#this isn’t finished i still have so much fucking clean up to do

[moriphyte]

this shit gonna take me till i’m dead in the ground

[seraphicsentences]

here’s a post dedicated to abby’s arms. why? because i said so.

and yes, they’re pretty much all nsfw. enjoy the visual! (i certainly am 🤭)

✂️ ok but imagine just watching abby’s biceps flex and ripple under her skin as she pumps her fingers into you, bumping against that sensitive spongy spot inside of you, working you towards your fourth orgasm of the night (so extremely motivated by your fucked-out mewls). no wonder she’s so buff. she’s exercising days and nights. ;)

✂️ thinking bout abby catching you watching her workout. you watching her do bicep curls specifically. oh lord, the pump her muscles get when she’s done (as if they could get any bigger)… and the way she grits her teeth while working an extra long set. you could get off on the heavy breaths she lets out alone. and she knows certainly knows it. you can tell by the haughty smirk plastered on her face as she eyes you inconspicuously staring.

✂️ but also just the way she’s so so strong but so very gentle with you is honestly the most attractive thing. she’d do anything you ask in a heartbeat, but just as easily put you in your place.

✂️ and the fact that she’s so strong really contributes to the appeal when you have her tied up. seeing such a big girl unable to move, massive arms pulled up tight around her head, flexing with every move as she twists and turns in pleasure, knowing you have that much power over someone whose figure is so dominating… yeah that’ll do it.

✂️ sweet jesus and when you’re sitting on her face, riding away like there’s no tomorrow, sensitive clit raw and red from the constant stimulation against her nose— abby’s just as turned on as you are, if not more. she’s feasting away from below you, tongue prodding at your dripping hole. she knows your legs are about to give out, she can tell by their trembling, and it’s like she’s been waiting for this moment. her arms are at your waist and quite literally holding up your entire body weight, making sure you’re still getting the pleasure she wants you to, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

✂️ or what about when she’s incredibly busy, you know, studying to be a doctor and all, and can’t exactly divert her attention to help you out when you’re feeling all desperate and horny? i mean she could offer you her thigh, but what are all those hours at the gym for? without even a glance, she sticks out an arm instead, and you silently thank god a moment later when your clit catches perfectly on her tricep, causing a suppressed moan to bubble out from the back of your throat— and abby to raise a teasing eyebrow in your direction. (only when you finish does abby really turn to you, saying “clean it.” and relishing in the way your tongue laps up her arm, gathering slick and making a further mess of yourself in the process).

well this was one fucking ramble. i am and will always be a proud slut for abby anderson’s arms.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

wisdom teeth

words: 1.1k

warnings: dentist, blood

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

“ma’am?” the voice rings through the waiting area. your head shoots up, realizing that she must be talking to you.

“hi, how is he?” you question, slinging your purse over your shoulder and pocketing your phone.

“the procedure went completely fine. we are trying to place the gauze in his mouth now but he keeps insisting on seeing you.” the receptionist says, a slight blush to her cheeks.

“oh!” you say, eyebrows raising. 

“follow me, please.” she says, leading you back further into the building.

“he’s being quite rowdy, isn’t he?” you ask, able to hear through the shut door the incessant questions, asking where you are, asking why you aren’t with him.

“some patient react differently to the anesthesia. it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, so don’t be embarrassed, doll.” the receptionist assures you, opening the door and letting you into the post op room.

“baby! there’s my baby!” rafe says, his hair a mess over his forehead, blood dry and crusted on his chin.

“hey, rafey.” you say calmly, hoping your relaxed attitude will influence him to calm down. “i’m right here, honey.”

you cross to his bed, glancing briefly at the dental assistants, one who looks annoyed that their clean up is taking so long, but the other gives you a sweet smile.

“you’re so pretty.” rafe slurs. “i love you.”

“i love you too, honey.” you coo, taking his hand, still slightly limp, in yours. “you have to let the nice women help you though. they’re here to clean you up for me.”

“you gonna kiss me when im all clean?” rafe asks, his lower lip pouting out.

you nod. “gently though, baby.”

“what did they do to me?” rafe questions, now sitting still as the nurses wipe away the blood on his chin.

“they just took your wisdom teeth out. they were hurting you but you’ll feel all better now.” you explain softly, petting his hand and arm to calm him as the nurses continue to rub at the dried mess.

“open your mouth.” the mean looking nurse says, her voice too stern for your liking, but before you can speak up, rafe turns to her, a look of fury in his eyes.

“i will not open my mouth for you. i only do what my baby tells me to do, so fuck off.” “rafe, oh my god!” you shout as the sweet nurse cracks up. “watch your language.” “i’m sorry, but this girl was trying to flirt with me! she wanted me to open my mouth for her, can you believe that?” rafe asks, his eyes flickering between looking softly at you and glaring at the assistant.

“they just want to put some gauze in your mouth. open up and let them, sweetie.” “fine.” rafe hums, his brow scrunched together as he turns back to the nurse. “i will because my baby asked me to, not for you.”

you shake your head but smile when rafe opens his mouth, allowing them to finish cleaning up. you stay next to his bed, holding his hand firmly in yours.

“can i be alone with my baby now?” he asks them as the nice assistant tells rafe he can close his mouth now.

“we recommend waiting at least a half hour until the anesthesia wears off a bit more before trying to get him out to the car. we can leave you two in here, but try not to let him talk too much, it’s only going to cause his mouth to bleed more.” “that’ll be hard, but i’ll try. thank you.” you nod to them as they leave the room.

“rafey, be quiet for me, okay baby?” you tell him, sitting down on the side of the bed, stroking your hand through his hair to smooth it out over his forehead, back in its proper place on either side of his part.

“but i want to tell you how beautiful you are and how much i love you and how much i wanna marry you one day and how much i lov-” “thank you, rafe.” you cut him off. “you can tell me all that real soon, but for now you have to be quiet so your mouth can heal, mmkay?”

“fine, i’ll stop talking. but you did promise me a kiss.” rafe says, and then dramatically shuts his mouth before puckering his lips.

“a gentle one.” you remind him, leaning forward and pressing your lips as softly as you can against his, putting your hands on his chest to stop rafe from leaning forward and deepening the kiss.

you pull away, but before rafe can open his mouth to complain, you kiss along his cheeks, then forehead, covering his face in soft presses of your lips to keep him happy and calm.

you tuck your chin into the crook between his shoulder and neck, stroking your hand over his chest as you cuddle up to him. “i’ll talk to you to keep you entertained, yeah?” rafe nods, nuzzling into your hair. you begin to whisper stories into his ear, anything you can remember to pass the time. tales your mother told you when you were little, or recapping movies that you’ve watched enough times to remember the plot clearly.

theres a knock on the door as you straighten up, calling out for the assistant to come in. she enters the room with a wheelchair. “time to go!” “yes.” rafe says, pumping his fist in excitement. “did you here that baby? its time to go.”

“i did, rafey. remember we are supposed to be quiet though.”

“thats right.” rafe nods. “im letting my mouth heal.”

the nurse laughs gently, wheeling the chair towards the bed. rafe is able to get into it pretty much without your help, but sends the assistant a glare when she tries to push the wheelchair.

“you’re gonna take me someplace without my baby again?”

“no, honey, she’s just helping us get to the car. and then i’m gonna take you home.” you explain softly, moving to walk ahead of the wheelchair so rafe can keep you in his sight.

“we live together?” rafe asks as you help him into the passenger side seat of the car.

“we do.” you remind him, taking the buckle and strapping it across his chest. you thank the assistant, who tells you again what rafe can and can’t do over the next 24 hours, before bidding you both farewell. 

you carefully shut rafes door before rounding the other side of the car. you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before putting the car into drive, thankful that its a short way home so you can get rafe laying and relaxing again soon.

you click the radio on, but rafe frowns and shuts it off. 

“whats wrong baby?” you question. “don’t want to listen to music?” “no.” rafe shakes his head, an adorable pout on his lips. “i want to hear more of your stories.”

you let out a soft laugh before conceding. “of course baby.”

[slut4sugu]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 — HOBIE BROWN

❀ including: nsfw themes, so minors please don’t interact! Mentions of: Choking, edging, blowjobs, fingering, biting, thigh fucking, size kinks, dumbification, threesomes, wax play, quickies, creampies, etc. (nothing crazy dw loves) ❀ Summary: what the title says! An nsfw alphabet for hobie brown! (Aka my husband <3). #- a word from kam: since this was requested and im bored here you all are!

Back to masterlist . ୧ ‧₊˚ ♫: Slut me out- NLE CHOPPA

A- AFTERCARE (what their like after sex.)

No matter how tired he is he always cleans you up and gives you some water afterwards (unless you like emptied his balls or sum shit-) Sleepy kisses and tight cuddles until you both fall asleep, the playlist you originally had playing earlier that night still playing as you both fall asleep <33

B- BODY (their partners favorite body part)

Honestly he loves your body as a whole and claims. He doesn’t have any favorites but..he fucking loves you thighs bro. Doesn’t matter the size, just the feeling of thrusting his dick in between them or seeing his cum spurt out on them turns him on so much. Would def go crazy if you got his name tattooed on the inner sides of your thigh.

C-CUM

Honestly hobie loves the feeling of cumming inside of you but as I’ve stated before as much as loves to see his cum dribble out of you he loves coming on your cute body and taking pictures after wards (if you’re okay with it of course <3) If you were to ever tell him you would want him to finish in your mouth instead of inside js expected to go 2 extra rounds js because of that <3

D- DICK SIZE (how big are they?)

6.5 inches when soft but nearing 8 when he’s hard. (Yeah that shit is touching your heart girly) Also he’s a bit girth too, so every time he pushes into you it feels like you being split open for the first time all over again. And he cannot get enough of you saying he’s ‘too big’

E- EXPERIENCE ( do they know what they’re doing?)

Hobies been with many others before he’s met you, hes not a sex god or anything. However he’s a quick learner and knows what makes you feel good. When you first had sex he literally unclipped your bra with one hand, while his other rode up your thigh as if it was easy. When you’ve seen many of your ex’s struggle with getting it off with both hands, so needless to say it was attractive to see him multitask without breaking a sweat <3

F- FAVORITE POSTION

He honestly doesn’t have one, but he is fond of cowgirl. He loves seeing your tit’s bounce ontop of him, and gets veryy turned on when you lean down on him and beg him to help you reach your climax. Or when you feel more dominant and choke him lightly, loves that shit

G-GOOFY ( are they serious in the moment?)

He’s on the more serious side, though he will tease you a little if your a loud moaner or if you whine a lot. He loves getting on your nerves <3

H-HAIR (are they groomed down there?)

He trims so it’s not hairy or anything

I-INTIMACY

Veryyy romantic with you, hobie always tries to take his time with you unless your both just itching to fuck. Slow and lazy kisses pressed to your lips while his hands are all over your figure. It almost seems like he’s edging you at times because of how much he’s pacing you but he just wants you to know how much he appreciates his girl <33

J- JERK OFF ( how many times do they do it? Do they do it a all?)

When hobie isn’t with you or when he wasn’t dating you he’d jack off 2 times a day on average. Thinking about your pretty moans and how you jolt every time he sucks at the one sensitive vein on your inner thigh, while he fists his cock in his hand needily. Wishing it was your small soft one <3

K-KINKS

Choking, bondage, sensory play, spanking (to some degree), edging, overstimulation, degradation & praise, dry humping/grinding though clothes, semi public sex (fucking you in a closet in hq if your a spider) dumbification, size kink, creampies, the list goes onnn

L- LOCATION (where do they prefer to do it?)

He honestly would fuck you in a storage closet or in a public bathroom if he was that horny, though most of the times he likes to have the seclusion of having you to himself in his/ your apartment

M- MOTIVATION ( what turns them on?)

Anything. This man can get turned on by you simply not wearing a bra under his band tee and see your hard nipples due to the cold of the ac. Then a few thoughts about you later..you’re now under him getting your pussy eaten out all because you didn’t wear a bra.

N-NO (turn offs, things they wouldn’t do.)

Wax play, threesomes, having someone else watch you, knife play

O-ORAL (giving or receiving, and how good they are at it)

Hobie absolutely loves having his head between your legs, hearing your gasps and moans just turns him on so much and can calm him down after a long day. He’s really fucking good at it too, he’ll use his fingers and his tongue at once if he feels like being a tease or just anxious to feel you cum

Now on the receiving side: he’ll rarely say it verbally but he loves seeing you on your knees for him, almost as much as he loves feeling your pretty lips around his shaft. Seeing the bulge in your throat from trying to take all of him turns him on so damn much.

P-PACE ( how fast are they?)

Depending on his mood he can be slow and deep or fast and rough, he usually quickens his pace when he’s getting close, his head in the crook of your neck usually whispering dirty things into your ear to near your orgasm. But usually he’s in the middle, hitting your g-spot with deep thrust and a good pace.

Q-QUICKIES

As I’ve said before, if he’s horny enough he’ll fuck you for a good 8 minutes in a supply closet if he needs your cunt that bad. Though he really prefers having all the time he wants to make his pretty girl feel good.

Sorry loves i got tireddd, hope you enjoyed the hcs though!

[notafunkiller]

not made of glass

Summary: After shopping for your Christmas tree and running into an old acquaintance, Bucky's mood completely changes.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 36), degrading, praising, chokíng, teasing, dirty talk, language, pet names, come eating, jealousy, a little metal arm kínk, daddy kínk, no condom (but they are both clean and r is on birth control), implied aftercare, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.3K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: An extra thank you @lavenderhaze967​ for her help and support!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

He’s sulking. You don’t know what happened since you came from the tree shopping, but he’s been like this for hours.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can try to take over,” you offer for the fourth time from the living room.

You don’t know how to cook. And even if you tried, you wouldn’t be as good as him, but you don’t want him to do it if he doesn’t feel alright.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

You sigh when you hear his voice. He sounds so off... but he refuses to tell you what’s happening, and you can’t push him more. Maybe it’s work.

“Bucky, you know you don’t have to do anything, right? We can order something. If you don’t feel like it, I can even...” But you pause, knowing better than to continue the sentence. Both: give you some space or leave you alone for a bit would be wrong. “Did something happen? With the project I mean.”

You drop the ornament on the couch and make your way to the kitchen.

Without waiting for him to answer, you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pulling his back even tighter against your chest.

The Christmas tree and the food can wait. And you definitely don’t care about his covered in flour apron. You just want him to know you’re there.

You feel him tense for a few seconds, but you don’t move, instead you place your palms on his chest and hug him harder. That’s when he melts, his shoulders dropping a little. You smile before leaving a small kiss below the back of his neck.

“Who made you mad? Who do I kick?”

“I’m not... I told you I’m not mad,” he murmurs, but you don’t buy it.

“Ever since we bought the tree, you’ve been acting strange. You’re so tense, bubba.”

Bucky sighs, shaking his head at the same time as he decides to cover your hands with his. They’re warm and a little sweaty.

“I am just nervous about the food. I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Did I do something wrong? Tell me, don’t lie to me when I clearly want to solve this.”

You take a step back, upset, dropping your hands. This is not going to be a good conversation if he isn’t going to really talk. You don’t even know what you did wrong.

“Hey, hey! You didn’t do anything wrong. I am so sorry, but it’s really-”

“If you say it’s nothing one more time!” You snap, unable to keep your voice down. You don’t want to fight with him, you never do. It’s the worst feeling in the world, but he refuses to share. He is so stubborn!

“I am sorry.”

“Just tell me what happened. What made your mood change like that?”

“It’s silly,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. “Nothing happened. Just... you know, it happens.”

Of course mood changes can just happen, but, in his case, unless it’s something that is really bothering him, it doesn’t last for so long. And he always talked to you about it, so it must be something you did.

“Did I do something Bucky? Did you,” you bite your lip when you feel yourself starting to get teary. You’re not going to be a cry baby. “Feel embarrassed by me?”

He jumps, bringing his hands to cup your face gently. You don’t move, enjoying his touch so much. “Bubba, no! No, no, no. I told you, you’re perfect. Fuck,” he curses, looking away. “I should be the one asking you that... if you feel embarrassed to be seen with me”

“What?”

“When we met with your... friend. I know we talked about our age difference before and all of that, but-”

You interrupt him before he can finish that sentence, still shocked. He was sulking for hours because he thought you’re unhappy to be seen with him all of a sudden? “When have I ever been embarrassed to be seen with you, bubba? I thought I made my feelings quite clear from the beginning. Did I say something today to make you feel this way?”

You’re trying to remember anything that could have triggered this type of thought, any gesture... anything, but you genuinely can’t find anything.

“This is the thing... you didn’t. You were just yourself: sweet, funny, and amazing. You reunited with your friend and all I could think was how much I want to...” He closes his eyes as if he’s fighting something inside his mind.

