#top fireworks display

[bits-and-babs]

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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[transform4u]

I’ve always been turned on by cringey str8 gamers. The cockiness, the cringe slang, the doucheiness of their personalities, it’s all so arousing. Think you could make me one of them?

When the unmarked box arrives, you eagerly tear away the wrapping with fervent anticipation. Inside, nestled among the crumpled packaging, is a game that screams ‘90s nostalgia: Maxed Out Mayhem. Your hands instinctively grip the box, feeling the grainy texture of the cardboard and the vibrant colors of the cover art. The sheer sight of it makes a thought burst into your brain with an unapologetic swagger: "Those games look sick, bro." The voice in your head is brash and direct, unmistakably crude, as if it’s been waiting to emerge.

With a determined nod, you slip the game into your Nintendo Switch, which is the only console you have at your disposal. As you power it up, the room is soon bathed in the glow from your TV. The screen flickers to life, its luminescence spreading across the room like a wave of technicolor energy.

Your space, initially a sanctuary of chic and contemporary elegance, begins to transform. The sleek, modern furnishings—bold patterns and luxurious fabrics—are slowly overtaken by the game’s garish, pixelated aesthetics. The gleaming hardwood floors and plush rugs seem to warp and ripple under the onslaught of the neon glow, while the curated art on the walls loses its refined edge, becoming mere backgrounds to the chaotic eruption of game graphics.

The sophisticated ambiance of your room twists and contorts into a mancave of gamer chaos. The walls, once adorned with carefully chosen art, are now plastered with the vibrant, pixelated avatars of the game. Duck-taped posters of scantily clad women and Marvel movies replace the art, and the once pristine furniture now appears to be riddled with a grungy, worn-out charm. The sleek, modern carpet is replaced by a tattered, greasy mess, and the contemporary desk transforms into a cluttered shrine of outdated gaming memorabilia and empty beer cans.

As you watch the transformation unfold, a smile spreads across your face. The 32-bit cartoonish images of typical bro characters leap onto the screen in a flash of vibrant, pixelated action. The game is a classic brawler, reminiscent of Street Fighter, with exaggerated moves and over-the-top animations that celebrate every cliché of the bro gamer persona.

As you delve deeper into Maxed Out Mayhem, it becomes glaringly obvious that the game is all about earning points by embodying the most degenerate, cringey behaviors imaginable. The screen flashes with outrageous animations as your character performs a series of acts that fit the game’s unapologetically sleazy theme.

Each time you hit on a virtual woman, the game rewards you with a barrage of neon-colored points. The animations are deliberately exaggerated: your character’s gestures are over-the-top, replete with smirks and winks that border on the offensive. The barely clothed women on screen react with exaggerated eye rolls and dismissive waves, the game’s point system cheerily tallying up your rewards as you make increasingly intrusive advances.

Grabbing these women, a mechanic that’s celebrated with even more garish animations, results in a jarring display of fireworks and blaring sound effects. The screen erupts in a cacophony of colors, and your point total climbs with each successful grab. Collecting items like Bibles and Mountain Dew is similarly rewarded with loud, flashy effects. Bibles glow with an obnoxious golden hue as your character snatches them, and Mountain Dew cans explode into a blinding green flash, further boosting your score.

The game’s combat sequences, where you face off against "woke hippies," are even more absurd. The hippies are depicted in cartoonish fashion, wearing tie-dye and sporting peace signs. "Get ready for a world of pain, faggots!", you shout to no one in particular.

As you continue to rack up points, you feel a peculiar shift in your own mindset. The game’s influence seeps into your consciousness, and you start to sense a dulling of your usual cognitive sharpness. Your jaw begins to slacken, and a fog of brash, simplified thinking starts to cloud your mind. Each new point seems to erode your previous sense of self, "Suck my virtual dick, losers!"

Your nightly routine morphs into a ritual of high-energy gaming sessions. You gravitate toward titles like Call of Duty, Fortnite, and Apex Legends, relishing the opportunity to flex your virtual muscles and indulge in reckless aggression. Your gameplay is marked by flashy moves and a lack of strategic depth, prioritizing style over substance. The rage that burns within you as you punch out the "woke hippies" on screen translates into a sense of satisfaction and validation, even as your personality increasingly mirrors the cringy, obnoxious gamer bro stereotype.

