/comment/request/reblog *minor delay Caught Stealing trailer dropped 😱

Pleasure Palais

The Cannes Film Festival is a two day whirlwind of glamour and chaos, and you’re right in the middle of it.

You’ve been by Austin’s side through the frenzy of his Eddington’s premiere, watching him navigate the spotlight with that effortless charm that makes your heart race. 

Now the following day in true Cannes fashion, it’s the daytime photo call and panel discussion.

In the hotel room, you slip into a chic outfit: a low-cut white halter top, tucked into a high-waisted tan skirt, cinched with a slim leather belt. You complete the look with a delicate charm bracelet, and a dainty gold chain, and your black Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses.

It’s Cannes so you want to look polished but not overdone, blending into the sophistication with ease.

Austin is styled wearing a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up unbuttoned, and expensive beige slacks—loose-fitting, yet tailored so perfectly they hug his waist accentuating every line of his body. 

He turns toward the mirror, checking his side profile—and that’s when you see it.

The fabric clings to the outline of his cock, so prominent it’s practically obscene, heavy and hanging, shifting with every slight movement.

His eyes find yours in the mirror, and he smiles at you affectionately and you smile back a little dazed just as his publicist steps in to speak with him.

No one else seems to notice, but you can’t stop staring now, and you’re consumed with the thought of whether his styling might be just a bit too exposed as you all head out the door.

The elevator ride to the basement is quiet as his bodyguard and publicist stand on either side. Austin slowly pulls you to him by your waist, his nerves rising, and touching you always helps him refocus. He grins down at you, his blue eyes calming your own anxiety in the middle of the frenzy, and his familiar cologne is divine—warm, clean, unmistakably him.

“You look so good,” he compliments, his eyes dipping to your chest before meeting yours with a heat flickering in them. His finger playfully traces the hem of your top, tugging lightly. “I like this on you,” he says, his voice low and suggestive

“Austin,” you giggle softly, seeing the desire in his eyes making a flutter rise in your chest. ‘Be good,’ you mouth, and he just slyly grins as the elevator doors slide open.

You step out into the hotel’s long service tunnel, the blue floor stretching ahead to the far end where a sleek black SUV is waiting to take you to the photo call at the marina.

The tunnel is lined with fans and photographers and Austin graciously pauses to take photos, and sign a few autographs. 

His strides are confident, bold and those slacks—God, they’re lethal. You walk beside him, trying to keep up as your eyes keep lowering to his crotch. 

Austin’s cock subtly swings with every step, the fabric outlining his movement, and at the end of the tunnel he glances down, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he notices.

He slips his hand into his pocket to adjust himself trying to shift the fabric modestly, but it only draws your attention more, the motion making the outline even clearer, and you bite your lip.

He’s fully showing now, and worse, you want to help him with it…help him in ways that are anything but modest.

He catches you staring and smirks, that knowing glint flashing in his blue eyes.

“Something distracting you, baby?” he teases, his voice low and warm as he slips on his Article One x Mission Workshop sunglasses, the amber-tinted frames catching the bright sun light exiting the tunnel.

“Austin… your pants,” you blush. “There’s…a lot showing.” You admit, breathier than intended the sight consuming your thoughts.

He leans in closer his lips brushing your ear as you reach the SUV. “Yeah? We’ll have to deal with it later then,” he grins, and the way his hand subtly grabs your ass as he helps you climb in tells you he’s thinking the exact same filthy thoughts you are.

At the photo call, the energy is full of excitement, the sunlight glints off the ocean in the distance, the marina is alive with voices, cameras, and the soft sea breeze. 

You wait just beyond the ropes watching with excitement as Austin greets his costars. He walks right up to hug Pedro Pascal who’s in a black sleeveless tee, all easy grins and toned arms, pulling Austin into a friendly hug. 

Emma Stone is radiant in a black dress with white accents, standing next to Joaquin Phoenix, who’s brooding in a white tee. Boyd Holbrook and Scoot McNairy, the other Eddington stars, round out the group, all six of them a vision of star power. 

As they pose Austin’s slacks still draw your eye, the fabric shifting as he moves, and you’re practically brimming with want, standing off to the side, trying not to look like you’re losing your mind.

You’re supposed to be the supportive girlfriend, cheering him on, but every time he adjusts his stance, you imagine the weight of him, the veins, the taste. 

When the photo call ends, you follow Austin and his costars into the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès for the panel discussion, your body slightly hotter than usual due to Austin’s undeniable allure and the Mediterranean sun.

In his private green room, the air conditioning is a welcome relief as you wait for the panel to start. A makeup artist dusts Austin’s face and fixes his hair, while his publicist briefs him that he has fifteen minutes until he’s called onstage. 

A TV on the wall plays Cannes Film Festival promos, and a table holds an assortment of his favorite snacks, almonds, strawberries, and dark chocolate. 

When the team slips out, Austin grabs a bottle of chilled water and unbuttons his collar from the Cannes heat, his slacks still doing unspeakable things to your sanity.

You can’t take it anymore and with the door right there, you stride over locking it with a decisive click.

Austin grins, setting his water down. “Right here?” he asks, the smirk on his lips showing he knows exactly what your thinking.

You cross the room, heart pounding as you stop in front of him. “Yes, right here,” you say, your voice hushed with need. “Those fucking pants are showing everything, Austin.”

His blue eyes darken as he adjusts his stance, making the outline of his cock even more pronounced. “That bad, huh?” he drawls his voice low and teasing. 