“Wanted to do what?” You push him to continue, happy he is finally opening up. You hate when you don’t know what he’s thinking about because you can’t reassure him like this.

“I’m a jerk, baby. I wanted to wipe off the smile on his face and take you to the car to fuck you. It’s immature, I know.” He brings his hands to his hair and he pulls. And pulls. “But I’ve never had this urge before. It was eating me alive.”

“You were jealous of Mickey?”

“I was, yeah,” he admits immediately. “The way he looked at you, the familiarity, the jokes... you giggled at his comments, and I thought I am gonna make a scene right there and then fuck you until you’re so full with my come you start dripping.”

That surprises you even more. You didn’t expect him to be jealous, especially not on this level since he’s always calm and collected, and you’re the one going crazy. And him wanting to fuck you with this urgency? It makes it even more interesting.

“He smiled quite a lot, didn’t he?” You bring your hand casually to his chest again. “Well, we know each other after all. He was one of my professors’ assistant, remember?”

Oh, how can he forget?

“Yeah, I remember very well, baby, trust me.”

“Should I tell you a little secret?” You move your fingers up until they reach his bottom lip. You want to distract him, to push him to get what he wants, ao you can see more of this side of him. “I kinda had a crush on him. He was like the hottest guy in my classes, you know?”

She immediately notices a flicker of darkness in his eyes, as if she’s just touched a nerve.

“You had a crush on him, huh?” He asks through his teeth, but not aggressively at all, more like challenging. He probably knows what you’re trying to do, but he still responds.

“Yep.” You grin playfully. “A huge one. My first real crush to be honest.”

“You’re enjoying this.” Bucky shakes his head, smiling.

“I don’t enjoy you thinking I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you.”

Surprisingly, he grabs your waist, pulling you toward him. You whimper when your breasts crush against his chest but stay still.

“You know exactly what I meant, don’t play.”

“And I see your mood changed all of a sudden.”

“Are you horny because I got jealous? Is that it, baby? You want me to-”

You groan, interrupting him, as you move your hips a little to meet his.

“I am horny because you were so close to going feral on me.”

Bucky smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve seen him smile before. It’s playful in a different way, as if he’s hiding something, and the fact you’re in the dark brings him endless satisfaction. Then he grabs your cheeks with his left hand, the coldness making you jump a little.

“You wanted me to go feral on you, huh?”

You don’t let him enjoy the moment for too long as you cover his hand just to move it lower until it rests on your neck, nothing you’ve never done before. But he surprises you again by actually squeezing the sides teasingly without taking his eyes off you.

You can’t help but whimper. You’ve wanted him to choke you for so long, but you didn’t want to push. It looks like he did too.

“Want you to go feral on me now too.”

You expect him to tease a bit longer, maybe even make you beg for it, but he doesn’t. He quickly rips your shirt in half, buttons flying eveywhere in the room, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

At least you aren’t wearing a bra, otherwise it would be ripped, too.

He’s not gentle when he turns you around by your hair, and you groan, the pain bringing pleasure, when you feel his fingers close to your roots. Your knees are suddenly weak too, but his grip on your waist as he pushes down your pants and panties at the same time keeps you on your feet.

He’s never been so fierce with you... always so careful. But you wanted this. You craved this.

“You’re gonna get it, don’t worry.” He pulls your hair again, and you moan. “Gonna make you my comeslut in a sec. Walk.”

You don’t say anything as you move to the living room quickly, with his hand still in your hair. You step out of pants and panties right before you reach the threshold. You don’t him to slow down, you want him to fuck you the way he craved it when you ran into Mickey.

“Hands and knees.”

You turn your head as much as his grip allows it and smile. “Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll consider it since you held back today. Why should I-”

But he doesn’t let you even finish your sentence as he is pulling your hair to guide you down. He’s not even doing it hard, but it makes you so wet. You love this side so fucking much.

“I’d advise you to do what you’re told.”

Even his tone is more demanding and deeper. You close your eyes and, despite your urge to be a brat again, you get on hands and knees as he told you. You want his cock more than anything.

“Like this?” You tilt your head enough so he can see your smirk, knowing the patronizing tone will drive him crazier.

“Need to fuck the attitude out of you, don’t I?” He smiles back, lowering his sweatpants. You turn your head, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you blush.

“You can try, but we both know that’s-”

He’s not just at your entrance, he’s pushing inside you.

You gasp, surprised he did this without warning you.

“You okay?”

You nod, hoping he can see you, when he grabs your ass. He pushed only a bit, waiting for your approval.

“Bubba?” He whispers, and you can sense the worry in his voice. But you’re really wet and horny, and you want to be fucked.

“F-fine. I’m fine, keep going. Please.”

“Who?”

“James?” You try, unsure, feeling him getting inside you deeper and deeper.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what you usually like to call me, is it? Don’t lie to yourself.”

“W-what?” The way he’s filling you makes it impossible for you to focus. You can barely breathe properly.

“Aren’t you a comeslut for daddy? Why do you prolong your suffering?”

“I’m not...” you whimper, playing around. “I’m not a comeslut.”

“You’re right, you’re not. Yet.”

He starts thrusting pretty slowly, probably wanting to make sure you’re getting used to it, but his hand in your hair shows you that things aren’t going to be so tame for long.

“God, look how fucking wet you are, doll. Taking me so well, hungry for my cock.”

You whimper, thrusting your ass back because, as he speaks, he slips out of you completely, letting you empty.

“Daddy, please.”

You don’t care if your neediness is evident in your voice, Bucky already knows you’re desperate for him. And after he’s been sulking and refusing to tell you why, he owes you this.

“What?”

“Come on, fuck me. Gimmie... gimmie your cock. Pound me. Didn’t you say you were gonna go feral?”

He doesn’t need another invitation, and you realize immediately he is not going to hold back as he grabs your hips with more force than before and slams inside you. His balls hit your clit over and over again, and you moan even louder, tilting your head so he can get the hint you want him to pull your hair. But he ignores it.

He continues to fuck you without stopping, making sure to almost pull out completely a couple of times just to push back in hard, driving you crazy.

“A crush, huh? Your first real crush.” He sneaks his metal arm under your body and squeezes one of your breasts.

Jesus!

“B-Bucky!”

“Try again or I stop right fucking now. I’ll use your mouth, and you won’t get to come.”

You gasp and almost tell him he wouldn’t dare, but wouldn’t he?

“D-daddy, please. I love you.”

Even though you can’t see him, you know he’s smiling.

“Do you?”

“So much, please don’t stop.”

He’s slowing down a little so you can speak, matching his thrusts with the way he is playing with your breasts.

“You’re so adorable when you’re cockdrunk. But should I-”

“Please, I had a crush on you too.”

When he frees your breast, you want to scream. You didn’t lie, and he knew it. You had a huge crush on him as you were filming, but it was innocent and cute. The dirty thoughts started after, so why is he so annoying?

He doesn’t drop his hand, though. He moves it higher, wrapping it around your neck.

“That’s it?” He playfully squeezes the sides of your neck, and your eyes roll back in pleasure. He knows exactly what buttons to push, and the more you fuck, the better it gets. “Just a crush?”

“I love you, daddy. And I need it faster, please.”

He doesn’t just fuck you faster as you want, he also somehow fucks you deeper, his fingers tightening instinctively on your hips. You’re a moaning mess at this point, unable to say anything else but his name, and even that comes out stuttered.

You can barely keep your head straight when he starts really choking you. You expect to feel like you’re suffocating, some panic or discomfort, but his cold grip on your neck only makes it hard for you to focus on anything... impossible to think, and a little dizzy.

“You’re a fucking tease, aren’t you?”

Tears. You feel many tears leaving hot trails on your cheek. You can’t even open your eyes.

“You just wanted to be pounded so hard that you taunted daddy with his jealousy. Bad girl.”

You’re so, so close, you can barely even hear him. Your ears are ringing and you moan loudly. You have no idea how he even can speak.

“Fuck,” he whimpers when you unconsciously move your hips back to meet his thrusts, desperate for more before he slaps your ass twice. The moan you let out is so high pitched even you are surprised. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’re a whore for a bit of pain.”

You are. You love it with him because you trust him. You know he’d never go too far even when he’s wild and crazy like this. And that only turns you on more and more. You’re so close that you can almost taste it.

“But you’re my little baby, aren’t you? I’m the one y-you need. Fuck!”

You’re screaming before he can even finish speaking as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever experienced takes over your body. It’s a blinding pleasure you can feel everywhere: from your pussy to your head and even fingers. And the way he keeps thrusting in and out of you at the same speed prolongs it.

“D-daddy, please,” you groan when the pleasure turns into sensitivity. You want him to feel at least half as good as you do. You try to open your eyes as you tilt your head back so he can see you, but the tears make your sight blurry. “Please... c-come inside me. Give me your come, fill me up, I neeeed it.”

And while he moans your name, he does, making you realize he’s been really holding back his release all this time. He drops his hand from your neck just to grab a handful of your tit and squeeze as he comes. And comes. And comes.

“Jesus, d-doll. Take my come. Got so much for you. So, so much.”

You love how feral he is, how it feels to be used like this. You want to be his toy.

“Thank you, daddy. Thank you for your come.”

You feel the pressure and weight of his chest pressing against your back, but he doesn’t let go of your breast, fondling it gently.

“Fuck, this was...” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, trying to catch his breath. You are both sweaty and warm, but you don’t care. You love being so close to him.

“This was so fucking good, bubba. Why did you hold back all this time?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, instead he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck to the middle of your back, rising at the same time.

“Didn’t want to hurt you, bubba.”

“Told you I am not made of glass!” You try to stand up, too, but your knees are so wobbly that Bucky has to help you, wrapping his metal arm around your waist. You feel his come start to drip out little by little and you moan, scooping some of the come with two fingers and then bringing it to your lips.

You whimper the moment you get a taste, looking at Bucky to show him exactly how you feel about it. Quickly, you bring your index finger that is still covered in come to his lips, wanting to share with him.

Without hesitation, he opens his mouth, letting you smear some come on his tongue before he cleans it all by lapping at your finger.

You smile. “Promise you won’t hold back, and that you’ll talk to me the next time you feel like this. I could never be embarrassed by you or to be seen with you, bubba. You’re my baby, okay?”

Bucky smiles too, letting your finger out of his mouth with a pop. “I’m sorry, you’re right. And you’re my baby, too.”

“I know, but I was scared I did something really wrong and I didn’t...”

You don’t know how to continue, but you don’t have to as he pulls you into a tight hug, your head resting against his chest.

“I am sorry. I let the jealousy blind me because I felt insecure. I sometimes wonder if I’m enough for you.”

“Enough?” You sigh, kissing him all over his chest T-shirt. “You are everything, and you make me so happy. Please, don’t ever doubt that!”

“I’ll try, bubba, and thank you.” You feel his lips on top of your head, so you close your eyes, enjoying this moment. You’re gonna show him how much he means to you even more. “Do you feel sore?”

“A little,” you snort. “But it was soooo worth it. We have to do that again. Gosh, and the way you choked me, Mr. Barnes!”

He starts laughing at your tone, which makes you laugh too. This is your Bucky. You love him so much that you wish you could take away all of his fears and second thoughts. He is yours, and you are his.

“Noted, baby. You’re not made of glass.”

“Nope.” You break the hug just to take a step back and look around. You made a mess, and you haven’t even finished with the Christmas tree.

It’s gonna be a long evening.

“Gonna run you a bath, then we can continue with,” he waves around. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

[moonstruckme]

The other day I fell down the stairs of my building and had to just like. Get back up and go to work and my knees are all fucked up and I’m so sore. Do you think you could write doctor!remus or casual dom Remus when his girl tells him about it hours later? Or whatever you think is best story wise lol.

Don’t worry about it if not, your writing is literally my absolute favourite right now, you are so amazing!! -angie

Hi Angie, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 666 words (oooo)

When the car stops, Remus won’t let you get out on your own, which is embarrassing even though there’s no one but him around to witness it. Remus is overall in a horribly embarrassing mood. 

Though you tried to hide it, you’d noticed him noticing the stiffness in your legs as you walked out to his car after work, and before you’d had a chance Remus had reached over and buckled your seatbelt himself. The whole drive home he’d been spooky silent, occasionally shooting narrow-eyed looks to the blood stains on your work pants. 

“I’m okay,” you try to reason with him now, when he sets his hands on your hips to take some of your weight. “I’ve been walking all day, baby.” 

“I know, that’s worse.” Your boyfriend is huffy. He seems to be contemplating fully picking you up and carrying you inside. 

You press your lips together while he supports you the rest of the way to the door, holding you firmly to his side when he needs one hand to unlock it. The two of you go straight to the bathroom, where the dress you were originally going to wear to work today still lies on the floor. Remus frowns but doesn’t comment. 

When you’d taken a tumble on the concrete stairs outside your apartment this morning, you’d been running too late to be concerned with anything but looking presentable and getting to work. Your dress left your bloody knees exposed and made you feel like a child fallen from their bike, so you’d screwed up your mouth and forced a pair of work pants on over the burning cuts, then changed into an appropriate top to match. Your knees have been alternately stinging and aching all day, and when walking back home from work seemed too much you’d called your boyfriend for a ride. He seems determined to make you regret it. 

“Sorry,” you murmur after he lifts you onto the counter. 

Remus looks at you. “What for?” The question isn’t patronizing or a test. He wants to know. 

“For not telling you.” 

He sighs softly, looking down to fiddle with the button of your pants. You trace the cruel line of a scar from his forehead down to his cheek. 

“I wouldn’t mind so much if you’d taken the time to clean them properly,” he says. “But if you were in my place—lift your hips for me, love—and I called you to say I couldn’t get home by myself because I’ve been hurting all day and not done anything about it, wouldn’t you be a bit distraught?”

“I would,” you admit. You suck in a quiet breath when he starts pulling your pants down over your knees. 

“Sorry,” he says, unsticking the fabric from your ruined skin as gently as he can. They slide the rest of the way down far easier, and Remus kisses his teeth when your knees are revealed. “Dovey.” He sounds equal parts pitying and disappointed. 

“Sorry.” 

“Let’s stop trading apologies.” There’s the barest hint of humor in your boyfriend’s tone as he finishes tugging your pants off your ankles, letting them puddle on the floor and leaving you in your underwear. The countertop is cold on your bare skin. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, careful of your knees as he leans forward to give you a kiss. “I’m not going to ask you not to do it again—although I hope you won’t—because I know you, but I get that you’re sorry, sweetheart.” His thumb swipes over the unbroken skin above your knee, lips turning down unhappily. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, and that you’ve been in pain. I promise to try and lecture you about it as little as possible, okay?” 

You can’t help but smile, your voice coming out wry. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, dove.” He gives your hip a condescending little pat. “You can make it up to me by sitting still while I take care of these and tell you about infection.” 

[carmenized-onions]

Pretty. | Bolting Down Booths

logline; locking down chairs and a sweaty sleep deprived man (for now) (for the night) (platonically) (for now) (what?) (I didn't say anything).

series history, this is the third; First, Second

portion; 4.5k+

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (baby, Tony's mentally ill, get WITH it). We are once again, eatin' meat (beef!). Did I give the reader a curly girl routine? ....Perhaps...

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'girl' is thrown around quite a bit.)

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so.

Lifesaver. Lifesaver. Lifesaver.

Alright, fuck, you need to put on something to listen to because the thought isn’t leaving and the cherry lifesaver swirling in your mouth is so ironic that it’s leaving a bitter taste.

It’s after hours at The Bear, just after midnight, and you’ve returned to a clinically cleaned restaurant, ‘Ah… Syd keeps it locked in.’ and you’re thankful that you’re alone because it means everyone’s getting their proper rest. However, it also means your intrusive thoughts are really drilling in tonight.

You drop your phone on one of the booth tables, blasting music at full volume. That’s better. Little more static to work with now. You measure each booth and table for the third time tonight, rechecking that the angles are exactly as Syd had asked. They’re still perfect. Alright, get a move on, it’s not gonna somehow get more correct than correct…

You slip yourself under the table, verifying that the bolts are the proper fit— Also for the third time today. Hey, what if Home Depot fucked you earlier?! It’s important to check! You’re definitely not unreasonably anxious right now! But your power drill is practically screaming to be used at this point, so you acquiesce.

You’re on the last bolt when you hear a click of the front door opening.

“Fuck!” It scares you so shitless you jump and knock the top of your head on the table. You lay down quickly, back pressed to the floor to get a look at the perp. You point your power drill menacingly toward the front door.

Oh.

“Fuck are you doing here?” You and Carmen manage to speak in perfect unison.

There’s a beat before you opt to go first.

“Bolting.” Still lying under the table. You raise your drill upward, revving it a few times.

He swallows, sniffs, and scratches his nose. “Thought you were doing that tomorrow?”