As you put on your gaming headset, you feel a rush of excitement course through your veins. you're now dropped into an urban environment filled with woke liberals and their allies. Your mission? To beat them up, hard.

You continue by punching some fags who are protesting against traditional values. Their weak attempts at blocking your blows only serve to make you angrier as they crumple under the force of your fists. You move on to bashing feminists who dare challenge masculinity; their screams echo in your ears as they fall unconscious at your feet.

Your muscles tense up from all the action; adrenaline pumping through every fiber of your being. You see a group of SJWs marching towards you, holding signs about "equality" and "diversity." With one swift kick, you send them flying backwards into each other like dominoes falling over one another.

Your body undergoes a dramatic transformation that mirrors the intensity of your gaming experience. At first, your usual nerdy physique feels tight and tense, the strain of gripping the controller making every muscle in your body hum with anticipation. The gaming session soon shifts from a mere pastime to a full-body experience.

With every punch, kick, and combo executed on-screen, you start to feel a noticeable change. The tension in your arms builds, radiating from the controller as if it’s imbuing your very muscles with energy. Your once-slight biceps begin to swell, growing into impressive, bulging forms. The transformation isn't sudden but a gradual, throbbing shift that feels almost like a workout in itself.

“Hey, look at you now, bro! I didn’t think you had it in you to actually get some gains. You’re looking swole, but can you handle the heat?”

As you progress through the game, your shoulders broaden, taking on a commanding presence. The tight, sinewy muscles ripple under your skin, sculpting your torso into a powerful, rock-hard six-pack that seems chiseled from stone. Each movement of your character in the game feels like it’s translating directly into your own body. Your chest expands, growing into a perfectly defined, muscular V-shape that exudes strength and discipline.

“Nice moves, champ! But don’t get too comfortable. I see that six-pack of yours—think it’s enough to handle my skills? Better not let it go to your head dummy!”

"Prepare to be pwned, bitches!" you scream back at them on your headset.

Your once angular, nerdy features sharpen into a strong, square jawline and high cheekbones. A rugged, effortlessly cool look settles on you, complemented by a smirk that hints at your amusement with this transformation. Your eyes grow sharper and more intense, mirroring the sharp, digital action on the screen. The stubble on your face becomes more defined, adding a brooding charm that fits seamlessly with your new physique.

You look down at yourself, seeing your reflection in the TV screen, your body clad in form-fitting, sleeveless gym shirts and workout shorts that accentuate every muscle. The logos on your clothes—branded with high-end athletic and gaming gear—radiate a gym-fueled confidence. Your scent, a potent mix of expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a recent workout, mingles with a hint of sweat, amplifying your dedication to both gaming and fitness.

As the match heats up, your obnoxious personality shines through, matched by your newly sculpted physique. You relish in taunting both opponents and teammates, your voice loud and dripping with superiority:

“Listen up, you pathetic losers! Look at that scoreboard—yeah, it’s me crushing you while you’re all stuck in your little woke bubble, crying about the ‘system.’ I’m out here showing what real skill looks like while you guys keep floundering like amateurs. Quit whining faggots and get used to getting wrecked. If you can’t handle the heat, maybe you should quit and let real gamers take over.You bunch of keyboard warriors. You’re all just a bunch of clowns in my game!”

Your dick starts to harden beneath your pants. You can't help but imagine yourself as the character on screen, beating up all these woke liberals and fucking their women. It's a rush like no other.

You reach the final level - a blonde bitch who thinks she's better than everyone else because of her gender or whatever nonsense she believes in. She taunts you as you approach her, but that only makes you more determined to show her who's boss.

You jump into action, punching and kicking with reckless abandon until she falls to her knees begging for mercy. But there will be no mercy today; instead, you rip off her clothes revealing soft curves underneath before roughly pushing her against a nearby wall and entering her from behind without any foreplay or care for pleasure or comfort on either side.

[jeanbie]

SWEET UNWIND ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampies, foodplay, grumpy & sunshine, fem!reader, piv sex, silent sex (little dialogue) | wc: 6.1k

note: proudly inspired by the insatiable thoughts i had while watching charles bake his cake and kill people in "the brothers sun". also i got cheated on and felt horny, so turned to my favourite cartoon man for relief

⏤ When Levi's not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he's found that baking desserts is an excellent way to unwind. Yesterday, he made a beautifully sweet strawberry drizzled cake with cream. On today's menu, his personal favourite: cream pie.