You’re already tying your hair up and he groans softly, the sound sending a jolt through you. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna do it,” he says, and you step closer kissing  his neck, your hand rubbing his crotch, feeling him harden beneath your touch as he pleasurably sighs.

His height and presence are overwhelming as you feel him start to harden against your palm. “Get on your knees for me,” he commands, his voice low and laced with affection as his thumb brushes your cheek.

You lower instantly, knees hitting the carpet, mouth watering as he unbuttons his slacks and when he pulls himself free, you nearly whimper. 

His cock is everything you’ve been obsessing over long, thick, heavy, veins pulsing under smooth skin, the head flushed a deep pink. 

You reach up, carefully wrapping your hand around the base, and you’re mesmerized by the weight, the length, the sheer size of him.

“Baby we gotta be quick.” he says, his voice hushed and desperate.

“Okay,” You whisper and lean in, your lips parting, as you take him into your mouth. He’s warm and heavy, the slightly salty taste of him intoxicating. 

You start slow, tongue tracing a thick vein along the underside, feeling it pulse as he groans, low and guttural, the sound making you throb, your panties already soaking through. 

As you begin to suck him off you’re so turned on it’s almost painful, and your hand drifts between your thighs, slipping into your panties, fingering yourself as your hips rock slightly, chasing relief.

“Baby…focus,” he breathes, noticing you distracted and you whine around him but you obey, pulling your hand away to double your efforts on him.

You suck harder, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat. You gag, eyes watering as you gaze up at him, but you don’t pull back, you want to feel every inch, every vein. 

Your throat tightens, but you push through, moaning as your tongue memorizes the shape of him, the way he fills your mouth so completely.

“Baby, fuck,” he gasps, his large hand sliding along your throat, his fingers stroking gently as he guides you. “Take it deeper… you can do it…—fuck… fuck that’s it—that’s my girl.” He praises, his voice filled with satisfaction, and you enjoy it, whimpering as you struggle to fit more.

His thumb brushes your cheek as he starts meeting your mouth with shallow thrusts. “You’re doing …so fucking good.” He says on each one. 

You’re lost in him, in the weight, the taste, the feel of every vein against your tongue. You can barely fit him, but you try, gagging again, your moans vibrating around him. 

He groans, hips twitching, and you feel him throb harder, the pulse intoxicating.

“You’re ..gonna make me come…if you keep keep that up,” he says, his voice tight, and you nod as best you can, desperate to please him. 

You’re so turned on it’s unbearable, your core clenching with every sound he makes, every time his cock throbs aching to have him inside you.

“Gonna come,” he warns, his grip tightening in your hair. “You want it?…Want me to fill that pretty mouth?”

You moan, nodding, and he groans your name, hand cupping your face  as he comes. It’s overwhelming, hot and thick, spilling down your throat and you swallow every drop as he watches, his blue eyes dark with awe and desire.

You pull back, gasping, lips swollen, throat raw, but you feel triumphant as you watch him trying to catch his breath. 

He tucks himself back into his slacks, then immediately pulls you to your feet. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. 

“You’re so fucking incredible,” he whispers, against your lips as his hands roaming your body. “You’re gonna have to wait ‘til after for your turn.” he breathes.

You grin against his lips, still throbbing, but you nod, “I can wait,” you whisper knowing he’ll make it more than worth your while. 

He reluctantly lets you pull away and you head to the mirror, fixing your hair and wiping your lips to reapply your lip gloss. His eyes are on you the entire time wandering with intent until there’s a knock at the door and he smirks, unlocking it. “Let’s get through this panel baby,” he says, his  voice low. “I can’t wait take care of you.”

You’re seated in the theater of the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès with a few other guests of the Eddington stars, waiting as the crowd fills in. 

The air is filled with anticipation, and when Austin and his costars, Pedro Pascal, Emma Stone, Joaquin Phoenix, Boyd Holbrook, and Scoot McNairy, enter to applause, your heart skips. 

They take their seats on the stage, and Austin looks effortlessly magnetic in his black dress shirt, one button undone, those tailored slacks still accentuating every line of his body. 

His cheeks are tinged pink, his expressions carefree, a relaxed lightness in his demeanor that makes you smile.

During the panel, Austin is lighthearted, answering questions with charm. When asked about his character Vernon versus his costars, he leans into the mic, grinning. “Ari told me to make Vernon the embodiment of the internet, and I just ran with it” he says, earning laughs. 

“But honestly, with this cast? They have all been a joy to work with.” He admits, his genuine happiness shining through with a swell of pride.

The panel stretches on, and Austin is half-engaged, joking with Pedro and Emma, until an audience member accidentally spoils the ending of The Last of Us, startling Pedro. 

Austin’s face lights up in amused shock, eyes wide as the crowd playfully boos the spoiler. He laughs, shaking his head, then makes eyes at you in the audience, a playful glint in his gaze. 

When an Elvis question comes up, he answers playfully before turning the mic away, and you can tell he’s clearly distracted now. His eyes keep finding you, and you can tell his thoughts are consumed now by you entirely.

When the panel ends to applause, the cast exits, and you make your way to the green room.

Austin finds you there with his security, and he takes your hand in his, fingers intertwining as he gives a nod to his team and you leave the Palais des Festivals et des Congrès together. 

The ride back to the hotel is intimate, his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, affectionate circles. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he gently tilts your face closer, his fingers cradling your jaw as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Having you here with me has been amazing  baby,” he says, his voice low and tender, “I love you being by my side.” He admits his lips lingering as you feel the sincerity in his words. 

“Im glad you brought me,“ You smile, placing your hand on his feeling your heart swell as he nestles closer.