“Technically it is tomorrow.” He scoffs, so you continue. “No, uh, Nat asked if I could come in after hours so I’m not as much of an active tripping hazard.” You gesture to yourself on the floor.

“Smart.” He rubs his eyes. He looks red and pink all over.

“…Thought you were getting off early today?”

“I did.” He clears his throat when you make a face about it. “I—I uh, did leave early, I just, just thought I’d come in and uh… Do some work.”

He rubs the back of his neck, continuing after a beat. “I’m, I’m uh, I’m good— In, in the kitchen.”

You chew at your inner cheek, staring at a very clearly distressed Carmy. His eyes are lined red, hair is in disarray.

“…Did you do it?” Did you break up with your girlfriend?

“…Yeah. I-I did.”

You just nod, thoughtful, before slipping back under the table, finishing drilling in the last bolt. “If you need a palate tester, lemme know.”

“Heard.”

The moment is soft but then cut short by you scrambling to quiet your phone atop your table when a perfectly unfitting upbeat song starts to sing out at max volume. He hides his smile poorly as he heads into the kitchen.

It’s a nice hour or so, in the front of house. You drill each bolt efficiently, grounding each booth and table in their place permanently. Your tunes play at a much lower volume now, careful to not alert the lone chef in the back. The intrusive thoughts have vanished with Carmen around, even if distant. He might not consider himself a brightening presence, but to you, he certainly is a nice lamp.

You stand up finally, finished, doing a big stretch of your arms and a crack of your back. You notice Carmen looking at you through the glass. He looks away, then back again, raising a hand, motioning for you to come in. Looks like you finished right on time.

It smells fucking incredible in here. You’re once again trying to temper your reaction as you pass through the door, not wanting to stroke his ego, but he’s already clocked it. It’s okay, you clock his boyish smirk of pride before he hides it with his hand, so you’re even.

On the steel table, plated— On their one black plate, because he’s not over having to settle for less— Are three perfectly cubed and seared pieces of marbled meat, glazed mushrooms, and some round breaded things that you’re not quite sure about. All perfectly plated and decorated with greens, parsley, specifically.

You step next to him, staring at the plate intently, taking it in visually. “Well?”

He hums in a way that sounds like a laugh, arms crossed. He stares at his own plate just as intently. “Pan-seared Wagyu— Sirloin. Wild mushrooms, basted in the same fat. Hazelnut-potato croquettes—”

“What the fuck is that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, he just smiles— In a way that looks actually kind of genuine. He likes to teach. “Seasoned mashed potatoes, basically. Breaded with bread crumbs and hazelnut, in this case, and fried. There’s a gruyere center, to this one.”

You don’t miss the fact that he’s not stuttering anymore. He’s right. He’s good in the kitchen. In all the ways that entails.

“Test?” He lifts a fork to you. You take it.

You lean forward, elbow on the table. You take polite, small cuts of each part of the meal initially, it feels bad to destroy what is an art piece.

But then he leans forward, head meeting your level, amusement lilting his voice. “You know it’s a compliment to eat?”

You huff, taking a larger piece of everything to get it all in one bite. Everything is so soft and lush that you don’t need a knife. Goddamn. You take your bite. Son of a bitch.

You thought fucking brisket was good?

“Oh my god.” You put your hand in front of your mouth as you chew, switching your gaze to him. “Carmen, oh my fucking god!”

“Yeah?” His glow is slowly coming back to him, like a flickering halo. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Fuckin’— So good! What is it, fire? Excellent? What’s the top one? I’m angry that it’s this good.”

“Angry is a new one.”

“I’m furious!” You laugh, “I always thought luxury dining was fuckin’ scam, I’m not gonna lie to you. But I— I took one bite and I’m incredibly full and— And, it’s just— It’s really really good, Carm—Chef. Gotta show it to Syd for the menu.”

He nods, smiling, finally, unhidden. “Thank you, Chef.”

He grabs the fork from you to try for himself, but before he can get to his own plate, you press the back of your hand to his chest, holding him back. “Uh, ah, can I do a thing, for you?”

He squints, curiously, putting his fork down. “…Yes?”

You grin, walking around the kitchen the second he affirms it. “Where’s your wine box?”

“Ah… By expo, over…” He points to it.

You pop it open, hand waving over each bottle for the right one you’re searching for. “I’ll pay for it.”

“S’fine.”

A young Pinot Grigio, you go with. Ripe, sweet, airy. You walk by him again, grazing your hand on the small of his back and placing the bottle in front of him. “Open, don’t pour.”

“Heard.” He roots away for the bottle opener.

“And get me a clean knife and cutting board!”

“Fuck are you doin?” He doesn’t complain, getting what you ask for, but he is quite curious.

You sort through the fruit pantry in Marcus’ section, grabbing the most perfect white peach you can— It wouldn’t be perfect by morning, he won’t mind. “I am an occasional bartender and poor man’s sommelier…”

You meet him back at his station, slicing the peach thinly with the knife he’s left for you. “So, when I’m given the chance to pair a meal, I try to.”

You halve the thin slices, then place a few in each glass Carmen’s so kindly set out for you— Tulip bowled cups. You whistle, “You know your shit…”

His eyes light up, just a bit. He shrugs, handing you the uncorked bottle when you reach for it. “My job.”

“You’re good at it.” You pour the wine, proper— No stops missed for Carmen. “Okay, okay, okay…”

You hand him his glass— The one you think you did a slightly better peach placement on. “Alright, now you can have the dish you worked hard on.”

With a small smile, he takes a generous bite of his dish, takes his time digesting it, then sips your wine. He tilts his head, surprised by how much of a liking he’s taking to it. “S’fire. Well worth it.”

You sip your own glass, smiling, you explain before he can ask you to. “Yeah? Good. Citrusy white to cut the fat of wagyu. Or something. Poor man’s sommelier, y’know.”

“Hm.” He sniffs, and you try not to light up when he writes down the wine pairing at the bottom of his drafted recipe card. “Better than me.”

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks up again. “You gonna head out?”

You squint at him, head tilted. “Are you?”

Once you know one Berzatto, you’ve known them all. Their tells included.

“…Eventually, yeah.”

“You drive?”

“I take the L.”

“Are you on the red or blue line?”

He doesn’t answer. So, that tells you he’s not on the only two 24-hour lines.

“…I’ll take a transfer—”

“When were you planning on going?” You cross your arms; he can tell where this is going and he hates it. You’re foiling his plan.

“When I’m done.”

“Done what?”

“…Cleaning.”

“I’ll help you,” You pick up the cutting board and knife swiftly. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I need to get work done—Too.” He takes a while to reply, but when he does, he speaks with haste.

You pause, putting the cutting board down. Let’s do the math here.

He said he came in ‘early’ this morning, but ‘early’ probably meant overnight because of the Fridge Guy. He left early, sure, before the dinner rush— But only to experience his first breakup—If you can call it that. Then he’s come back at midnight again, after everyone else has left. The likelihood he’s slept since the night before his opening isn’t impossible, but if he did sleep, he slept here. And he definitely hasn’t showered. He’s likely been awake 40 hours.

You nod, picking up the board again, walking it to the sink. You stand over it in thought.

“What’s wrong with home, Carm?”

“It’s gonna hit, if I go home.”

He swallows, “Everything’s gonna hit, when I go home.”

Now that you can understand. You nod, scrubbing the cutting board clean. “When your brother died, I holed up at my parents’ for two weeks.”

You don’t turn off the sink, even after you're done cleaning, because if you do, you fear he will hear your tell-tale heartbeat. “When I came back, my plants were half dead and my fridge was a biohazard.”

He sniffs, he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for you to tell him he has to go home, that it only gets worse if you wait it out, that he needs to find a better way to deal with this—

“You can hole up at mine.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your head to look at him. He’s very hard to read but it looks like he’s entertaining the idea. You add, for the sake of levity, “You need a fuckin’ shower, man.”

He smirks, though the amusement doesn’t meet his eyes. “When I shower all my fuckin’ hairs gonna fall out.” He piles his dirtied utensils and boards, sidling up to the sink next to you.

“You need rosemary water.” You grab a dish rag, switching over to dry for him.

“Does that shit actually work?” You both quickly ebb into the domestic flow of handing off dishes. He mumbles ‘left-most drawer’, ‘top-shelf, right side’, and so on whenever you’re confused about where they go once they’re dry.

“It does. I have also had the ‘am I balding?’ crisis. Believe it or not.”

He stares at your hairline so intently you put your hand in front of it, flustered. He finally flicks his gaze back to yours. “If you’re really worried, you can make it pretty easy—”

“I’ll stay over.”

You take a second to register, then nod happily.

“Good. Where’s the black plate go?”

Your apartment is surprising because it’s built on top of an H&R Block, the concrete stairs leading up to it are chipped to hell, and the front door has clearly been graffitied then painted over then graffitied then painted over then graf—

And yet, it is almost certainly one of the best-looking apartments he’s seen in Chicago— On the inside at least.

None of the furniture matches, but it’s nice, it’s eclectic. It’s heavily thrifted and upcycled from furniture you found on the side of the road. That’s the nice thing, about being a fixer—Nothing’s trash if you believe in yourself. You drop your keys in a handmade clay tray— That’s the other thing Carm notices, so much of this is you alone.

The place is a mess, there’s half-finished projects in the corner of every room, tools strewn in odd places. And it’s perfectly welcoming. Warm. In a literal sense, too, because there’s a humidifier going off on a timer in the living room to make what Carmen estimates are your forty thousand plants and cuttings happy.

This is a perfect apartment because you live in it.

Nothing can hit, in here.

He comes back to reality when you reach your hand out to him, there’s a coat hanger in your other hand. Oh. Jacket.

“Oh, fuck.” He peels off his jacket, handing it to you. “I uh, I left your Carhartt at work.”

“S’fine, if I was in a rush for it back, I would’ve asked.” You brush off easily, hanging up the jean jacket in your small coat closet. “Ah…”

Your apartment has a pretty open layout, but you point at everything regardless.

“There’s the kitchen…” It’s on the right at the entry, with an open archway— Which you’re in the middle of rounding the corners on with plywood.

“The living room…” Straight ahead, he can see the half of it that isn’t blocked by the kitchen. You’ve got big windows, with a fire escape. Suncatchers and more plants are hanging from the ceiling by it.

“To the left, down the hall— The only hall, bathrooms on the right and straight ahead is the bedroom, you can put your shit there.”

His brows furrow, you say the last part quickly, and he’s going to say something but you grab the black plate he’s brought and brush past him to the kitchen.

So, he just shrugs off his backpack, “Heard.” And heads down the hall. For now.

It feels odd to put this very fancy, very expensive one black plate on top of the rest of your own cheap dishware— But he insisted you take it, so, here it is.

You march down the hall, going to grab towels for him from your room, but stop short when you hear him in the bathroom, mumbling, “Fuck is this?”

You peek in, “Fuck is what?” You come in when he turns the bottle in his hand for you to look at. You stare at it for a solid few seconds, genuinely alarmed, you look at Carmen with wide eyes.

“Carmy, look me in my eyes and tell me you know what conditioner is.”

“I—I know what conditioner is, but what are all the words for?”

“All the words?”

“Like, strengthening, bonding, texture—”

“Carmen?!”

“Don’t say my name like that…”

“You have wavy hair, too, Bear!” You stare wide-eyed, mouth in an open-mouth smile because if you don’t laugh you’ll start screaming. You swipe away the hair in front of his face, holding the tress between your fingers to get an idea of texture. You’re too focused to clock the way he flinches— At the nickname and the touch.

“We’ve got like, the same hair texture! What the fuck are you using?”

He doesn’t answer, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Carmen…” You can make a pretty good guess. He bristles again. He has discovered does not like it when you say his name with any sort of animosity or disappointment.

“Carmen no… Two in One?”

“…Five in One.”

“Five in One?!” You clutch the sides of your head. “What are the Five?!”

He waves his hands in defense, “It’s—”

“Y’know what, don’t fuckin’ tell me, I don’t wanna know, I don’t need to know.” You cover your face and shake your head. “Just— I will get you clothes and a towel, wash—” You reach into your shower, grabbing your fruity body wash. “—Wash yourself with this, like a civilized person— And just don’t— Don’t touch your hair, I’ll take care of your hair after you shower.”

“You’ll take care—”

“You’ve lost your hair privileges; I will be taking up the arms.”  You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I just—You need a tutorial, please.”

He holds the body wash in his hand, debating this fight or not, “I think five is—”

“Just fuckin’ say heard.”

“Heard.”

Despite everything, you both laugh. You tap the doorway on your way out, yelling to no one as you turn back down the hall. “Corner!” It’s worth it when he laughs again.

Ironically, the one shirt you know will fit him that you have is ‘The Berf’, so you grab that. Pants are a bit tougher, but with enough scrounging through your closet you find a long-forgotten pair of sweatpants your brother left here ages ago.

You approach the bathroom door, it’s still ajar, so you invite yourself in. He’s staring at your skincare products with a clinical fascination, stopping only to acknowledge your presence.

“Alright, alright.” You pop your pile of things down on the sink counter, handing each thing to him individually.

“New toothbrush.” Still packaged. It’s got your dentist’s address on the clear plastic. “Pyjamas. Towel, wash cloth— I think you’re good.”

When you turn your head to look at him, you catch the tail end of him staring— Again, his eye contact is so soft and also scary. And now that the sleep is catching up to him, he’s half-lidded and— Goddamn it he is very pretty, sonofabitch.

He straightens up, sniffing, nodding as a form of thanks, the likelihood he’s registered anything you’ve said isn’t likely— Which is fine, you are now too flustered to care. There’s a boy in your house and you’ve just discovered he’s pretty.

“I’m just gonna wash my face n’ grab a few things and I’ll be out of your way.”

You wash your hands; he unwraps his toothbrush. And without verbally checking in, you once again flow into a silent rhythm. You grab your toothbrush, dole out toothpaste on both of your brushes, and stare at yourselves and each other in the mirror, side by side as you brush.

You make a face, and while he doesn’t fuckin’ guffaw, he does smile, foam peeking through the corners of his mouth, and that’s enough for you.

You rinse— You try to be dainty about it but it’s not, because when has brushing your teeth ever been dignified?

You pump face cleanser into your palm, then nod to him to do the same. Good Carm, he listens. Like a mime tutorial, he follows your actions of foaming it in the hands and properly washing his face. There’s hope for this five in one boy yet.

You pile together your skincare and leave him to shower in peace. More importantly, leave to let yourself lose it in peace.

Oh my god there’s a pretty boy in your bathroom and it’s two in the morning. What the fuck were you thinking? You just invited him over without hesitation? You met him like barely two days ago! Oh my god! There’s a pretty boy in your bathroom! And it’s two! In the morning!

You need to kill the teenage girl in your head because she’s freaking you the fuck out. You were literally being so calm and chill and cool and cool and chill and calm— Oh my god you’re doing it again—

Everything is fine. He’s literally here because he’s experiencing a torrential downpour of awful. You invited him over because you’d invite anyone like that over. Pretty or not. Get your head in order.

You take a deep, mindful breath and exhale, returning to neutral as you meditatively go through your skincare routine and change into your nice pajamas— Y’know, the one modest matching set for when you have guests or go somewhere. Instead of the one usual incredibly stained oversized t-shirt.

You set up a chair by your kitchen sink, towel on the back for comfort. You were serious about the hair thing. Your scalp and his are curly girl sisters, you cannot leave them to die like this.

When he comes out, knots in his back undone, steam wafting, grime finally removed, he approaches you with much more energy, and leans against the doorway. You both speak at once.

“Weird to see you out of uniform.”

You snort; he flattens his mouth into a line to keep from smiling too hard (which, for Carmen, would really just mean smiling with his teeth). But really, it is weird. You’re both suddenly… People. You can see all his tattoos and his stupid gold chain...And he can see you.

You kick the chair with your foot, gesturing to it. “Sit, I’m washing your hair.”

You’re walking past him before he’s got the chance to deny, collecting proper products from the bathroom to use. Y’know. Not fucking five in one.

Once again, good Carm listens, sitting in the chair. Not without complaints, though. “Big fan of babying people?”

You wrap the towel behind his neck, tilting his head back into the sink. If you pretend, it’s like a salon. You hum in reply, blunt, “Yeah, I am.”

“I like to take care of people. In a way, it’s kind of my job.” You re-rinse his hair once the water is warm— Thank God your kitchen faucet is a sprayer.

“You’re good at it.” He’s too comfortable and lethargic to be aggro about this, so he’s just sweet and honest. It’s hard not to beam.

“I try.” You massage shampoo through his scalp, “I know I’m pushy about it, sometimes.”

He sighs, a breath of relief. When’s the last time someone else washed his hair? He’s been cutting his own for years, he cannot remember the last time. Had to have been before New York.

“Were you pushy with Mikey?” He’s not fully sure why he said that, and he’s waiting for you to make him regret asking it.

You just hum, nostalgically amused, “I think I got pushy because of Mikey.”

“Stopped hoping my friends would take care of themselves with the right tools and decided to just take care of them myself.” You rinse the bubbles from his hair. You’re happy to see his wavy pattern returning.

“A lot of work.”

“Not to me.”

You pump conditioner into your hand— And while he’d probably love for you to elaborate on that point, you have to pivot, “Alright, this part you actually should pay attention to— When you condition— Because you will be conditioning, from this point on.”

He just grunts in reply, but it sounds like enough of a yes to you.

“—When you do it, you’ll hang your head upside down and apply conditioner from the bottom— You gotta like, squeeze your hair in it—” You do the proper routine, squelching his hair, does he laugh at the sound? Yes. Yes, he does. “It’ll sound like that. And then rinse.”

You look at his peaceful, amused expression. His eyes closed. “Heard.”

“Are you retaining any of this?”

“I said heard, didn’t I?”

You just scoff, rinsing his hair. You teach him how to scrunch with the towel, but his eyes are so dazed during it you give the poor boy a break and don’t explain that what you’re putting in his hair is mousse. He might have an aneurysm if you use a ‘food word’ in relation to hair right now.

“Alright, alright, the exhaustion is setting in, let’s get you to bed before you start seeing spiders.” You take his arm and hoist him up. Everything is fine until this bozo tries walking to the living room while you’re trying to pull him down the hall. You once again, speak in sync.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m taking the couch.”

He now realizes why you spoke so quickly about him putting his things away in your room instead of the living room. It’s like you just awoke every Italian ancestor in his bones because he is immediately alert.

“No, you’re not.”

That’s fine because he’s in your household, motherfucker. Your family tree is in the furniture.

“You’re the guest. You take the bed.”

“You’re the host. You take the bed.”

“I’m the one that invited you.”

“And what? You’re the girl.”

At a point, you are both speaking with your hands, words tumbling on top of each other's.

“Bitch—” “It’s just not right—” “I literally made you come over specifically to get proper rest—” “I will be haunted all night by my Nonna if you sleep on the couch—” “The couch is a pull-out, it’s comfortable!” “Then let me use it!” “No!”

This is going nowhere fast.

“My own grandmother takes the couch when I visit. She would throw me off my own balcony if I made a guest take the couch.” Is your hard stance.

And his, “My Nonno would stab me if I let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.”

Now this does immediately shut you the fuck up.

That doesn’t mean he’s won; he’s also shut the fuck up. A slip-up of mutually assured destruction.

You bite back your wheeze of shocked laughter, and you’re very thankful it’s two in the morning now because the moonlight through the window doesn’t entirely catch your reaction of being embarrassingly bashful in this moment. How did the teen girl in you survive? You were so sure you got her…

Your hands hang in the air for a moment, before you finally manage to say, “Either I take the couch—”

“No—”

“Or, it’s a double, so we share it.” You shrug, wringing your hands, “So whichever one you find the least sacrilege.”

God, there’s no simple way to make that not sound like you’re coming onto him, is there? You’re not, for the record. It’s just the fastest solution. You’ve shared beds before, it’s not a big deal— It’s actually only a big deal if you make it one, it’s actually very normal—Get this fucking teen out of here—!

“Fuckin’— Alright!” He huffs after thinking on it for some time, rubbing his forehead in some sort of anguish before marching down the hall.

When you don’t follow, he clicks his teeth. “C’mon, Tony.” His tone is languid and aggravated.

Ah, the sweet sound of a man who has had to compromise— But will be damned if he doesn’t get his part of said compromise. Also the sound of a man who really wishes he hadn't just said pretty girl.

You follow him to your room. Fuck it. Say the thing. You've been trying to keep a level social playing field with him anyway.

“Heard, pretty boy!"

two idiots realize the other one is pretty and nice and try to not acknowledge it (DIFFICULTY LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

Would you believe me if I said I was trying to not do the 'one bed' trope? I really was! I'm not a huge trope guy! But writing it down I was like 'neither of these people would fucking fold'. The only other option would be for both of them to stare at each other in the hallway for 8 hours and come to no agreement. Did not plan Pretty Girl but thank god because it was the only thing that would get them out of that time loop.

It's always my favourite thing when a person who's been cavalier when it comes to boundaries suddenly finds their line (he's pretty) and is now immediately so hyphy. I hope you also messed with this.

Tell me your thoughts!! Favourite bits, lines, etc!! Feeds me!! (Oh, speaking of fed, shout out to Daniel NYC, I did steal their menu for this. I'll probably do it again because I am not a Michelin Star Chef.)

Next Part

[nyoomerr]

If drabble requests are still open, but fluffy octobing merman content would be cute

I LOVE MER AUS SO MUCH!!! here's some octo-mer!binghe and his beleaguered favorite scientist!sy ehehe

---

Shen Yuan finds himself in the lab at three in the morning on a Sunday, facing the helpless expressions of the lab assistants who were scheduled for that particular night shift.

“We’re so sorry, Shen-ge,” one of them says miserably. “We just - he won’t eat, and he starts screaming whenever we try to clean his enclosure, and then -”

“-And then he threw a rock at me!” Interrupts the other, with far less remorse. He’s nursing a particularly nasty bruise on his forehead.

Inwardly, Shen Yuan itches for his notebook. Demonstrations of good aim and understanding of which parts of human anatomy are vital, he thinks absently, and then shakes the thought away. He isn’t here for any studying; he’s just going to take care of the issue he was called in for and go home to go back to sleep.

“It’s fine,” he says, dismissing the lab assistants’ apologies. “I’ll go feed him now, and his tank can be cleaned on Monday.”

“But, the procedure -”

“- states that no one should be working overtime,” Shen Yuan interrupts, feeling only a little bit irritated. 

The lab assistants shut up and let Shen Yuan past without further mention of tank-cleaning schedules.

Ahead, there’s a group of a couple other scientists and one more lab assistant crowding around the door to the lab. When they see Shen Yuan coming, they make way for him, and then immediately crowd back around the doorway to watch him.

Not one of them dares to step foot inside, though. 

“Binghe, come out and apologize to everyone!” Shen Yuan calls over his shoulder, not bothering to look up at the tank as he washes his hands. 

Silence.

Shen Yuan sighs, drying off his hands and moving over to the fish cooler. 

“If you haven’t apologized by the time I finish preparing your - fuck, ass-o-clock in the morning breakfast - then I won’t come up to the tank to feed it to you,” Shen Yuan warns. “I’ll just toss it over the top, and then I’ll leave.”

There’s a small splash; the sound of a head breaching water.

“...Shen-ge…”

Finally, Shen Yuan looks up from his food prep to glance at the tank. Near the top of it, Luo Binghe is staring at him with bright ruby eyes, some of his massive tentacles rhythmically sticking and un-sticking to the glass of the tank, slowly pushing his body up closer to the top of the tank. 

Shen Yuan gives him a stern glare. “Luo Binghe,” he says, meaning every bit of the threat in his voice, “if you push yourself up out of that tank and make me clean up the mess you make doing so, I will handle your food with gloves on for a week.”

“Shen-ge!” Luo Binghe cries, horrified. “I hate the rubber taste! And I only want to taste Shen-ge’s touch, no one else’s! Why should I apologize to anyone who offers me food with their touch all over it!”

“You just said you hate the taste of rubber from the gloves,” Shen Yuan points out. “They’re following my lead in preparing your meals bare-handed, you know.”

Luo Binghe visibly wavers. Shen Yuan finishes cutting up the fish he’d grabbed and dumps it in a bucket, then looks up at Luo Binghe and tilts his head in the direction of the door to the lab pointedly.

“...Sorry,” Luo Binghe mumbles.

“For what?” Shen Yuan prompts.

“For refusing the food they tried to give me, even though Shen-ge should be the one to give me all his courting gifts himself,” Luo Binghe says, very obviously sulking.

Shen Yuan sighs, feeling a bit hopeless. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, ah - food isn’t a courting gift for humans!”

Luo Binghe frowns, glaring at Shen Yuan suspiciously. “But it is when Shen-ge gives it to me, right?”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “I’m not accompanying you during your mating season,” he deadpans. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times. I’m human. You’re a sea creature. We’re incompatible even before you consider our sexes.”

Luo Binghe perks up. Shen Yuan immediately becomes wary.

“I’ve been working on that,” Luo Binghe says, looking especially pleased with himself. “Maybe Shen-ge would like to come up here and document the changes to my reproductive organs himself?”

Shen Yuan feels his face go through several colors that a face has no business being. It only gets worse when he manages a moment of self reflection and realizes he does want to take a look, if only because no such sex change has ever been documented on a mer creature before. 

Mortified, Shen Yuan glances towards the door to the lab. Everyone is watching the exchange between Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe with rapt expressions. One of the scientists has their clipboard out and is taking notes. The other makes an eager little shooing motion at Shen Yuan, as if to say ‘yes, go look, quick! Luo Binghe won’t let any of us look, after all!’

Shen Yuan sighs heavily. This really… really was not what he was expecting when he applied for this job. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming up. Good job apologizing to everyone, I guess,” Shen Yuan says half heartedly, beginning to lug the bucket of fish up the rickety stairs leading to the top of Luo Binghe’s tank. “But I’m not examining your biology tonight. We’ll wait to do that until we can schedule a proper examination. With others present, because it will be professional and educational, not for mating.”

Luo Binghe sulks. “If Shen-ge prefers to be watched…”

Irritated, Shen Yuan slaps at the side of the tank as he continues his trek up the stairs, feeling a bit vindicated when Luo Binghe’s expression twists in annoyance at the feeling of the vibrations so close to him. 

“No mating, no innuendos, and none of your tentacles getting wrapped up around me,” Shen Yuan warns as he finally makes his way to the top of the tank and has to immediately swat away one of Luo Binghe’s massive tentacles as it dips out of the water and starts to reach for him. “Your suction cups leave awful welts - last time, my brother asked me if I was being abused by a secret lover!”

“Why am I a secret?!” Luo Binghe cries, ignoring every other part of what Shen Yuan had said. 

Shen Yuan grimaces, decides that this isn’t a fight worth having at three in the morning, and sets the bucket of fish down on the edge of the tank. 

Luo Binghe looks at it, then back at Shen Yuan expectantly. 

…Damn it!!

Against his better judgment, Shen Yuan sighs and picks up a piece of fish, extending it out towards Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe’s expression instantly turns pleased, his tentacles curling beneath him - and creeping up out of the water again - as he takes the fish directly into his mouth from Shen Yuan’s hands. 

The weight of everyone’s stares from the lab doorway is especially heavy. Shen Yuan picks up a second piece. 

“You’re making me into a gossip piece,” he complains quietly to Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe predictably responds to this by nibbling at Shen Yuan’s fingers instead of taking the piece of fish gently. Shen Yuan cuffs him over the head in a direct violation of every lab rule against touching the specimens there is. Fuck the rule; it isn’t as if Luo Binghe doesn’t break it himself every single day!!

…As he thinks this, Shen Yuan feels one of Luo Binghe tentacles coil around his ankle. Fuck. There’s no way Shen Yuan is going to manage unsticking Luo Binghe for at least several hours. 

Resigned, Shen Yuan settles down properly onto the observation deck at the top of the tank, only giving Luo Binghe a half hearted glare when the mer responds by eagerly wrapping several more of his tentacles around what parts of Shen Yuan they can reach. The weight of them is massive; Luo Binghe is no small creature. 

Happily, Luo Binghe opens his mouth expectantly. Shen Yuan sighs, and picks up another piece of fish. 

It’s going to be a long night.

[cherryredstars]

1k Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Bathroom Sex, Jealousy, Penetrative Sex

Summary: A little warm up before the game starts. 

Word Count: 695 (Not Edited)

You were always such a tease. 

He almost tripped over the ball as he watched you, a scowl distorting his face. Today, the boys and girls soccer team had a game. It wasn’t unnatural for the two teams to practice together, going through drills and pair training. But usually, you and Miguel would pair up together, going toe to toe. A way to help build up the competitive nature within the both of you before a game.

But here you are, giggling and smiling with one of his teammates. You have a wide smile on your face, eyes on the ball as the two of you fight over it. You keep bumping into Peter’s side as you try to steal from one another, a loud yelp escaping you when you almost trip over the ball. Eventually, you steal the ball, his teammate falling to the ground as you kick it into the empty net. You whoop out in victory, smiling and sticking your tongue out childishly at your opponent before helping him up. It makes Miguel’s blood boil as he watches. 

But it isn’t anything to worry about, not really. Not when he has you trapped between him and the wall, your legs wrapped around his hips to keep you up as he slides into you. You mewl, all that fight and competition leaving your body as you suck him in. You lean forward, whimpering into his neck as he bottoms out with a groan. The sound vibrates in the empty bathroom, and you press your face more into his neck to muffle the sounds. Miguel coos down at you mockingly, watching how your body instantly accommodates him and sags. 

“Where did all that energy go, hm?” He whispers into your ear. You whine again, quickly moaning out when he pulls out and thrusts sharply into you. “You had so much energy when you were fucking around with Peter.”

He gives you more rough thrusts when you don’t answer, and you throw your head back against the wall. Your mouth is wide open, moaning and whining as you close your eyes. It makes Miguel hum in satisfaction. He doesn’t stop his punishing thrusts, only going faster. Your hand drops to his chest, pushing him away weakly. 

“M-Miguel! Not so rough! I still have to p-play!” You struggle to say, interrupting yourself with gasps. 

Miguel only rolls his eyes, but he still listens and softens his thrusts slightly. But he doesn’t slow down his pace. If the two of you want to get off in time to clean up and get to the field before the game starts, he needs to get the two of you to come fast. His hand trails down to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles that have your back arching. You clutch onto his arm desperately, body tensing as you feel your release building to its peak. Your legs around his hips have him in a vice grip as you moan out his name, walls clenching as you finish. 

Miguel is quick to follow, the feeling of your tight walls fluttering doing him in. He buries his face into your neck as he groans, pumping his release into you with slow thrusts until he stills. The two of you stay still, catching your breath for a few seconds. Miguel slides out slowly, setting you down to the floor. He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser, handing you some as the two of you wipe off. When the two of you finish, you readjust your clothing and walk over to the mirror. 

From behind you Miguel smirks, “I think you can walk just fine. Don’t know what you were fussing about.”

You scowl at him from the mirror, undoing your fucked-up ponytail and fixing it. “Shut up, you jealous fuck.”

Miguel scowls at you, ruffling his hair and deeming himself presentable. Ugh, men. He grumbles something under his breath about you making shit up, flicking the back of your head. He walks towards the bathroom door, sticking a finger back at you. “Twist an ankle!”

“Take a ball to the nuts!” You shout back.

God, you hate him.

[wh0re43van]

And they were roommates (Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Description: You and Peter are long time best friends and now roommates. Things take a weird turn when he admits that he found your sex toy drawer.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving)

A/n: this is based off this request! I’m sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations, I’ve been having writers block. I’ve also been a bit inactive bc college rawdogging me without lube rn :/ (also I left this open to possibly a pt 2 with pegging Peter?? 🙊)

Peter sits on the edge of the couch clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, playing that mindless video game that he loves so much. His skilled fingers move in a blur across the plastic controller, the sound of the rapid clicks on the joy stick and buttons are drowned out by the blaring music coming out of the stereo. The music is so loud in fact, that the boy doesn’t hear you stumble into your shared home, dropping groceries and cursing at him as you stagger towards the table.

“Goddamnit Peter!” You groan after dropping off the bags of food, stomping into the living room as you dodge empty bottles of soda and dirty clothes on the floor. “Peter!” You gripe, now completely out of patience. But Peter is so fixed on the game and the music is so loud that he isn’t even aware of your arrival.

You let out an irritated sigh before ripping the cord to the stereo out of the wall. “Peter Maximoff!” You shout, crossing your hands over chest. He jumps a bit, startled by your sudden appearance, but soon enough his signature smirk is plastered on his stupid face.

“Hey babe! Where’ve you been?” He asks nonchalantly-choosing to ignore your obviously pissed off stature- as he shifts his attention back to the video game.

“Are you- oh my god,” you groan, completely exasperated as you pinch the bridge your nose. “I’ve been out for three hours getting shit for my party tonight. The one thing I asked you to do was clean up this mess!” You pace infront of the tv like a disappointed mother- a feeling you’ve become all too familiar with since renting an apartment with your man-child of a best friend.

“I don’t think four girls in their 20s getting wine drunk and talking shit for hours on end counts as a party,” Peter snickers before he zooms around you, now between you and the television with his nose nearly pressed to the screen in attempt to finish his game. Your blood is boiling at at this point.