When you enter your hotel room and the door clicks shut, you kick off your sandals intending to head to the shower, but Austin playfully pulls you back to him by your wrist.

“Austin—” you smile, and his eyes darken as he lures you closer.

“Where do you think you’re going,” he says his voice smooth as he backs you against the bedroom wall with a gentle but firm press of his body.

“Been thinking about what I want to do to you all panel,” he confesses, his voice low and dangerous and his lips brush yours as he kisses you deeply, his mouth trailing down your jaw, your neck, sucking softly as you sigh. “You have no idea how badly I want you right now do you?” he whispers.

You gasp, hands clutching his shirt as his fingers slips between your legs, rubbing over your panties, feeling the heat there. “You’re still wet for me, aren’t you,” he asks, pulling your high-waisted skirt up, bunching it at your hips.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need, and he kneels down, kissing up your thighs, his breath warm against your skin. “I still owe you from earlier,” he says, looking up at you, his eyes full of adoration as his lips brush higher, and you shudder, already aching for him. 

His fingers tease the edge of your panties, before thoroughly pressing against your clit and your back arches off the wall, a soft moan escaping you.

He’s intentional and careful as he pulls your panties down, admiring the soaked fabric with a low groan. 

“You’re so patient waiting for me like this,” he says, his voice filled with admiration as he places a kiss on each of your thighs, keeping your skirt bunched at the waist. “Tell me how good it feels when I please you baby,” he says, looking up into your eyes.

You nod, breathless, gazing down at him and he brings his mouth to your center. His tongue slides out, slowly teasing you as his mouth latches gently. He swirls his tongue with deliberate care, and you try to grip the wall, your hips trembling, fighting not to press against his face. He hums softly, the vibration sending a shiver through you and his lips brush your clit with gentle, featherlight kisses, until you whimper, craving more, but he pulls back.

You exhale loudly your body aching with need as his long, slender fingers slowly push inside of you, reaching a depth that makes you tighten around them as you gasp. He glides them in and out so slowly that the torturous pleasure makes you squirm, and he watches you, his blue eyes filled with want.

Those sinful slacks still cling to him, and you can already see just how hard he is, the outline of his cock making your core throb at the sight. 

He brings a hand down to stroke himself as he fingers you. “Why so quiet, baby?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not feeling good enough for me to hear you yet?”

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, and he smirks, pumping his fingers faster, steadily building up your pleasure. “Not yet, baby,” he says softly.

He lifts your top with his other hand, passionately kissing along your stomach as his fingers find the spot inside that makes you clench hard, a sharp breath escaping as you clutch his sandy brown hair. 

“Right there, huh?” he says, his voice low and encouraging. You nod desperately, and he lowers his face between your legs again, his mouth working your clit with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue as his fingers thrust deeper, hitting that spot.

You whimper and moan, gripping his hair to stay sane as your clit throbs and your walls pulse around his fingers. He goes faster, his tongue pressing harder against your clit, and you moan louder, holding his head against you, loving in the way he’s devouring you. 

He pulls back slightly, bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles just so he can watch you as your body tenses. Then just as you begin to orgasm his mouth returns, sucking your clit with fervent intensity, sending waves of pleasure crashing through so intense your mind blanks from the sensation.  

Your moans are shaky breathless sobs as you come down, until slowly he pulls back slipping his fingers out of you. 

He stands up and you watch in awe as he unbuttons his dress shirt exposing his toned torso, then he undoes his slacks, his cock sliding free, long and hard, throbbing in his hand. 

He holds it, before teasing you, slipping the tip between your thighs and brushing it against your entrance making your core throb at the sensation. “Your aching for it aren’t you?” he asks, his voice husky, eyes locked on yours.

“Yes, Austin,” you breathe, your voice shaky with pleasure, and he pulls your top off, smiling as his hands go to your waist, unlooping your skirt’s belt and pulling it down, letting you step out of the fabric.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he praises, his hands gripping your hips as he presses himself closer. 

He lifts one of your legs, hooking it around his waist, as he presses his chest to yours, pinning you against the wall. “I know how much you want it, baby, you waited so patiently for me through that panel,” he says, and he pushes in slowly, just the head, letting you adjust to his size and your wetness pulls him in as he groans,staring into your eyes.

“Fuck, you feel how you take me,” he breathes as he slides in deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside, and the stretch makes you gasp as he starts to thrust, slow and passionate, holding you against the wall.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he moves, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you. “You wanted me like this all day…since the tunnel haven’t you,” he breathes, his voice filled with lust as he kisses you deeply.

 “Yes“ you gasp, against his mouth, the relief overwhelming after waiting so long as you begin to moan in pleasure. He picks up the pace, his hips clapping between yours as his rhythm fills the room. 

“Love how patient you are for me” he breathes, kissing down your neck, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he says back against your lips, and he swallows your desperate sounds as they escape.

His thrusts grow harder, deeper, and you cling to him, your body trembling as another orgasm builds.

“I want you to come for me,” he says, his hand slipping down to rub your clit as his strong, solid frame thrusts you against the wall, your pussy throbbing as he grips your thigh, pounding into you so fast it jolts you. 

“Austin yes…” you gasp“ please don’t stop”

His fingers stoke your clit faster as he hits the spot again and again, and your moans start to rise as the pleasure takes over.

“Let go for me, baby,” he whispers, his eyes adoring you, his words, his touch, and the way he fills you is too much, and you cry out, your walls clenching around him as you come. 

He groans, feeling you flutter against his cock, and pushes even deeper, his thrusts slowing as he spills inside you, his forehead resting against yours.

“Love you so much,” he whispers, kissing you softly, and he holds you close as you both come down together, your breaths slowing as his hand affectionately traces along your side.

He pulls out carefully, helping you steady yourself as he lowers your leg, and you look up at him in a blissful daze.

 “That makes us …more than even,” you grin, your voice breathless and dreamy.

He grins in return as his eyes light up with warmth, “Let’s shower together then,” he says, and you smile as he leads you toward the bathroom, his arm securely around your waist.

He turns on the water, the sound of it cascading against the glass filling the space, and when the steam begins to rise, he steps in first, offering a hand to help you inside. 

The warm water washes over you both, soothing your skin, and he pulls you close, your bodies pressed together under the shower. 

“Feel good?” he asks, his voice low and tender, his hands sliding up your back, slick with water.

“Everything with you feels good” you admit and he grins leaning in to kiss you. His hands roam, one cradling your neck, the other tracing your spine, fingers grazing the small of your back. 

“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” he confesses  his blue eyes filled with admiration as he lowers his head kissing the side of your neck.

“Cannes has been so fun with you,” he adds, his voice sincere, lips grazing your skin as his strong arms wrap around you.

You tilt your head to look up into his eyes. “Cannes was fun… but I miss home,” you say softly, and he smiles, kissing your forehead, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Me too, baby,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “This is our last night here, then we’re heading to LA tomorrow. Just you and me, in our own space.” He confirms and his eyes hold a promise of comfort that makes you lean into his touch, the thought of returning home with him after Cannes sounding like the most relaxing thing in the world. 

END 🍆

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[cottonlemonade]

Fake Dating [part 1]

word count: 1957 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Asahi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, pining

warning: spoilers

request: fluffy-spicy, fake dating with crush

Asahi was barely listening to what his dad was talking about. In between bites of pork cutlet, he threw glances across the room to you, his eyes following almost in a trance as you weaved through the many tables without spilling a single crumb or drop from the plates and bowls balanced on your arms. With a perfectly practiced customer service smile, you engaged in polite small talk with the regulars of Miyagi before you were called back to the kitchen to pick up the next order.

Asahi pursed his lips in thought at the Tokyo Curry Bun shirt that bulged a little over the waistband of your jeans, wondering if this was simply a pick-up at a thrift store or if you could possibly live in the capital as well. From the way the locals bombarded you with questions, it didn’t seem like you were the usual waitress.

“Your food’s getting cold.”, his dad noted with a knowing smile, and lightning fast reflexes secured him an end piece of his son’s tonkatsu. Mrs Azumane, to their right, clicked her tongue in loving disapproval and placed half an egg in Asahi’s bowl in turn, joking, “Honey, don’t steal his food, he’s still growing.”

His dad jumped at the opportunity, “Any more and he’ll need a two-story home just to stand up straight.”

Both parents laughed. Asahi had heard that line a million times, so he just ignored it, choosing instead to carefully chew a piece of pickled radish while his gaze kept pulling in your direction.

“Why don’t you just ask her out, son?”

“What?”

“That waitress. It’s easy, I’ll show you.”

“Dad, what are you doing?”, Asahi asked, panic rising in his voice as his father lifted his hand and called, “Over here!”

You turned your head to scan the small room for who had tried to get your attention and put on a fresh smile when you made your way to them.

This wasn’t happening. Asahi saw his life flash before his eyes.

“Excuse me, Miss.”, Mr Azumane began good-naturedly, “My son had a question.”

He gestured to him with an expectant grin, and Asahi hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Another glass of water, please.”, he said.

Looking a little perplexed, you nodded and were about to go back to the kitchen for his order when his father interjected.

“Wait, please.”, and under his breath, still plenty loud enough for you to hear, he said to his son, “Asahi. Come on. Just ask her out.”

“Quick and easy like taking off a bandaid.”, his mom added.

While the horror that both of his parents were actively pushing their fully grown adult son to ask out a girl in front of them made it impossible for him to speak, a middle-aged man came up behind you.

“Is everything alright here?”, he asked and looked from the patrons to you. He wiped his hands on the black apron wrapped around his middle, seemingly having just come out of the kitchen.

“More than alright.”, Mr Azumane boasted, “My son was just about to ask your waitress for her number.”

“Is that so?” The newcomer looked Asahi up and down as much as he could while he was sitting in front of him - although, even then, he was almost as tall as the chef.

“Well, sweetie, don’t be shy. Give it to him.”

“Dad.”, you sighed.

“What? He’s grown up handsome. And you know the Azumanes! They lent us their wheelbarrow when we redid the garden shed for your fifth birthday, remember?”

You bit back the remark on your tongue (you mean, two whole decades ago?).

“You know where he should take you?”, Mrs Azumane said excitedly, leaning over the table and tapping a finger on the plastic water bottle in the center, “There is this uhm - argh, what was it, honey? Like a- a Chinese-fusion restaurant that opened in Sendai.”

“Ah, good idea!”, Mr Azumane agreed, “And I think there is a park with a fountain nearby where you can take a walk after. And no need to hurry back, you two.”

At this point, you wore a blank expression, listening to the unbridled enthusiasm of the parents, searching for some kind of hidden camera that would explain this absurd exchange.

“If you’re still unsure,”, Mr Azumane said and turned his body to his son, but keeping eye contact with you, “look at this!” His hand went to grab Asahi’s upper arm, “Look how strong he is.”

“Give him your number.”, your father pushed gently as if you were a toddler too scared to ask a shop owner for ice cream, “If you don’t remember it, I can give it to him.”, then he muttered to himself while patting his pockets for his phone, “I think there were two fives in there.”