“Beats locking yourself in your room and playing with your dick to those old VHS tapes you still have from high school,” you roll your eyes. “Atleast get with the times and use the internet,” you add with your lips pulled taught in an unamused line, you reach down to unplug the console. Peter of course grabs your hand before you reach the plug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“And abandon my girls? Come on babe, don’t be ridiculous. We have history!” Peter snickers, unfazed by your attempt to humble and embarrass him.

Peter finally beats the level, sounding off the victory music. With a proud smile, he sits down the controller, finally giving you his attention. “Plus, don’t act like I don’t know about your drawer of toys. Neither one of us are getting laid,” Peter laughs casually as he walks back over to the couch, leaving you with wide eyes and blushed cheeks.

“What the fuck! H-how-Peter! Dude! What-what the actual fuck!” You look at him dumbfounded, now twice as furious and extremely embarrassed.

“Oh, so you can go through my stuff, but I can’t go through yours?” He smirks as he takes a swig of soda out of a two liter bottle, looking at you with pure amusement on his face.

“I-I don’t go through your stuff, Peter!” You shriek, looking down at your feet in attempt to escape his gaze. When you do, you notice a bright orange plastic rectangle on the ground amidst various snack cake wrappers. “Th-there’s a tape literally laying right here!” You chuck the VHS at him, he catches it, sitting it on the couch beside him.

“Alright you’ve got me,” Peter holds his hands up in defense with playful grin. “But you can’t blame me for snooping. You don’t exactly make an effort to keep quiet. Our rooms are right across from each other ya know,” he chuckles as he settles into the couch, wiping his Cheeto covered fingers on his grey sweatpants. “So yeah, maybe I was curious to see the loud ass vibrator that you abuse most nights of the week, and maybe I found a lot more than I was looking for,” Peter laughs at how red your face is. He’s clearly enjoying your utter humiliation.

You feel mortified. You can’t believe he would just reveal that he knows you about your dirty habits so casually. Had he seen everything?

‘Why would I keep everything on the same place,’ you internally facepalm as you imagine Peter digging through your underwear draw to see your Hitachi, the vibrating dildo, the strap.

‘Jesus Christ does he know I have a strap on?’ Panic begins to set it. ‘How long has he known about this?’ Your mind is racing almost as fast as your heart.

You swear you’ve never felt so embarrassed in your life. Despite the snow on the ground outside, you feel like your skin is on fire. You’re a clammy, stuttering mess that wants nothing more than to vanish into thin air, but you can’t even will yourself to move.

“Y-you can hear it?” Is all you dare to ask sheepishly, your eyes still wide in horror at the conversation that’s unfolding between you and your best friend.

“Mhm,” Peter snickers as he stands up, nonchalantly stretching and flexing all the muscles in his bare torso. You think for a moment that he might be flexing on purpose as he walks over to inspect the groceries you’ve brought home. “And I Gotta say,” Peter hums as he pops open the new box of twinkies you got for your party. “I’m really not impressed with the settings on that thing,” he says through a mouth full of yellow sponge cake.

You don’t know what to think of the situation. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what he’s playing at, but to no avail. He seems to be amused more than anything; at the very least he doesn’t think any less of you.

You sigh, walking over to the boy, prying the blue hostess box out of his hands. “T-these are for tonight, Peter,” you make a meek attempt of scolding him, but you can’t even look him in the eyes right now as you trip over your words. This only fuels Peters teasing.

“I’m serious babe,” he grins as he slowly rests his hands on either side of you. His bare biceps and chest tense as he grips onto the table, trapping you right in front of him. “I can show ya real speed if you’d let me,” his voice is low and silky smooth as he lets out a small laugh. You blink at him, not sure if you’re understanding him right.

“I-uh…well… if-I uhm-” Your voice is shaky as you stare up at him with wide eyes. At this point you’re sure that your face is as red as those cherry slushies that Peter always gets from the corner store.

“Am I making you nervous?” Peter asks as he leans ever so slightly closer to you. His sultry tone sends heat straight to your core.

“N-no,” you whimper. As if your tone didn’t give you away, you instinctively pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says lightly as puts a gentle hand on your face, his thumb pulls your lip out from under your teeth. “This always gives it away,” Peter hums.

You feel ridiculous at how worked up Peter has managed to get you. You chalk it up to being dick deprived and attempt to pull yourself together before you literally start drooling. But before you speak, Peters next words make your mind go blank.

“These pretty lips of yours are always getting you in trouble, huh?” Peters voice is husky as he drags you lip down with his thumb, focusing on your mouth with a lust laced gaze.

He’s right. Your entire time growing up together your nervous habit of chewing on your lip has always gotten you caught in your lies. It’s a little weird to think about all the adolescent trouble you and Peter got into as he’s standing only inches away from you; very obviously not that little boy anymore. No, Peter is definitely a man now- his mind may not have matured past 15, but his body absolutely has.

He brings his other hand to the back of your head as he steps closer to you. You can feel his warm breath fanning on your face, as your knees begin to go weak.

“Okay Peter that’s enough teasing. You got me. j-just clean up your mess so I can get ready for my party,” you say quietly as you examine his face, taking in how truly handsome your best friend is.

“Oh come on, we have time,” he smiles. That seductive tone is one you never thought you’d hear from Peter, and it’s definitely going to get you in trouble.

Peter dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours, making your breath hitch. Butterflies erupt in your stomach from the small contact. He teases his lips over yours, gently ghosting over the skin as if testing the waters.

The moment your lips touch, you’re a goner. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into an intense kiss. Peter laughs into the exchange as he grabs onto your hips.

You never thought of Peter in this way in all the years that you’ve known him. Sure, he’s an objectively attractive guy- anyone can see that- but he’s just never really been ‘your type’ and aside from casual flirting like he does with every woman he comes into contact with, he never showed any romantic interest in you- as far as you were aware at least. But right now, you’re completely desperate for your best friend.

The kiss quickly becomes anything from innocent as Peter grabs your ass, sitting you up on the table so he can stand between your legs. Your hands run through his hair, tugging on the silver stands as his grips onto your lower back, keeping you as close to him as possible.

Reality sets in as his lips trail down your neck where he stops to nip at sensitive skin. As you catch your breath you stutter, “W-what are we doing Peter? Are we really gonna risk our friendship just because neither of us have gotten laid in a while?”

While you are concerned for your platonic dynamic, you just can’t bring yourself to push him away. His warm lips on your skin and his strong grip on your body is too intoxicating.

“We aren’t risking anything, dude,” Peter smiles into the crook of your neck as his hands run up your thighs, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your short dress. “Just two friends helping eachother out. Nothing wrong with that,” he hums. You’re silent for a moment, considering his words.

Peter Steps aways from you, leaving you to whimper at the lack of contact.

“But if you don’t want this, I understand. I won’t press-“ he begins with a small grin as he continues to slowly back away. Without thinking, your hand shoots out, almost causing you to fall off the table. You grip his arm as you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please Peter,” is all you have to say before he’s back on you. Smashing his kiss bruised lips to yours.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter has been waiting for this moment for awhile. He wasn’t ‘totally in love with his best friend’ but you are the one person who knows him better than anything and his domestic partner and you’re smokin hot and he hears you masturbate in the room beside him a couple times a week- not to mention he hasn’t been with a woman in months. I mean, can you blame the guy?

You let out a small gasp as peters fingers brush against your clothed core. He gives you mischievous grin as he pulls you to the very edge of the table.

“Let’s get these out of the way,” he breaths as he slowly wraps his fingers around the waist band of your silk underwear. With in half a second, the thin fabric is gone- where to? You have no idea.- and Peter is on his knees below you, admiring your exposed core. “You must really be desperate. Damn,” the boy chuckles as he collects some of your wetness on his finger. You groan, kicking him in the arm gently. But you can’t argue with him.

“Ugh Peter if you’re going to-“ before you can finish whining, Peter has his arms wrapped around your thighs and mouth attached to your swollen clit, licking like his life depends on it. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden intense stimulation.

“At least now I know how to shut you up,” Peter chuckles against your core. Caught up in your own pleasure, you grab his hair and grind into his face. Peter let’s out a hum of satisfaction before he slips a finger in your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan, throwing your head back. Peter is having the time of his life, struggling not to cum in his pants from how erotic you are. I mean yeah, he knew you were hot but he never would have guessed just how sexy your moans are or how good you taste. Call him a munch, but Peter could suffocate right here between your legs and die a happy man.

“Just like that Peter. Please don’t stop,” you pant out lowly, moving your hips faster against his face. You look down to see Peter who is already staring up at you. His silver strands of hair tickle the inside of your thighs as he laps at your clit desperately. The image of your best fiends head between your legs triggers a flash of embarrassment and guilt, but that’s soon forgotten as soon as you feel it.

Peter begins to vibrate his tongue as he sucks on your clit, his fingers curling directly into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Peter!” You shriek, pulling his hair. The sensation is nothing like you’ve felt before. You quickly melt into his touch as you revel in the pure pleasure shooting through every nerve in your body.

Peter replaces his tongue with his thumb before breathlessly pulling you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, your legs beginning to shake from how much pleasure is flooding you system.

“I want you to cum for me,” Peter growls against your lips. You whine into the kiss as you clench around his fingers. The tightly wound rubber band in your stomach finally snaps, releasing intense euphoria through your body. “That’s it. Good girl, fuck, just like that,” Peter coos into your ear as the unholiest string of profanities he’s ever heard falls from your kiss bruised lips. You collapse into his chest, your legs shaking, head spinning, chest heaving.

“You okay?” Peter chuckles as he rests a hand on your back. You simply nod your head, trying to catch your breath. After a minute or so of recovery, you open your mouth to speak but are quickly interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. You jump up from the table, looking at Peter in horror as your release drips down your legs.

“My friends,” you gasp. Peter chuckles as he gently stands you to your feet.

“We’re not done here,” your best friend winks before he’s gone with a fwip.

In a Silver Blur, Peter zooms around the apartment. Within five seconds, the living room is spotless, the groceries are put away, and there are four glasses of wine are poured and set at the table with an organized array of the snacks you’d bought.

“Come on in ladies, y/n is in the kitchen,” Peter answers the door, allowing your friends into your home.

“Ew, why is your face wet?” One of the girls ask Peter as they turn the corner into the kitchen.

“And where’s your shirt?” Another girl asks as they exchange confused glances with each other.

“Oh-“ Well I guess Peter forget a couple crucial pieces of evidence. He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “What’s with the interrogation girls?” Peter chuckles as he holds his hands up.

Your face goes red in embarrassment as you walk over to great your group of friends on shaky legs- and with a bare core since you couldn’t seem to find your panties anywhere.

“Sorry, ignore him. Peters just leaving,” You smile at your friends then give peter a death glare.

“Oh, y/n, let me know once your little party is over. We need to finish that conversation,” he winks as he picks up a snack cake off the bar. As he ascends up the steps, you see your purple panties hanging out the pocket of his grey sweatpants. You send a silent prayer to every all-powerful incorporeal being you can think of that your friends did not see Peter with your underwear.

“Y/n, are you okay? What’s with-“ one of your friends begin to question.

“Wine!?” You cut her off as you offer-more or less force her to take- a glass of Pinot Grigio which thankfully is enough to shift the conversation.

You’re left in anticipation the rest of the night, half temped kick the girls out just so you and Peter can finish what you’ve started, but you decide against it. As you go commando for the next four hours, you think about how you’re going to get peter back.

[sukiipjs]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ CHRIS NSFW ABC’S

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a- aftercare (how are they like after sex?)

loves being soft with you and would let you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair, maybe would run a bath/shower for you two after and ask if you needed anything and make sure you’re okay.

b- body part (what’s their favorite body part of yours? + favorite part of their own body?)

he loves your ass honestly, he’s obsessed. he wishes he could just bury his face in it forever. and he loves when you wear tight dresses, your curves are amazing.

he loves his fingers especially since he knows how much you love them too, and loves using them on you. 👀

c- cum (anything to do with cum.)

loves backshots but honestly loves just cumming on you. your face, stomach, tits, ass, inside you. loves to see you covered with his cum, big turn on for him.

d- dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

loves when you mess with him in public, on purpose or not. you could just bend over to grab something or touch his legs, whatever and he’ll get so turned on.

e- experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

a few bodies but definitely knows what he’s doing and definitely loves doing it.

f- favorite position (what is their favorite position?)

reverse cowgirl, loves you on top no matter what and he loves to see and grab at your ass, another favorite being doggy, like i said before, back shots and ass.

g- goofy (are they serious during sex? etc.)

mostly stays serious and focused on doing what he’s doing but makes some comments or jokes a few times.

h- hair (how well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

clean but hairs still there, just not fully shaved. for you he doesn’t really care, if the pussys fire he’s not complaining. 🤷

i- intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect?)

loves being close and getting to touch all around your body, and will make out with you forever. he just worships you and your body so much.

j- jack off (masturbation headcannon)

always pulls up pictures of you or your instagram to jerk off to, loves to imagine all that he could do to you and you to him.

k- kink (what kink or kinks do they have?)

dumbification for sure, loves to just fuck you not stop until all you can do is moan and roll those eyes back. not thinking, not speaking. he loves it and loves being in control.

l- location (where is their favorite place to do it?)

would do it anywhere thats not like blatantly where people can see. like he’d fuck you in a dressing room or in the car or in a bathroom just where ever.

m- motivations (what turns when on during sex?)

literally could be anything, any small touch, just seeing you, your body, the sounds you make. everything.

o- oral (do they prefer receiving or giving, etc?)

loves when you give him head, your lips are absolutely perfect and just what he needs, always stares at you while your putting on lip gloss/chapstick and imagines those lips on his dick.

p- pace (are they fast and rough/soft and sensual?)

fast and rougher definitely, loves to see you begging and all wiped out LMAO. he loves to see you wrecked.

q- quickies (what are their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

honestly loves them, he gets worked up a lot so that release is all he needs. loves the whole session better and having you longer but if he’s like begging for it, a quickie is great.

r- risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

he’s cool with trying new thinks but isn’t usually the one to suggest something new. likes how it normally is.

s- stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

he swears he could go on forever, not stop but in reality he gets too tired after like three or two rounds. and always likes to have you finish before him.

t- toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

doesn’t always like using them, if you want he’ll use your vibrator on you but he likes to do most of the pleasuring.

u- unfair (how much they like to tease?)

loves to make you beg for him and teases you a good amount, loves to see you get all annoyed, he finds it so funny. but also loves when you tease him too tbh.

v- volume (how loud are they during sex? what sounds do they make etc.)

low grunts and strained moans, likes to let you make the most noise. plus he gets super turned on when you start making those sounds.

w- wildcard (a random head cannon)

loves when you cockwarm him while he’s playing video games n shit. just loves being close to you as you squirm around on his lap, soft moans in his ear. he swears he’s in heaven. and loves fucking you in fresh love tbh… HOT.

y- yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

high, always gets super worked up by the littlest things you do. you could be doing ANYTHING, just being around him and he will be ready to fuck.

z- zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

would 100% pass out right after or at least try to stay awake until you fall asleep first.

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taglist - @slutforchriss @mattsleftnipple03 @mattsdinosweater @ccolleenn @mixvchelle @leah-loves-lilies @sturn-wrld @redz0nez9

[dumbhungsubboy]

Thoughts of lying beside mommy in the morning, having woke up unbearably needy and leaky. She’s still asleep. And I need her attention so bad but I don’t want to wake her.

I notice she’s come off of her pillow in her sleep. Then an idea creeps into my silly little head. I take the pillow, mommy isn’t using it right? I slowly and gently wiggle out of my boxers. Sliding them down around my knees. Not too far. Want to be able to pull them back up if she starts to wake up.

I slide the pillow between my legs, it smells just like her. Start rutting against it. Trying not to put my hands on her for support as I go. Trying to be gentle so as to not bother her.

I start to lose myself. Whimpers, whispers “fuck mommy, I need you i wish you were awake i need you so bad please.” I’m losing myself. Lost in fantasy that it’s her thigh.

The pillow has become soaked in precum. I don’t realize I’m no longer being gentle. That my whimpers are audible now. I’m so close. She may not hear me but i still say it. “I’m gonna cum mommy I’m close I’m so close please let me finish”

And then she rolls over. She was awake. She knew. I froze. Terrified. “Please don’t be mad mommy.”

Looking me in the eyes, fingertips under my chin, mommy tells me to keep going, but do NOT look away from her eyes.

So I continue. But it doesn’t take much. I was so close anyways. Three more strokes of my cock against the mommy scented pillow, and i feel myself finishing. Spraying across the pillow. Exhaling an orgasmic moan, every muscle tensing up. Straining to maintain eye contact. My eyes really want to roll back, but I’m intimidated by mommy so I obey.

“Good boy” mommy says “Guess who’s cleaning the bed today, starting with this.” Gesturing at the now cum soaked pillow.

My punishment for impatience i suppose. I can’t always be so well behaved.