Luckily, saving you from any further comment on the helpfulness of that info, the next round of guests arrived, and you bowed to the Azumane family before hurrying over to greet the new customers.

You stepped outside into the cool evening breeze and took a deep breath. The small restaurant always became so stuffy after a while, the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and smoke clinging to people’s jackets from a quick cigarette break.

A couple of moths fluttered around the warm lightbulb above the entrance, and besides the occasional laughter or call for another drink, nothing disturbed the peacefulness of the countryside. Coming back after spending years in Tokyo, the silence of Miyagi was almost eerie. There was always noise in Tokyo, morning, noon, and night, all hours of the day. Hectic, loud, urgent noise, but here time seemed at a standstill. Since the restaurant was at the edge of town, you could look out into complete darkness that was sparsely dotted with occasionally flickering street lamps. Crickets chirped nearby, a cat sauntered down the sidewalk, quiet as a shadow, and after a while, a lonely truck traveled along the dirt road on the other side of the rice paddies. The sweet smell of wild wisteria that wafted over mixed with the residual smoke from the overfilled ashtray by the door and spelled nostalgia. It reminded you of the many afternoons helping your parents after school and during time off from university.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

Only a few more days before you had to go back to the city, and, while you couldn't wait to see your friends again, the quick Miyagi detox always did wonders for your creativity. It was amazing how many panels you got done this week.

“Hey.”, a calm voice said behind you, but it made you jump a little nonetheless, “Sorry!”

When you turned around, it was the guy from before, the one your parents were practically planning a wedding for already.

“Nono, all good.”

He had his jacket bundled in his hand and his long brown hair, previously falling quite majestically over his shoulders, was now tied to a neat bun.

You felt his eyes studying you before he said, “Sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.”, you said genuinely and then gave a low sigh before shrugging, “Parents.”

You figured his mother and father were still finishing up inside, probably falling into the typical small-town small talk that could last anywhere between five minutes and three hours.

To fill the silence that followed, you asked, “Hey, you went to Karasuno, right? And played Volleyball?”

He nodded, surprised.

“I saw your game where you crushed Oikawa’s team.”

“Oh, you went to Aoba Johsai?”

This time it was on you to nod, “I went with a friend to cheer on her little brother. Takahiro?”

“Ahh, Hanamaki. The second ace, right?”

You raised your hands in defense and grinned apologetically, “If you say that, I’ll believe you. I have no idea about Volleyball.”

He smiled and turned to look at the night sky as he said, “Man, that game was what - six years ago?”

His wistful expression led to your next question, “Do you still play?”

“Oh, no. That was my last year, actually. Volleyball is great and all, and I love it, but I was never as passionate about it as the other players.”

“Then- what do you do now?”

You had meant it in terms of hobbies, but he replied, with a hint of pride, “I’m a fashion designer.”

“Oh wow! - And here I am still trying to figure things out.”

“What do you do?”

“Nothing nearly as cool as fashion design. After uni, I took a job at a publishing company to help me get a leg up in the industry and, well, I’m still there.”

“What do you want to do?”

You folded your hands behind your back and leaned against the railing separating the sidewalk from the road, facing the entrance of the restaurant where he stood. The metal with the chipped paint was still a little warm for the day’s earlier sunshine.

As you looked at the guy, wondering if you should really just tell your life’s dream to a total stranger, your mouth was already way ahead of you.

“I’d love to have a little bookstore. Somewhere people can come after work or studies to relax. A manga café would be ideal, honestly. I’d have ramen and snacks and cakes on the menu, and cozy reading nooks you can crawl into with a whole bunch of pillows. I could even sell my own comics, and maybe once a month I could have a movie night there for the customers.”, you met his eyes again and straightened, slightly concerned about yourself just spilling the beans to anyone who’d ask. To save what little was left of your mystique, you added, “Or something like that. I haven’t really thought about it that much.”

“Clearly.”, he said as a small smirk came to his lips.

With a lazy kick, you sent a pebble rolling into the small gap between two planters next to the door.

He really did seem like a sweet guy.

“Hey, so… did my dad ever give you my number?”

“Oh, yeah, uhm.”, he put a hand in his pocket to produce a neatly folded napkin.

“But I was gonna throw it out.”

You grinned teasingly, “Why? You don't want my number anymore? We could grab some coffee once we’re back in Tokyo.”

His eyes widened, and his lips parted in shock, and he was apparently at a loss for words. You waited, but he didn’t say anything. A quick pull of disappointment you hadn’t expected yanked at something in your stomach.

You must have misunderstood, you thought, and swerved, “As friends, I mean. And if you want, we can just tell our parents that we’re dating so they stop trying to set us up with random strangers.” You laughed kind of awkwardly, while he still just gaped like an admittedly adorable fish.

To downplay your nerves at having so spectacularly failed at flirting, you said brightly, “Text me, okay?”

Even in the dim light, you saw his cheeks blushing - probably in secondhand embarrassment - as he nodded and then, before he could say anything else, he was pushed out of the way by the opening door behind him.

“Ah, there you are! You ready to- oh! Did we interrupt something?” It took his dad exactly 3 seconds to get back to his matchmaking ways.

“Nope, nothing at all. Let’s go.” The guy ushered his parents down the sidewalk towards their car.

You watched as he opened the doors for his tipsy mom and even tipsier dad before getting into the driver’s seat himself - not before he paused for a moment and gave you a small dorky wave that had you giggle to yourself.

a/n: request for @sillytoya

the biggest thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for lending her brain to figure this one out

[part 2]

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Need a ride?

Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)

Authors note: this was not planed, but that scene with Valentin on the bike was just too hot to process. You can officially blame my cat who woke me at 3 am today if this totally sucks.

Warnings: plot? never heard of it. Pure SMUT. Sex in public, Valentin giving quite some Dom vibes, fingering, oral, p in v

Word Count: 3,1 K

Summary: your tire is mysteriously gotten flat and you have no other choice as to accept the offer of a ride home from Valentin - the insanely sexy health mentor you've been eyeing from the moment you started working at The White Lotus luxury resort

“Need a ride?” a familiar, soft voice rich with that insanely sexy accent reaches you over the hum of the idling bike as it comes to a stop beside you. 

For a moment your confused gaze remains glued on the completely flat tire of your moped, as if trying to will it to reinflate by your sheer disbelief only, before you slowly lift your eyes to meet that cheeky smile you’ve been fond of since the first moment you set your foot on the grounds of the luxury resort that was supposed to be you new home for a while. 

It might not have been the most rational decision of your life to drop out of the university for a spiritual self-discovery trip through the East but it was definitely not the worst. OK, you ran out of money after something like one month, but that didn’t mean you were ready to give up on your plans. 

Thailand being your next destination after having left behind the breathtaking temples of Cambodia and incredibly beautiful landscapes of Vietnam, you decided to combine business with pleasure as you stormed the manager’s office of The White Lotus – the biggest and probably most expensive resort in the area – the advertisement from the local newspaper, announcing that the hotel was looking for an English speaking service staff, clutched in your hand. 

You weren’t naive, nor were you particularly experienced or life hardened. Something in between. You were impulsive, stubborn and still liked to believe in stories where the good guys saved the world and won the princess, even if deep down you knew it not to be true.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur with slight puzzlement in your voice as your gaze shifts back to your moped. “Everything was perfectly fine when I parked it here this morning.”

“Let me see,” the smooth, velvety voice makes your stomach flutter as the engine goes silent and a pair of leather gloves land carelessly on the tank as their owner swings off the bike and moves toward you.

“You’re new here, I haven’t seen you before,” there is something in the way he looks at you that makes you feel both – a cold shiver creeping up your spine and heat hitting your cheeks.

New is quite a relative term. Yes, you’ve been here for just three weeks, yet you are perfectly aware who is the handsome owner of the only Harley Davidson for the miles around even if he has apparently remained oblivious to your very existence.

But you also have to admit that it is hard not to notice Valentin – the resort’s infuriatingly handsome health mentor and fitness guru, especially when he remains number one topic of nearly every piece of gossip going around. 

Last week he was spotted sneaking out in the middle of the night from the private villa of that arrogant rich bitch from South Dakota, the one who had been terrorising the whole hotel for weeks already – the pool wasn’t warm enough, the massage table was not comfortable, the food was terrible and God forbid she was served the wrong champagne with the oysters. It seemed almost like a miracle to see her smiling the next morning at breakfast. 

Then there was that rumor that the swollen lip and the spectacularly bruised eye of one of the hotel’s personal trainers had nothing to do with the alleged jump rope accident but rather with an argument about a stolen client, apparently ending with Valentin throwing a punch. Though no one could really confirm if that part was true, some still swore of having seen him leaving the gym with blood on his knuckles.

Ah, and, of course, there was the affair, or at least, that’s what the housekeeping staff whispered about after noticing how the resort owner’s wife, easily twice as young as her husband, by the way, had taken an unusual interest in the fitness center with private stretching lessons,  late-night sauna sessions and meditation practices once of a sudden becoming a regular part of her so called wellness routine. 

Yet, despite all the fuss, you have to admit you’ve never actually seen him be anything but polite and smiling. And you have seen him. Just like everyone else, you find it impossible to look away from that broad muscular chest when he strides through the resort only clad in his yogi pants, heading to greet the new arrivals, or from those flexing biceps when you happen to pass by the training ground with him having a course - not that you’d ever admit to staring or having actually no business around there during that time of the day.

A broad chest clad in a snug dark green t-shirt that does more to accentuate than cover the perfectly chiseled muscles beneath, moves past you and your gaze involuntary drops down and lands on his hand, the conversation from the previous day rushing back absolutely uninvited. 

“Have you noticed how big his hands are?” The question had made you freeze mid-motion, the pillowcase in your hands nearly slipping to the floor. 

“Huh?” You had blinked and raised your brow questioningly, turning to Pam, your coworker, a nice girl you became friends almost immediately. 

“You know what they say…,” she had leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and giving you a knowing wink.

You had frowned, not really getting it this time, until Pam rolled her eyes, her cheeks already turning pink, as she cleared her throat. “The ones with big hands have big… you know… big khm…,” she had nodded meaningfully toward the lower part of her body.

It still had taken you a second before it finally clicked.

“Ahhh, you mean his dick,” you had said, watching as Pam practically choked on air, her face turning red as a beet, while you burst into laughter.

Yes, it is big. His hand.

“I’m Valentin,” he introduces himself, extending his hand like he expects you not to already know his name.

You hesitate for a second before shaking it, his grip is firm but warm, his somewhat rough fingers sending an unexpected jolt up your arm.

“I know,” you say, then immediately cringe at how blunt it sounds.

His smirk deepens, amusement flickering in those sharp eyes. “You know?”

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Everyone talks about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

You let out a short laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”

He tilts his head, as if considering your words, then glances at your moped. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this tire isn’t going to fix itself.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I figured. I just don’t understand – how does a perfectly fine tire suddenly go flat?”