[szasfuckingwife]

WHEN I LOOK IN YOUR EYES, I FEEL ALIVE

EX CONVICT!TOJI X MOM!READER

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, Toji has gone to prison, Toji fushiguro is a family man and wants his family back !!

SYNOPSIS: Toji being incarcerated fucked you and your daughter up badly, and when he’s released, you want nothing more than to hold him again.

A/N: i was listening to Blue by Beyoncé while writing this and she made that song for her daughter and I just felt the need to sob for some reason🥲 but yeah prisonbf! Toji missing his gf and kid fucks me up.

When Toji went to prison, you knew it was the end of your relationship. You warned him so many times that this would happened, even before you gave birth to your daughter. And, knowing Toji, there was no convincing him.

The court trial was the worst memory that comes to mind when talking about Toji. When the judge declared he was guilty, it wasn’t a shock to anyone, even Toji.

But it didn’t help that you were there, holding your two year old as police men took him away. Not once, during the whole ordeal, did Toji look back at you two, deciding it was too much to see his girlfriend and daughter who he loved so much get taken away from him. He’d probably break down right there if he looked back.

You cried so much that day, especially when getting told that he’d be facing five years. Even when your lawyer ensured that Toji would face a lot less if he behaves well in prison, it all went in one ear and out the other.

It had been a difficult two years, he’s missed out on so much. Such as, his daughter’s third and fourth birthday, you having a new job and the fact that you and that guys relationship was more serious than he thought.

He remembers when you told him about it. It was bittersweet due to the fact that you brought your daughter so Toji could see her. “Daddy!” She exclaimed, excited to see her dad even though it’s behind a poorly cleaned window. She was too excited to even speak through the telephone.

But Toji already knew. Toji knew his daughter loved him. He talked to her about school and smiled as his four year old talked about whatever she’d been doing for the past week. Except, she mentioned that her, mommy and ‘that man’ went to the park.

When his daughter said that, Toji looked at you only to see you looking away, embarrassingly. Despite his annoyance, the raven haired man kept smiling at your daughter, even more attentive than he was before.

You took the phone once your daughter was finished, “He’s just a friend from work.”

“Why don’t I know about this guy?” Toji asked whilst keeping his hand pressed up against the glass so his daughter could press her hand up too.

“Because it’s not that serious to be talking about.” You sigh. And you were right, it was a couple of dates and drinks but he didn’t make you feel things that Toji had made you feel. “Don’t do this, Toji, not here. Not in front of her.” Your daughter looks up at you, her hand still separated from her fathers due to the glass.

He scoffed, “Does he sleep over? You fuckin him now, is that it? In my bed, huh?”

You stayed silent, not wanting your daughter to hear you lash out. Toji grew even more annoyed at that, “You know that’s gonna upset her, right? She’s gonna think you’re replacing her dad. That shit isn’t fair, Y/N. You know I’m gonna be released soon.”

“And that’s supposed to make me roll out the red carpet for you? And forget that this shit ever happened?” You scoff. Toji opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again choosing to let you talk. “I’ve missed you so much. She misses you so much. Do you know how hard it has been to raise a child on my own? And for you to give me shit if I wanted to move on? Fuck you, Toji.”

His questions not only angered you, but upset you. You had every right to allow yourself to move on after him being locked up for two years. The fact that he’d even attempt to make you feel bad about that was absurd.

Toji watched silently as you held back tears, put the telephone in its holder and walked away with your daughter.

That was the last conversation he had with you for a year. Toji would’ve slapped his past self for even talking to you like that because he misses you now more than ever.

There were so many times where he’s called you, longing to hear your sweet voice. Even if it’s you saying that he’s a dick and you never wanted to hear from him again.

But that wish was never granted.

‘Hey, it’s me again. It’s nearly peanuts fourth birthday..’ He smiles remembering the nickname you gave your daughter. ‘I was just wondering if maybe you could come around? Or maybe give me a call, just so I can wish her a happy birthday. I miss you more and more each day. Both of you. I love you.’

The voicemail meant nothing to you. It should’ve meant nothing to you. But hearing him say your daughter’s nickname sent tears down your face.

He truly misses his little family.

You can only imagine his excitement when he was released. He called an uber straight to your home, his home. He had nothing but a bag of his possessions and $20 but once he’d see you again, he’d be more than satisfied.

It was a Saturday morning. You cooked your daughter some scrambled eggs for breakfast, reminding you of her dad who ate eggs almost everyday. Toji was set to be released any time now, and that loomed over your head like a plague.

Suddenly, you hear three loud knocks coming from your door. It startled you, and your daughter who nearly dropped her orange juice. It was probably one of your friends who forgot their bag here, you thought.

But once you opened the door, you were met with an unwanted surprise.

Toji stood, smiling down at you, dressed in a casual hoodie and joggers. He was definitely more buff due to all the muscle gain he earned through prison. It was strange seeing him again. Not behind a glass but in front of you. Not in his orange jumpsuit but in normal clothes.

You wanted to touch him, see if he was real.

“Hey..” He said. Oh, how badly he wanted to kiss you right then and there. Seeing you again after a year was the best thing that has ever happened to him.

When your daughter saw him, stood at the door, her mouth fell open. “You remember me, sweetheart?” Toji crouched down to her height with open arms as she ran towards him.

He almost cried as his little girl sobbed into his shoulder, she wasn’t as little as she was when he last saw her. He realised how much time has passed. And how much he’s missed the both of you.

“Daddy, don’t l-leave again…”, the four year old croaked out, her nose stuffy and eyes watery. Toji rubbed her back, encouraging her to let her feelings out.

Toji almost jumped when he felt an extra pair of hands join in the hug. However, when he looked up and saw you, he was reminded that everything he ever did and everything he’d ever do would be for the two of you. He pulled you into the hug and held you both, kissing both of your foreheads.

All resentment you felt towards him went away the second you saw him. The three of you caught up, well, it was more of you and your daughter catching him up. The most Toji could do was mention all the times he’s intimidated people at prison, even those serving longer sentences than him. However, Toji was still glad to know you ended things with that guy you were with.

He helped you cook dinner, not forgetting to kiss your cheek every step of the way. The meal truly being made with love. He missed the domesticity of his life. Even when he was going through all his trial stuff, he remembers you, his baby daughter and him all cozied up on the couch, eating spaghetti or something.

And now he had that opportunity again. He enjoyed seeing you remind your daughter to not play with her food and how she asked for ice cream once she was done.

Once the day was over, Toji sat on his bed, his back still not truly recovered from sleeping in a dingy prison bed. It also helped that you were there. You removed his clothes, peppering him with kisses as you did so. He snuggled up to your warm body and just listened to your steady breathing.

“I fucking love you.” He whispers and you hum in response. He knows you and how it’ll take some time before you can utter those words again. If it takes him the rest of his life to make things up to you, he’ll do that.

But that’s fine. As long as he’s with you.

[pearlessance]

Feelin' Empty? - Idle Threats [iv]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel reminds you to heed his warnings.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap (32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst, spanking, edging

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Joel waits several minutes before leaving the bathroom. He cleans himself up, tries to collect his thoughts, tries to swallow down the bitter taste you left behind.

And when he emerges back into the front of the bar, it isn’t Kelly’s smiling face that grabs his attention. It’s you, of course it’s fucking you, because you’ve picked up your things from the bar and moved instead to a booth. 

You’re not alone, either. Abel sits at your side, grinning down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Joel doesn’t know Abel well. He knows he works in the armory, that he keeps stock of all the weapons and ammunition that pass through Jackson. He doesn’t know about the knife wedged in Joel’s boot right now, though.

He pushes the thought from his mind. His jaw clenches, and he takes in a slow breath, and then he’s forcing himself to return to the bar. Tara’s refilled his glass, and Joel has never been more thankful.

“I was starting to worry,” Kelly says as Joel sits on the barstool at her side. “You feeling okay?”

Other than the fact that he just had a religious experience with a girl half his age only to find her nearly sitting in the lap of another man moments later? Yeah. Fine. “Peachy,” he answers, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Abel’s older than you by several years. Younger than Joel, but far from age-appropriate. He’s gotta be in his mid forties, but Joel can’t deny that he’s handsome. Tall and built and rugged, with a thick black beard he keeps trimmed up like some sort of pretty boy. Beneath the cream colored cowboy hat he wears, Joel can see matching dark curls poking out of the sides. And he’s got those bright blue eyes, too, which are currently swallowing you up with no remorse. 

Joel grinds his teeth. Takes another sip of whiskey. He hears Kelly say something. A question, maybe, but he doesn’t hear it. “What was that?”

“I was just asking if you two have history.”

It takes him a little off guard. Is he so obvious? He must be, though. Because Kelly’s sunshiny smile falls as she looks over at you, and Joel begins to feel a little bad for her. Because this date is going nowhere, and he thinks she knows it, but she’s still trying. “Not really,” he answers. “We were on patrol together a couple of times.”

She nods slowly, mulling his answer over like there’s a secret hidden between his words. Joel supposes there is. “Did something happen?”

Christ. Was she this nosy with everyone in Jackson, or just with Joel? He doesn’t want to answer. So he doesn’t. Finishes off his whiskey and nods to Tara for another.

This is too much. And Joel suddenly realizes the solution to all of his problems right now; Kelly, Abel, you—is just to simply get the fuck out of here.

But he can’t leave you alone like this. It’s not safe. He knows exactly what sort of thoughts are running through Abel’s mind right now, knows exactly what he’s thinking when he licks his lips and smirks down at you. Joel can hear him faintly, saying, “You’ve got such a pretty smile, darlin’.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kelly suddenly says. She laughs but there’s no joy in it, no amusement at all. She rises to her feet with a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna go, Joel.”

It’s only with her words he remembers why he came here, remembers that he was supposed to try on this date with Kelly to distract himself from you and has, catastrophically, failed. He thinks about asking her to sit back down, but then realizes he can pay closer attention to you without her chattering in his ear, so Joel apologizes instead. “Kelly, look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m…cut out for this kinda thing.”

She nods slowly, looks over to you one last time. “I get it,” she says, reminding him of your conversation in the bathroom. 

I get it, but I don’t understand. It hurts just as bad in his memory. Cuts just as deep.

When he looks up at her, a storm cloud has replaced all that carefree sunshine on her face and rainwater lines her lashes. His eyes soften, and Joel wishes he would’ve ended this the moment he stepped through the door to save everyone a little bit of pain. “Kelly…”

She shakes her head, clearing any remaining sadness away. “Really, Joel, it’s fine. I’m not blind, alright? You can’t hide something like that.”

His brows furrow. “Like what?”

Kelly gathers her jacket with one hand and waves the other between you and him. “That,” she says as if it’s obvious, like the magnetic energy pulling him to you is some physical, tangible thing. “Whatever it is, it’s not exactly subtle. And, Joel, that girl’s trouble but she doesn’t deserve any more hurt. Neither of you do. So, whatever it is, just make sure it’s real.” She turns to leave, but at the door she turns her head back to him, watery eyes making their grand return. And then she says, “Nothing’s promised anymore. Take the good where you can get it.”

Joel tosses his whiskey back in one gulp. He presses his fingers into his temple, trying to alleviate the ache, grateful for the soft hum the alcohol has created in his bones. He hears the ring of your sweet laughter and his eyes follow the sound. 

He watches through hooded eyes as Abel pulls you to the other end of the bar where there’s a small, open space near the jukebox. He takes your hand in his, the very hand that you licked clean moments ago, and raises it above your head. Abel’s spinning you in a circle, and there’s a carefree smile on your face, and it makes Joel feel hollow. Like the part inside of him that you’ve carved out for yourself has been vacated, demolished. It makes him feel empty.

You look happy. And that’s the part that kills him.

Joel wants that for you. Wants you to be happy and safe and satisfied and loved. And it can’t be him that gives those things to you, can it? It would put a target on your back for cruelty, and Joel has to protect you from that. You say you don’t care what the people of Jackson have to say about you, but he does. Joel knows himself. Knows that if he ever overheard someone talking bad about you and it was his fault? There would be more than just an argument with his little brother as punishment. 

There would be blood, and loss, and death. And Joel doesn’t want that. He only wants you—sweet and soft and innocent and bratty and perfect. He doesn’t want to taint you with bloodstained hands, doesn’t want to tarnish you any further than he already has.

But then you glance over at him from around Abel’s shoulder as he sways you to the soft blues song that plays. He’s got one hand wrapped in yours and the other on your back, a respectful distance above your ass. Far more respectful than Joel has ever been to you.

And there’s that look in your eyes again, the one that makes him feel warm, comforted, safe. It grows and grows the longer you stare at him until it’s engulfed every cell in his body, thawing him from the inside out. And when you look away as Abel whispers something in your ear, that warmth in his chest remains. Muted, but ever-present.

Joel is a selfish man. He’s come to terms with it. He knows from experience that if it ever came between choosing the few and choosing the many, he’d let the world burn if it meant keeping his people safe. The ones he loves, the ones he’s chosen. He’s not ignorant to the fact that you have, inescapably, found your way into that category of people he’d sacrifice the world for.

But he doesn’t want to be selfish with you. He doesn’t want to, even though he already has been. Because the selfish thing he’s doing now will hurt you later on, just as Tommy said. No matter what, even if things go perfectly to plan, someone will suffer for what the two of you have done. And Joel really, really doesn’t want it to be you.

If there was a way to guarantee that he would be the only one left bleeding at the end of this calamity, Joel would be snatching you out of Abel’s hands and taking you home before the song was over. He’d damn himself without a second thought, without a single regret because Kelly is right; nothing is promised anymore. And Joel wants to hold onto that warmth for as long as he can, wants to hold onto you for as long as he can. 

Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s sinful. Even if it hurts.

But he doesn’t want to make a scene, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Which leaves him stuck, sitting at the bar, sipping whiskey to fill the void you left behind, watching Abel play all his tricks to attempt to woo you. Joel even watches some of them work. 

Abel’s funny. Or at least, you find him so. Joel knows because every couple of minutes you’re giggling or snorting or grinning with a shake of your head. He queues up music on the jukebox and the two of you dance to Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad by Def Leppard and Joel thinks about chewing on glass.

You’re glancing over to the bar every few minutes, but Abel is completely unaware of Joel’s hard stare. He understands, though, how easy it is to succumb to your witchery. How being in your presence makes everything else—people, problems, morals—fade into the background. Joel wonders if he gets that same lovesick look on his face that Abel currently wears.

It’s painful to watch. Every second of it makes Joel feel like he’s splintering apart. But he forces himself to stay put—to keep a close eye on you. To keep you safe. Because he can see the thoughts as they flit through Abel’s head, can see him appreciating the curve of your neck, the softness of your lips, the arch of your nose. Joel can relate because he’s been there—enthralled, captivated, hypnotized. And he knows Abel will do anything to take you home with him, to make you his. But that’s not going to happen because Joel will never allow it.

So he watches the two of you dance until the sun sets below the horizon. He watches Abel push your hair behind your ear, watches your cheeks turn crimson when he compliments you, watches him pluck his cowboy hat from his head and place it onto yours. And it makes him sick—makes his knuckles go white, makes him grind his teeth, makes him sweat. 

But Joel has never, ever, been as angry as he is when you lay your head against Abel’s chest and he presses a kiss into your hair. Because holding your hand and touching your spine over your jean jacket with the other is one thing—but kissing you? No. 

Fuck. No. 

It sends him into a blind rage. Joel realizes it’s been simmering since the moment he left the bathroom, that watching the two of you become real cozy in front of the jukebox only served to stoke the flames of fury beneath his skin. 

He’s going to kill him.

Joel grabs a half empty beer bottle by the neck and smashes it against the bar top.

The commotion grabs all the attention in the room, including yours, but Joel doesn’t notice. He only sees Abel and his hands on you and his lips against your head and the smiles he’s stealing from you, smiles that should belong to Joel.

His ears are ringing. Fuck the people of Jackson and the bullshit they’ll have to say. Fuck watching you when he should be holding you. Fuck your age difference and the notion that it’s wrong and fuck the wrath of God. But more than anything, fuck Abel.

He doesn’t take more than two steps before someone pushes him back. A solid force standing between Joel and his vengeance. He shoves and shoves but it doesn’t move, and he thinks about raising the glass bottle in his hand to whatever stands in his fucking way—until Tommy’s voice cuts through the red fog in his mind. 

“Joel,” he says. “ Joel. Joel, take a walk. Talk a fucking walk. Right now.” 

His brother stands in front of him, one hand wrapped around Joel’s wrist, the other shoving his chest, pushing Joel backward. 

On the other side of Tommy, Abel stands with his shoulders squared and his fists clenched at his sides. He’s pulled you behind him protectively, completely oblivious that Joel is no threat when it comes to you. 

In fact, Joel realizes that maybe you’re the true threat in the room. Making him feel these things, tempting him toward sin. The true forbidden fruit, the snake in the grass. And it’s only now Joel realizes it’s far too late for him.