Valentin crouches down, inspecting it. “Sometimes, it just happens. Heat, pressure, bad luck. Or…” He pauses, running a finger along the rubber.

You frown. “Or?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Or someone let the air out.”

A chill prickles at your skin despite the humid air. “You think someone did this on purpose?”

“I think someone doesn’t want you going anywhere tonight,” his gaze shifts back to you, and his tongue flickers between his teeth as he licks his bottom lip. 

Shit, why does it look so fucking hot. That tongue can definitely do more. Wait, no, stop, you innerly slap yourself but it’s too late, the next thought is already there as you wonder – is it true, that thing about big hands and big… you know…

He heads back to his bike, and leans against it, arms crossed, watching you closely. “So… need a ride?”

Your heart stutters at the way he looks at you – his lips are smiling, but there is something in his eyes, something you can’t quite put your fingers on, something that makes you feel like a mouse before a big grinning cat.

You should say no, you should figure this out on your own, but the way he’s looking at you – the way he’s offering, like it’s not just a ride but something more – makes it very, very hard to refuse. 

Fuck it, we ball, you smile back at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Take it easy, little doll, relax and enjoy the ride,” the hot whisper against your ear does exactly the opposite, you feel your heart racing even faster, each thumping beat pulsing between your legs, as you struggle to calm your breathing that threatens to spill into moans at any second if those thick fingers don’t stop their slow, torturous movement. 

“I… I can’t… Valentin, please…,” you breathe, your fingers gripping the edge of the table for support but your thighs part just a little wider beneath it.

The bar is dim, only the dance floor flashing in neon bursts, drawing all attention away from the shadowed corners and the shallow booths positioned along the walls with tables and red leather, plush and comfortable sofas - all tucked away in just barely enough secrecy to keep you somewhat hidden. A small mercy you feel thankful for, the sound of the pounding bass of the music  being another one, as it drowns out that moan you can’t bite back anymore as Valentin’s fingers push your panties aside, part from your pulsing clit and glide through your wet folds, to slid inside you with devastating ease. 

“You’re soaking, baby doll, just sitting here, waiting for daddy Valentin to take care of you, aren’t you?” That velvety voice edged with steel is killing you, not that those fingers inside you, curling, stretching, teasing, his thumb brushing firm, controlled circles against your clit, is making it any easier to gather any coherent thought. 

“Mmmmm… mmhhh,” is the only thing that rolls over your lips, your body reacts instinctively, muscles clenching around him, spine arching slightly against the seat as you melt into the sensation and sink back against the cushioned backrest, legs falling open just a little bit more, surrendering. 

Valentine’s other arm sneaks around your shoulders, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” he rasps. “Want me to ruin you, don’t you? Want me to fuck that tight, greedy pussy of yours, until you can’t walk anymore?”

“Ahh-ahhh,” your moan is barely muffled as his fingers curl against the wall of your core and press into that spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl. Oh, fuck, he’s good. 

The bar is full, the booth next to you crowded with a group of friends, laughing and clinking their glasses, but you don’t care. You can’t. Your head is spinning, thoughts dissolving, and every last bit of your self-control is fading away, all your senses dulled and consumed by the feeling of his fingers inside you, by that hypnotic voice dripping filth into your ear. 

How did you even end up here? The ride, the bike, your arms wrapped tight around his steel cut abdomen, holding for dear life – the memory is somewhat hazy, swept away in the whirlwind that is Valentin.  You can still feel the wind lashing against your skin, your breath stolen as you tucked yourself against his broad back.

“Wanna go out for a drink? You have a free day tomorrow, don’t you?” The question had sounded so casual but there was something in Valentin’s voice, some slight metallic tone, that  should have been a warning, a sign to you. 

“Yeah, sure! Why not?” words had left your lips too easily, although you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were a prey stepping into a trap, absolutely willingly – if you wanted to be honest with yourself. 

Because of all the whispers that followed Valentin, one was clearly absent – he never went out with anyone from the staff, never even really flirted. Never. Not that they didn’t want him to. The majority of the serving staff being girls, you knew for sure that most of them would kill to go out with the dangerously handsome health mentor, but he never asked. Not until now, not until you.

And you were certainly not letting this chance slip away through your fingers, to see more of him in real life, outside the resort's controlled microclimate. Was it a Russian roulette you were playing? Absolutely, and you were all in for it. 

“Fuck… yes,... oh shit, it feels so good…,” your whines are swallowed by the pounding music, your body trembling as you feel his fingers move faster, expertly working you toward the edge and then you’re coming undone in a bar full of people, music thumping in your ears in sync with your rapid heartbeat. 

Your eyes are heavy and half lidded, head fallen back against the plush backrest, your panties are ruined, completely drenched, and your hips keep rocking instinctively chasing the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. Was this how you thought the evening would end? Fuck, yes! And something tells you it’s far from over. 

“Breathe, kitten,” Valentin’s voice is a dark purr in your ear and it slowly brings you back to reality, as he withdraws his fingers from you. You whine quietly, your thighs twitching at the loss, and your eyes flutter open, finding his gaze already on you. 

Valentin is watching you, a spark of satisfaction dancing in his gaze, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a teasing ghost of a touch, then he leans in.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work, sweetheart. Will you do that for me?”

You sit up, straightening your spine as you reach for the champagne glass on the table, fingers slightly shaking. 

“Here?” you ask, turning to him. “You want me to give you head here, where everyone can see?”

“If you are up to it, baby doll,” Valentine’s smirk deepens, amusement dancing on his lips, and it just makes your heart skip a beat. 