Tommy pushes him out of the bar. The winter air stings Joel’s face, his hands—ice cold compared to the boiling temperatures within. “Go home, Joel,” his brother says, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t be stupid.” There’s something in his eyes. A warning, maybe. Joel listens, leaving you alone in the bar with Abel and Tommy and Tara and whoever the fuck else.

Because Joel is lucid enough to know Abel won’t hurt you. He’s also lucid enough to know that if he did, there would be nothing strong enough to keep Joel from ripping him apart. 

So, he appeases his brother. 

He walks the streets of Jackson but he doesn’t go home. He can’t go home, not now. He’d only lie in his bed and convince himself to come find you. And Joel’s tired, so fucking tired of beating himself up for this.

It’s too late. Too fucking late. He’s already sunk his teeth in deep, already cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, already given into his lust, his gluttony, already listened to the hissing from your forked tongue and let himself believe it. The poison will set in later down the line, he knows. But later isn’t now and forbidden or not, Joel Miller is starving and you’re fucking delicious.

There’s a big willow tree on the side of the street opposite your house. Joel stands beneath the weeping branches, comparing the sway of the limbs to his grip on his sanity. He leans against the wide trunk and waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

He sees you less than twenty minutes later. You’ve got your jacket pulled tight across your chest and your steps are hurried as you skip up the stairs and try to fight off the midnight chill. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel thinks you look like some sort of angel. His desire for you is incessant; a gnawing against his psyche, a want that’s both unholy and divine.

Joel watches you fumble with the key, wondering if you intentionally forgot to lock your front door that night. It wouldn’t surprise him anymore—you bratty, venomous little thing.

He waits until you disappear inside before he pushes away from the tree and crosses the street. Joel’s careful as he steps up the creaky stairs. And, much to his relief and satisfaction, the door has been, once again, left unlocked. 

It’s dark on the other side, nothing to illuminate the space but the soft glow of the lamp in your bedroom. He follows it like a moth to a flame, but Joel stops when he notices his coat hanging over the back of the couch. 

He only just now remembers he left it at the bar in his haze of fury, and can’t tell if it makes him feel tender or irritated, seeing the dark brown canvas hanging there so casually, looking far from out of place. On the one hand, he loves that you thought of him, loves that you saw it, and felt entitled to claim it as yours for the time being. Even though you danced with another man all night, even though he knows Abel likely begged to walk you home, it was a piece of Joel that you decided to take. And the realization brings him a deep satisfaction, knowing you chose him. 

But bringing it home means you assumed Joel would show up here at some point. And he can’t help but feel a little played. Like this has been your plan all along; to provoke him to anger, to incite a reaction from him. And the worst part is that it worked—Joel did just what was expected. But he doesn’t regret it for a single second, still feels the residual wrath in the palms of his hands and he wants so badly to give you a spoonful of your own medicine. 

You want to be bratty, to taunt him? Fine. But you need to understand that your actions are not without consequence.

When he pushes open your bedroom door, Joel ignores the gasp of surprise you let out. Your hand goes to your chest in an attempt to slow your racing heart, and his hand finds a home around your neck. He pushes you against the wall, and expects you to fight back or shove him or shout out curses or something— but all you do is rest your hand against his wrist. His touch is bruising but yours is affectionate and, just like that, Joel’s lost all control yet again.

His knees go weak at the sultry look in your eyes, at the smirk playing at your pretty mouth, at the deviance you exude. “Tommy told me to stay away from you,” you say.

Joel realizes his brother is now playing both sides, trying to drive from the back seat. But Joel’s already driven over the cliff, now in a complete free fall. It’s too late. Too late. And he thinks it might’ve been from the moment he first saw you. “S’that right?”

“Said I’ll be the reason you get kicked out of Jackson if I’m not careful,” you continue. “You should go, Joel. It’s not smart for you to be here. Go back to Kelly.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. And he means it—there’s no getting rid of him now. Not anymore. 

“Maria won’t let you stay. Not if you kill someone.” He’s not talking about Jackson or Maria, and he thinks you know it, but he can see your hesitance beneath all that sinful seduction and decides the conversation can wait until tomorrow.

“You did that shit on purpose.” It’s a statement, and the wicked gleam in your eyes all but confirms his suspicions. 

“Yeah. And what’re you gonna do about it, huh?” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and a breathy sigh escapes him at the sight. 

“I oughta spank you till your ass is red,” Joel says, noting the way your pupils dilate at the threat. And it is a threat—one he swears to make good on. “Always being so disrespectful.”

“Abel’s nice, Joel. Says he’s good at making girls come, that he’s been practicing longer than I’ve been alive. Said he’ll make me feel good, that he’ll be real gentle with me. And you and I both know just how much I like older men. ”

The image you create has Joel’s fingers tightening around your throat. “Gentle?” It’s laughable. “That what you want, little girl? Want me to be gentle with you?” He tilts your face up with his thumb beneath your chin, presses his body against yours. Your hand goes to his belt buckle as it digs into your belly, and your legs fall apart on instinct as he wedges his knee between them.

You seat yourself right over his denim-clad thigh, hips rolling already, desperate for friction, for relief.

He chuckles darkly and says, “Yeah…didn’t think so.” Joel presses into you harder, because he knows just how bad it hurts. Knows just how that longing feels, knows how bad it aches. He grabs a fistful of your dress and hikes it up over your hips. He wants to see the mess you make, and he’s rewarded with the embarrassed whimper you let out in response. “Filthy little thing,” he says. “Don’t want it gentle at all, huh?”

At the sight of you grinding against his thigh, Joel forgets what he came here to do. Forgets he’s supposed to be giving you a taste of your own medicine, supposed to be showing you just how difficult it was to watch you flirt with another man. Because he thinks you look so pretty like this, he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. Joel wants to watch you fall apart just as much as you need to, wants to touch you till you shake, wants to lick your clean afterward, wants to make you feel so good no other man will ever compare.

But you’re not quite there yet, he knows. He can feel you’re not quite relaxed, not quite as pliable as he wants you to be. But he knows how much you like hearing his disgusting words, and so he lays it on thick. “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Lettin’ me fuck you with my fingers in public and that still ain’t enough for you, hm? You want more, always wantin’ more. Beggin’ me all the time.”

He’s surprised when it doesn’t work as well as he hopes. You’re moaning in his ear—breathy, needy little sounds that make his hard cock seek you out behind his zipper—your hips move restlessly, creating more and more friction, and there’s a telling dark spot beginning to form on his jeans. But something is off. 

Joel can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something. And he begins to spiral, heart racing behind his ribcage. Because what if you’re finally coming to your senses, finally realizing he has nothing to offer you? What if the whole thing was just some fantasy to you? Maybe you’ve gotten your fill of him, gotten your rocks off enough times to be satisfied. What if he’s here, willing to sacrifice everything just to be close to you, while you’re slowly growing tired of him?

But then he tears his eyes away from his knee and sees the downright evil look in your eye as you let out a dramatic moan and say, “Oh, Abel!”

And he’s had it. Absolutely fucking had it. 

Joel steps back, fists his hand in your hair, and pulls you towards the bed. You’re giggling and he’s seething as he sits on the edge of the mattress and takes you over his knee. “Fuckin’ brat,” he says. “Tired of your attitude. Think you know everything. Think everything’s a goddamn joke.”

You spread your arms straight out above you, fingertips disappearing beneath the pillows. And you're sitting on your knees, ass arched beautifully, and Joel’s mouth waters when he pulls your dress up to expose a pair of royal blue panties, ones he hadn’t been able to properly appreciate in the dimly lit bathroom. “What are you gonna do, Joel? You’re gonna spank me? Really?” You scoff in disbelief. “All bark and no bite. Why don’t you— Joel!”

The sound of his harsh slap reverberates through his head, sharp and delicious. He feels his muscles relax almost instantly—almost as if he needs this more than you. “I told you, baby,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. “I don’t make idle threats.”

“Joel! You can’t—you—! What the fuck?”

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. Your whole body tenses and a soft little whimper leaves you, one that sends shivers down his spine. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he warns.

There’s already a hand-shaped mark blossoming across your smooth skin, and Joel rubs the tender flesh to soothe. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, shoulders shaking with each desperate inhale. “Joel,” you cry.

“Wasn’t it just five seconds ago you were moanin’ some other man’s name?” He brings his hand down against your ass again, a stinging slap that has you shoving your face into the pillow. “C’mon, now,” he says. “Where’s he at, baby? Thought he was gonna make you feel good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, words muffled through both the sheets and your giggles. “I was just kidding!”

“Nah. I don’t think you were.” When he strikes again, it’s lighter this time, on the opposite cheek. Your skin is reddening beautifully, and Joel licks his lips as he watches the damp spot in your panties become more and more prominent as the seconds tick by. “How’s that feel? Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes! God, Joel—I said I was sorry!” You sprawl out further in front of him, spine bending, thighs clamped tightly together. He knows you're enjoying this, can see it in your face, but Joel doesn’t think you’re quite getting it and he needs you to understand. 

He brings his hand down again, so hard this time his palm tingles. Your legs cross at the ankles and your muscles go rigid. He holds you in his lap with one hand and uses the other to stroke your hair out of your face. “Imagine how I feel, baby. Imagine how much it hurts to see him makin’ you laugh, makin’ you go all red. How much it hurts to see him kiss you.”

“Then you should’ve taken me away from him,” you say quietly. And it forces Joel to pause—to see through his frustration for just a moment. Because you’re right. He should have. He wanted to.

“You know I can’t do that, sweet girl,” he says, thumb stroking gently over your reddened flesh. “Can’t let you get away with bein’ bratty, either. Think five is enough?”

Joel laughs when you press your face into the mattress and let out a dramatic groan.

“Gonna make you count with me, baby,” he says. “Can you do that for me?”

When you lift your head and look up at him, Joel gets that zealous feeling again, twisting up his insides—warm and intense and heavenly. It makes him want to lean over and kiss your cheek, your forehead, makes him want to hold you so close the concept of disconnect becomes foreign. You nod slowly in answer, and he wonders if you can feel it, too.

He watches your face this time as he brings his hand down sharply against your ass. The cutest crease forms between your brows, and your knuckles turn white as you clutch the sheets. He caresses the supple flesh, squeezing softly as he waits.

You let out a long breath. “One,” you choke out, and Joel feels pride swell in his chest. Already you’re following his direction. All it took was a little discipline.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Bein’ so good for me, baby. Sittin’ so pretty.” Joel’s attention leaves your flushed face as you begin to squirm. And it’s only then he realizes just how much this is affecting you—the seam of your panties is soaked. The fabric has gone from blue to almost black, wet material clinging to every dip and curve of your pussy, leaving nothing to the imagination. And Joel moans at the sight—he can’t help it. “Oh, little girl…look at that,” he whispers, voice thick with admiration. “Now you’re finally gettin’ it.”

This time when his palm connects, it’s right in the center of your ass, lower than before—and Joel can almost see your clit pulsing. “Two,” you whimper, eyes squeezed tight to try and fight your oncoming tears. When you catch your breath, you begin pleading almost immediately. “Please, please, touch me. I need you.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shh, baby, I know,” he says. “I know it’s hard, wantin’ something so bad…having it so close…” He slides his middle finger over your panties, right through your slit. It’s featherlight and teasing and torturous. You tilt your hips back to meet his soft touch, but he only pulls away, leaving you trembling in his lap. “And then it gets taken away from you,” he continues. “Leavin’ you all needy and cold and hungry. ”

Joel strikes your ass with his tingling palm, grinning to himself in satisfaction at the art he’s made of your skin. “Joel,” you cry, shoulders shaking with every deep, ragged breath. “Joel, please.”

“See? Knew you’d forget his name. Happened so quick, darlin,’” he mocks. He snakes his hand beneath your dress, tracing the curve of your spine, stroking in reverence. “S’posed to be countin’ for me.”

Your voice is breathy and broken as you say, “Three, Joel I need it, oh my god.” This time the tears do come, sliding slowly down your flushed cheek. Joel reaches over and swipes it away. He runs his knuckles softly over your jaw, ignoring the rocking of your hips.

“Shh. S’alright, little girl. I’m here, nothin’ to cry about,” he coos. And then he takes your arm in his hand, pulling you up off the mattress. “C’mere, baby. I’ve got ya.” When you lean back on your heels, knees pressing against the side of his thigh, Joel kisses the tip of your nose with his lips stretched into an amused grin.

You reach for him, hands finding the coarse hair of his beard, pulling his face to yours, crushing your mouth to his. You taste like heaven, and Joel lets you take control for a single moment. Lets you bite his bottom lip, lets you lick into his mouth, lets you run your hands through his hair and tug the curls at the nape of his neck. But the moment you reach for his cock, Joel grips the back of your neck and pulls you quickly away. “ Please,” you whimper, and you sound so fucking pretty begging for him that his resolves wavers.

But then he remembers the way it sounded when you said Abel’s name and Joel’s jaw feathers. “Arms up, sweetheart. Still got two more to go.”

A whine leaves you in protest, but you do as he asks. Joel helps you take off your dress, tosses it to the floor in the pile where he left his faith, and runs his rough fingertips down your bare chest. 

“You’re so pretty baby,” he says truthfully, thumbs ghosting across your nipples. “You know how pretty you are?”

No answer comes in the form of words, but you clue him in on just how desperate for him you are when he sees your head fall back at the light touch. Your lips part with a ragged breath that turns into a moan when he leans forward and takes one nipple into his mouth. 

He swirls his tongue, flicking it over the hardened peak. He pinches the other gently between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the delicate flesh of your breasts. And when he pulls away, pushing you back down against the mattress, Joel can’t hold back the grunt that leaves him at the pressure your body creates over his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. And he knows the cure, longs for it, but he has to finish this. He has to make sure you remember what happens when you disrespect him, when you entertain another man.

Joel hooks his fingers in your panties and slowly pulls them down. A low, throaty groan leaves him as he sees the mess you’ve made. It’s pornographic and dirty and obscene and Joel has never, ever wanted something so bad in his life. “Fuck. This all for me, little girl?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “It’s yours, Joel, all for you.”

He pulls your panties further down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches strands of your slick snap as they disconnect. Your pussy is glistening, and Joel wants to feel it, wants to taste it. But he resists, knowing it’ll be worth it in the end. “I know it is, baby,” he mutters.

This time when he brings his palm down against your ass, the sound is sharper, louder than before without the fabric between you. Now it’s just his hand and your flushed skin, and it isn’t until now that Joel realizes just how badly he needs to touch you.

Your hips lift up towards his hand, looking for relief that won’t come. “Four,” you sigh.

“Good girl,” he says. “One more, yeah?”

Through panting breaths you ask, “And then you’ll touch me. Right, Joel? Right?”

The words are so innocent and hopeless that he can’t hold back his dark laughter. You’re being so good for him right now, and Joel knows you don’t deserve any more punishment than this…but the opportunity to tease you is just too sweet to resist. And Joel has already established that, when it comes to you, he’s got no restraint. “What’s wrong? Hm?” He slides his middle and index finger through your pussy, chuckling at the blissful moan you give in response, down to your clit where he circles once, twice—and then back up, gathering your wetness on the pads of his fingers. He spreads you open and traces your entrance, careful not to push inside. “Feelin’ empty, little girl? S’that it?”

You’re nodding frantically, eyes transfixed as he lifts his fingers covered in your slick to his mouth and sucks them clean with a groan. “God, Joel, I can’t take it anymore,” you say. 

But he knows better. If he can sit there and watch you dance with another man for hours, you can handle a little desperation. “Good. Now you know how I feel. One more baby,” he says. “Then I promise I’ll touch you, just like you said. Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, please. One more.” 

He makes it the worst one yet. When he slaps your ass the sound reverberates through his ears, and Joel knows it hurts because his palm stings and he starts to feel a little bit guilty. Because the relief it brings him to have finished, to have made you suffer in the same way he has, is incredible. So much so that he wants to do it again—wants you to act out, to be bratty, just so you’ll end up over his knee with his handprints on you again. And that’s wrong, isn’t it? It has to be. It’s fucked up, wanting to punish a little girl for his own satisfaction.

But then your shoulders drop, and delight shines in your eyes, and Joel knows you enjoyed it as much as he did. So, even if it is fucked up and wrong and immoral, it’s something he shares with you and, somehow, it makes it all worth it. “Five,” you whisper. And you immediately go to sit up, to crawl into his lap, but Joel stops you. 

“Stay still, baby. You just lay right there, I’m gonna take care of you, ‘kay? Just like I promised. Don’t gotta lift a finger, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts from underneath you. He stands up, admires the way you look sprawled out over the sheets with your pussy dripping and your ass marked in the exact shape of his hands. You’re so beautiful it pains him, so flawless it hurts. Joel has to remind himself to breathe as he unbuttons his flannel and tosses it aside. 