“But I think you are very much enjoying this, aren’t you?” He leans closer, taking the glass from your fingers, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls you back against his chest, while his hand captures yours, guiding it downward and pressing your palm against the hardness straining beneath his pants.

“Look at what you’ve done to me.” 

Fuck, even through the thick fabric, he feels huge, and you can’t help but smirk as the thought slips in that it must be all true, that thing about the hands and the dicks.

Your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the dance floor pulses with bodies under shifting neon lights, the waitresses weaving between tables, laughter and music filling the air, you swallow harshly as the thought alone of sucking him off here practically in public in the tenuous cover of some shifting shadows sends a fresh surge of heat pooling in your core.

Your fingers already move on their own as the heavy buckle unfastens with a soft clink and the zipper parts beneath your touch. You slide a hand inside, wrapping around the length of him, drawing him out.

Valentin inhales drawing air through his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest, as your fingers tease over his leaking tip, his fingers weave through the strands of your hair with just enough force to make your scalp tingle, as his grip tightens and he urges you down, his silent command unmistakable.

You glance up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, watching you, waiting.

Your fingers trail along his length, teasing, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Fuck, he’s big, thick, hot, pulsing against your skin.

Slowly, you lean in, your lips parting as you let your tongue flick over the swollen tip, tasting the beads of precum gathering there and Valentin exhales sharply, a curse slipping from his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dissipating in the thumping bass of the music.

You take him deeper, wrapping your lips around him, savoring the way his breath hitches as he disappears into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“May I get you something else,” you hear the voice of the waitress through the haze and you freeze, unsure what to do, adrenaline surges through your veins, making your heart hammer in your chest. Panic and arousal clash violently inside you, but Valentin’s hand in your hair firmly keeps you exactly where he wants you and you don’t know what you feel more shame or the intoxicating thrill of surrender. The way he controls you, the way he holds you in place without a second of hesitation, sends a sensation through you that you've never felt before and it's rush is so deep it steals your breath.

“Thank you darling, we are well served,” his voice is smooth, utterly composed as if he weren't sitting here with his cock buried in your mouth. You can't see the waitress, your face covered by your disheveled hair, the footsteps fade away, and before you can even process what just happened Valentin guides you back down his cock, resuming the steady rhythm of your movements, and you can't but moan around him. Your tongue glides along the thick vein running down his length and you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue, his groan is low and guttural, barely restrained and that sound alone makes your core tighten with need.

"Just like that, kitten," he rasps, his hips jerking slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth, your own pulse pounds in your ears, matching the rhythm of the music, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and electric. Your fingers tighten around the base of his cock as you set a steady pace, sliding up and down, working him with eager precision, and you feel his thighs tense beneath your touch, the muscles flexing under your fingers. 

You take him deeper, moaning around him, letting the vibration send a shudder through his entire body.

"Fucking hell…," Valentin’s hand tightens in your hair, his head falls back against the booth, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling unevenly, you can feel how close he is to letting go and coming undone right here and now, and that thought alone makes you throb between your legs, but before you can push him over that edge, he tugs you back by the hair, pulling you off him with a slick pop. Your lips are wet, swollen, and you look up at him, dazed, your breath coming in short gasps, Valentin smirks down at you, his chest heaving, his cock still thick and flushed in your hand.

"Naughty little thing," he murmurs, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip, his voice rough with barely-contained lust. "That was good. But I’m not done with you yet."

He drags you up, his mouth hovering just above yours, as he whispers. "Now, let’s see how well you take me when it’s your turn. Do you want daddy to fuck you? I know you do,” and before you can even respond, he’s already moving, pulling you into his lap, his strong hands gripping your hips as his fingers push your panties aside once more, the head of his cock is already at your entrance. 

“You know how to play this game, don’t you?” he asks, his mismatched eyes boring into you. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Your colour, baby doll?” 

You know exactly what he’s asking, your mind is hazy, body burning, every nerve tuned to him but there’s no fear, no hesitation, only raw, unfiltered desire.

“Green,” you breathe, and he pulls you down in one swift motion, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your body shuddering as his thick shaft fills you completely in one go, while one of his hands wraps around your throat and the other digs into the soft flesh of your ass beneath your dress, and with that nothing else exists anymore.

The bar, the people, the distant pulse of the music, it all fades away, the only thing that matters is Valentin and his cock twitching inside you, stretching you just right, the firm grip on your throat owning you completely.

You don’t care about anything, there is no room for shame or doubt in your mind, it’s too overtaken by the indescribable pleasure of that simple feeling of giving up the control, of surrendering to that commanding voice and those mismatched stern eyes.

And then he fucks you, his hips thrust up into you, filling you deeper, harder, while his hand guide you, making you bounce on his cock, while his grip on your throat tightens—not too much, never too far—just enough to make your head spin in the best way, and soon, you're a mess, a drooling, moaning, wrecked mess.

—-----------------------------------------------------

When you open your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the curtains tells you it’s already well past midday.

Your head is heavy, your body sore in all the possible ways, and you have no idea how you got home, but here you are, back in your bed tucked beneath your light blanket.

You shift beneath the sheets, and that’s when you feel it, an arm draped around your waist and a firm chest pressed against your back.

Your breath catches, the memories of last night crash over you all at once, flooding your senses as you jolt upright, a soft, mortified moan slipping past your lips.

"Good morning, sweet baby doll," the voice is rich, smooth – so damn pleased with itself, you turn slowly, and there he is. Valentin, bare-chested, relaxed, watches you with that signature smirk that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

"Can I get you something for breakfast?" He stretches lazily, completely unbothered by your flustered state. "You must be starving."