By the time he’s unbuttoning his jeans, you’re getting desperate again—needy little thing. He watches you squirm, watches you press your thighs together and arch back towards him. 

Once he’s got his jeans off, he climbs over you, takes his aching cock in his hand, and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “My perfect little girl,” Joel murmurs against your skin. He slides the head of his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick, smirking as you whine for more. “This what you want? Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, God, give it to me, I need it, I’ll be so good,” you beg as he circles your clit.

And what is he supposed to do but give in to you? You’re always good when he’s got you alone like this. “I know you will be, baby. Say please.”

“Please, please, please — ohh.”

You feel like damnation as he eases inside. Your long moan sounds like a psalm, his fingertips on your ribs are like keys to the gates of heaven. It feels so fucking good to be inside of you that Joel feels like a thief. A brigand, a predator, a vulture. Because in the back of his head, he knows the truth, knows you can never really be his, knows that the age difference between the two of you means that you’re not meant for him. And he’s stealing, taking from whoever it is you should belong to…but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.

He moves slowly, pushing in deep until there’s no spot inside of you left untouched. And when he pulls out, his cock is wet with your slick, and Joel shivers at the sight. “Oh, God, Joel, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he says. He leans back, straightening his spine so he can watch himself disappear inside of you. The dark hair between his hips has been made darker by your wetness, and the muscles in his thighs flex with each slow, meaningful thrust. 

There’s something different tonight. Something even more holy than any other time he’s been this close to you. His heart aches behind his sternum and pressure builds in his throat. The feeling chokes him, runs through his veins as naturally as blood. And though it’s never felt quite like this, Joel knows this feeling. Knows, too, that it terrifies him.

But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Doesn’t want to take himself out of the sacred time he has with you. So, he leans into the feeling, letting it take over all those thoughts of sin and doubt, all those thoughts of guilt and shame. He pushes them away and loses himself in you instead, picking up his pace, fucking you hard. “Feels real good, hm? You know he’d never make you feel like this, sweetheart. Just me, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, mmhm, just you, just you.” He can feel you clench around his cock, squeezing your walls tighter with each cruel thrust. His name sounds so pretty in your mouth, Joel thinks.

Already he’s fighting release, fighting to hold himself back. “Fuck, baby. That’s right, just me.” He snakes his hand beneath you, fingers finding your sensitive clit a moment later. He swipes his hand back and forth quickly, delighting in the way you begin to shake. “Don’t want nothin’ fuckin’ gentle. Wanna be fucked just like this, hm? Fucked like the little slut I know you are. You fuckin’ love this cock, don’t you baby? Hm? Say it, sweetheart.”

“I love it, I love it, I love it, ” you say, and Joel’s heart pounds a little faster in his chest. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, God,” you cry out. And he knows you’re right there, can feel it in your trembling limbs. Joel grabs your ass with his free hand, raised skin hot to the touch, and spreads you open for a clearer view.

The sight of his cock stretching you open nearly does him in. But he resists, because he wants to come with you, wants you to drown him. “Give it to me,” he says, thrusting in deeper, stroking your clit faster. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon. There you go, thaaat’s it. Good girl, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Shit, pretty little pussy’s soakin’ me. Gonna come inside, hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you’re nodding and you look back at him with hazy eyes and say through your moans, “Yes, I wanna feel it. Please come inside me, Joel, please.”

He doesn’t last another second. His orgasm hits him so hard his vision blackens and he sees nothing but bursts of light, hears nothing but your sweet sounds, feels nothing but admiration and devotion and worship. For you, all for you. 

Everything for you. 

He fucks you through it, doesn’t stop until he’s completely spent, even though you've finished and come down and your knuckles are white around the sheets, too sensitive to care about anything else but the steady movement inside of you. He gives you every last drop, makes fucking sure of it. And when his muscles go slack, he presses his sweaty forehead to your spine and tries to catch his breath. He breathes you in deep, holding you in his lungs, in his heart.

And he doesn't want to move, but then you let out a sated little giggle and say, “Joel, you’re squishing me.”

He laughs quietly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slowly pulls out of you with a groan. He crawls to the other side of the bed, pulls the comforter back, and helps you crawl underneath it. And when he nestles in beside you, he’s a little startled when it’s a natural reaction to pull you close. He wraps his arms around your waist, hooks your thigh over his hip, leans into your hands as you thread your fingers through his hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. 

It’s intimate and closer than he’s been to anyone in a very, very long time. But he doesn’t hate it. And he doesn’t hate it when you pepper kisses over his face, either. And he really doesn’t hate it when you arch your back, tits pressing against his chest, and smile like there’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than being here with him, just like this.

He knows you are, but he has to ask. “You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. I…” You stop, chewing on your bottom lip. “I, uhm…”

“What is it?”

You look away from him, suddenly very interested in the shadows you make on the ceiling by rubbing your cold feet over his legs. “In the morning, I’ll have to go talk to Robin,” you admit. “She…she makes this tea, something you can drink to prevent unwanted…uhm,”

Joel thinks it's real cute, the way you’re struggling over your words. But he decides to grant you a little ease. Thinks you deserve it. “You don’t have to do that. I had a vasectomy before the outbreak,” he says. And when a crease forms between your brows, the question written plainly on your face, he explains, “It’s a procedure that, uh…makes it so I can’t…you know. Do that. Shootin’ blanks.”

It’s only then he realizes the gravity of the situation. Realizes that you didn’t know, because the two of you have never had this conversation, and you were ready and willing and begging to risk everything, to risk being tied to him forever, all for a single moment of bliss, of sweet relief.

“Oh. How convenient,” you say. 

“That’s somethin’ you were worried about?” He begins to wonder if you’ve ever felt pressured by him to do things you didn’t want all in the name of pleasing him. Realizes that never once has he asked for your permission. He’s always just…told you what to do. Bossed you around. And there’s a power imbalance here because of his age, isn’t there? His mouth runs dry, his blood runs cold. “You can say no, baby. At any time, with anything. You know that, right?”

You nod, and he feels the panic bleed from his chest as you explain, “I know. I wanted it, too. And I wasn’t worried. I trust you, Joel.”

That fucks him up. Blows through all the defenses he’s put up, all the walls he’s built to keep you out, to keep you at arm's length.

I trust you.

God, he’s fucking done for.

You let out a long breath. He feels at ease the moment you nestle your head in the junction of his shoulder, muscles relaxing as the tension subsides. “I don’t want to see you with her,” you whisper against his throat. 

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “I never should’ve gone in the first place.” It’s the truth, and Joel means it. There’s no one for him but you and he knows by now that there never will be.

“So…I’ll only be with you, and you’ll only be with me, and we’ll keep it quiet for a while. That way everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah,” he says. But it’s not enough. Just seconds after the words leave your mouth, there’s a pull within him for more. He wants to parade you around Jackson, to hold your hand and kiss you over dinner at The Tipsy Bison and dance with you so every man in the commune knows who you belong to. 

But he can’t. He can’t.

It’s not enough, but it has to be.

Joel can tell there’s another question on the tip of your tongue. He gives you time to work through it, to form the words in whatever way makes you most comfortable. But the longer you stay silent, the deeper that crease between your brows becomes. You swallow thickly, open your mouth, close it again. And Joel feels his heart shatter in his chest because he knows. He knows because he feels it, too. And the words crack in your mouth as you say, “Joel…Joel, I—”

“I know,” he says, because he can’t hear you say it. He can’t. It’s too much. It’ll rip him apart. But he gets it, he understands. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, hoping you can sense his piety. When he pulls away, your eyes are wide and glassy and you look just as frightened as he feels. “S’okay, baby. I know. Get some sleep.”

Joel holds you a little tighter.

[part three] [part five]

[pkochetkov]

[smut] baby zegras

pairing: trevor zegras x fem! reader

summary: trevor wants a baby and he wants one now

authors note: this took soooo long lowk hate the middle-end but whatevs

warning: trevor is a horny freaky fuck, bad words, breeding kink, children, pregnancy

gif not mine!

masterlist

trevor has always known that whatever his future had in store for him he wanted you in it. he had fallen in love with you from the moment he saw you at the age of seven, you six. he never got over the little girl with pink bows holding her pigtails in, who smiled a big grin at him and introduced herself, and certainty didn’t get over her when she became his best friend (he quickly made her his girlfriend after an impromptu sleepover during which she realized she didn’t bring her own clothes and had to wear his).

when trevor had gotten drafted, he knew that with his future pretty much figured out he needed to ensure that you’d be there forever, so he proposed. you of course said yes, i mean, who wouldn’t.

you’re still engaged nearly 4 years later, neither of you in too much of a rush to actually have the wedding and continue up the ladder just yet. you were never shy to talk about your future and what it could hold, and trevor definitely wasn’t shy about telling you he wanted to “fill you up” over and over again.

his little heart was bursting at its seams as he watched you playing with his little cousins and his teammates’ kids. so full, in fact, that he had to drag you home early.

early so he could drag you up to your shared room and rip your clothes off, and that he did. trevor grabbed the hem of your shirt and ripped in half, earning a gasp and scolding “trevor!” from you.

“i’ll buy you another one.” he said and began pressing messy wet kisses down your sternum, your nipples hardening from the cold air and the overwhelming lust that you felt. his kisses moved even lower, stopping just above the button of your denim shorts.

trevor skipped over them for now, moving his head so he can press kisses against your inner thigh. he could feel the heat coming from your cunt, the place you needed him the most, but he wasn’t going to give in and fuck you. not yet anyway. he wanted you to finish by his mouth or fingers before stuffing you full of his cock.

“y’looked so good playing with all the babies today. couldn’t get the thought of fucking you full out of my head.” you moaned at his words and trevor began unbuckling your shorts pulling them and your panties down your legs.

he ran his fingers through your folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal on his fingers. trevor dipped his fingers into your entrance pulling them right back out before he passed the first knuckle and used the remnants to helps his fingers glide over your clit.

“trev, do something please. it hurts.” you nearly sobbed. trevor is a huge tease, always has been and always will be. he teased you in the bronco on the way home, for example. placing his hand at the top of your thigh and stroking clit over your shorts and underwear, making you more turned on than you are just looking at him.

he gave into your pleads and placed his tongue flat against your entrance, moving it up to your clit. the contact made your legs tremble, loud moans leaving your mouth. thank god jamie isn’t home yet.

“you always look so pretty from this angle, baby.” trevor’s words vibrated against your clit, causing your thighs to clamp shut on his head. he smacked his hand against your right thigh and when you didn’t pull them open he forced them. this seemed to make the pleasure more overwhelming and your orgasm came quicker than expected.

trevor licked you clean and came up to kiss you, the taste of yourself on his lips was enough to make you needy again and he could tell.

he pulled away and began undressing, first his loose jersey, followed by the black under shirt and his sweatpants.

you we’re getting inpatient, and turned on. watching him strip seemed like it took forever and while you were still spent from your previous orgasm, you needed another.

while trevor was somewhat distracted, your hand slid down to your clit. it was still sensitive from trev’s previous assault on it but the circles your fingers were moving in felt so good. they glided easily from the cum and spit left down there after trevor’s messy clean up.

“uh uh, nope. no ma’am. move them.” trevor snapped his fingers at you and you whined out at him, “but trevor, please.” the man in front of you moved your hands away from your clit, bringing them up with his own to rest above your head.

trevor leaned his head down, connecting his lips with your own, rutting his hips against yours. his cock slid between your folds rubbing your clit before pausing at your entrance.

“you ready baby?” you nodded and trevor pushed in, moans leaving both of you.

trevor’s thrusts started off slow, trying to convey the love he felt for you with calm, languid movements. though, they didn’t last very long.

trevor sat up and released your hand from his own choosing instead to grab a pillow from under your head and put it under your waist.

“i’m gonna fuck a whole hockey team into this cunt. you want that, mama?” before you could reply trevor began slamming into you at a pace that left you breathless.

your body felt like it was on fire. every collision of your hips, everytime his tip pressed against your cervix, every dirty thought about breeding you that fell from trevor’s lips made you feel like you’d combust.

“you’re gonna look so pretty, so full of my babies.”

“god this cunt is so perfect, can’t wait ‘til i’m leaking from it.”

trevor’s pace never let up, if anything it got more and more intense the closer he got to his own high, your own still coming at a blinding rate.

the man above you paused to lean over, connecting you hands above your head once more. you looked up at your fiancé and he down at you. the pleasure he provided became overwhelming and before you could warn him, you came.

trevor, ever the gentleman, talked you through it before his own orgasm followed. he never stopped, fucking his release deep into you.

he collapsed on top of you, still supporting himself as to not crush you.

“trevor,” he hummed, “as much as i love you over me, i need to pee.”

the man above you immediately shook his head, “absolutely not. i am not risking any of my babies ending up on the floor.”

“well would you like to hold them in while i pee?”

“i mean if you’re offering…”

“trevor zegras! that was a joke!”

“i’d hardly think so.”

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[navybrat817]

When you want to tease Bucky, you send him pics involving a peek of your underwear.

When he retaliates, he sends you a video of him devouring a peach 😂

UGH. Yes, please. I may have changed the fruit though.

Starving, Darling

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You tease Bucky and he retaliates in the best way. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Teasing, plum eating (bahaha), s/exy times implied, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Happy FriYAY, lovelies! Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was rare for you to finish up work early on a Friday, but you had worked over the previous four days and your boss didn’t like you going over your normal hours. You weren’t going to complain when it meant you had the afternoon off. You were, however, not thrilled that Bucky didn’t play hooky with you this afternoon. Like you, he was a hard worker and you knew he had a few things to finish up before he could join you at home.

It didn’t mean you couldn’t play.

What else were you going to do to get through the afternoon?

“Sure you can’t get off early?”

The text was innocent enough. The photo beneath it of you was not. Sprawled out in the middle of the bed with your hand down your panties, you wondered if his super soldier eyes picked up just how wet you were through the fabric.

“Or should I get off by myself? Lick my fingers clean and tell you how good my pussy tastes?”

A heartbeat later, a message from Bucky popped up. God, how fast was he typing? “Don’t you fucking dare. Only one getting you off is me.”

You smirked, wondering how far you could push before there were consequences. “Don’t know, old man. Might need to break out my blue friend. This pussy isn’t going to fuck itself.”

Bucky left the message on read.

A few minutes passed and he still hadn’t responded. You frowned as you checked to see if he was typing anything. You almost apologized for the “old man” remark. He knew you didn’t mean that, right?

The ding of a new message was one of the happiest sounds you heard all day. Would he tell you off for your sass? Tease you back? Your heart raced a bit when you realized he sent you a video. Maybe whatever he had to say was too much to type out.

You recognized the break room when you clicked on the video, gasping when Bucky’s face came into view. Even though he couldn’t see you through the screen, it was like his blue eyes stared into your soul. You could make out the gray hairs on his short beard from how close he was to the device. You wished you could bite his chin.

All in good time.

“You know what a good fruit for old men is? Plums,” he said, a bit of hair falling in his face as he looked down.

…what?

“Good for bone health and improving your memory,” he went on, the rumble of his voice mesmerizing you as he looked back at the screen. “Not to mention they’re delicious. So fucking sweet.”

As Bucky brought a plum to his mouth, he kept his eyes on the device and ran his tongue along the piece of fruit. His hand dwarfed it, a subtle reminder of how big your man was. Your clit throbbed when he bumped his nose against it and gently inhaled. It was the only warning you got before he sank his teeth in to devour it.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered as you watched him have his fill. Juice spilled from the corner of his mouth as he growled, reminding you of how eager he got whenever he ate you out. He was relentless when it came to your taste, demanding you give him more. And you’d give it all to him. “Fuck.”

“And still doesn’t taste as sweet as you,” he said, digging his thumb into the plum as deep as it could go. “Bet your pussy’s clenching right now, wishing I was there to fill it up. Maybe I’ll make you ride my tongue before you ride my cock. Show me how good I know you are.”

“Yes, please,” you moaned, your hips shifting on the bed and wishing he was there to relieve the friction. The first time you sat on his face, you hesitated. You’d never forget how he grabbed your hips and helped guide you up and down, moaning as you coated his tongue with your release.

Champion pussy eater and best cock I’ve ever had.

He sucked the digit clean as he narrowed his eyes. “So be good ‘til I get home, keep your legs open so I can dive right in, and don’t you dare touch my cunt again before I get my mouth on it,” he ordered, his voice deep and knowing before he took one more bite. “And I expect an apology for getting me hard during a meeting when you weren’t under the table to suck me off.”

You licked your lips, wishing he was there to slide the heavy weight of his cock to the back of your throat.

“Love you, doll,” he added, licking the last drop from his lip before the video ended.

Well played, old man.

You smiled as you typed back, “Love you, too, and I'll have your dessert waiting.”

“Good because I’m starving.”

This man. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

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