Gangnam, Seoul; five to midnight, the city turning in for the night as bold and bright lights flicker to life, the streets lined with neon glows that on the waterfront look like blurry fireworks. While constant lines of traffic come and go, honking and revving at the lights as they hurry to wherever they need to be next, Levi switches off the egg-timer that blares to life loudly and sets it down on the kitchen island.

Behind him, baking in the oven with a warm and golden glow, is the sponge for his lemon drizzle cake. He glances up at the TV screen across the room and watches as one of the contestants drizzles extra veins of lemon curd across a wide canvas of white meringue cream, then looks back at his own display of ingredients. 

First, he heads to the oven and using the oven glove, he pulls down the door and extracts his top sponge layer. Immediately, Levi sets it aside to cool — too hot and the dollop of cream that will spread into his smooth centre will melt and dribble off like water. 

When Levi’s not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he’s found that making desserts is an excellent way to unwind. It’s a simple step-by-step process where the final product produces something he can feel proud of, and something he can enjoy with a cup of tea or even something stronger.

He’s found over the last three years or so of baking that a hard liquor blends well with cheesecake, one with crumbled biscuits as a garnishing layer. Bailey’s accents any type of chocolate dessert almost too perfectly, and even does well inside of one. Last Christmas, for example, Levi enjoyed a whole chocolate truffle infused with the alcohol all to himself.

Baking takes a level of concentration that actually requires very little of him, and being able to see something he’s made all on his own at the end of it all can often be more rewarding than the stakes in the real world, outside of his entirely too fancy penthouse apartment. His job is often too demanding, too vicious, but coming home with a bag of ingredients that will eventually transform into something beautifully delicious feels like he’s turning a switch and stepping out of one life into another. 

Outside, out there in the harsh city, Levi Ackerman is a force to be reckoned with, a danger to those outside of his inner circle. But here, inside his home, his fortress, he doesn’t have to be anybody but himself — Levi Ackerman, the man, the neighbour, the dessert enthusiast.

Now that the sponge has cooled and the decorations have been sliced and prepared, Levi takes to assembling his own version of the British Bake Off lemon drizzle cake. Instead of it being baked as a tray bake, Levi’s followed the same style as Mary Berry herself; circular, smooth and comfortably petite.

He takes the cream he prepared before and slaps it with a wet plop on the bottom layer of sponge, smoothing it out with the flat-knife until he’s satisfied with the coverage. Then, he uses a spiral technique to create a lemony blend to bite into.

He spares a single glance at the swirling iron staircase leading up to the upper floor of his apartment when he hears movement, a simple and quiet rustle of sheets and an equally low-volume groan — a stretch of some kind. Then, he looks back at his cake and sets the top sponge over the finalised inner workings of his cake and gets to work on the pipework and decorations.

It is so easy for him to get lost in the craft. One minute rolls into five and rolls into ten as he perfects the lemon slice arrangement on top of the cake. He even prepared some lemon gratings beforehand and uses them as a powdery layer on top of the smoothed out blanket of cream. Once everything is in place, Levi looks back up at the TV and watches the contestants present their final results to the judges. 

Back and forth — his eyes move from their cakes to his. He thinks his cake would have earned him Star Baker that week, that’s for certain.

Even though Levi chooses to bake after work to dispel the tension building up in his bones, he still doesn’t feel completely satisfied with his work today. The cake is as good as he can get, especially when it’s his first real attempt at a lemon drizzle. But an ache lingers in his shoulders, a buzzing feeling of discomfort in every joint and muscle. 

Today has just been extra hard. One dessert won’t suffice.

After a long haul of tracking down one of the leaders of a local crime organisation known as the Hannam Tigers, and successfully putting a few of his henchmen in early graves, Levi knows that one small cake won’t be enough to satiate his irritation for the night. In his line of work, things went wrong sometimes, even when they were annoyances he could do without. 

The Hannam Tigers operate in a network of highly trained men with highly decorated backgrounds, and even with Levi’s colourful skillset, it can be a challenge to rid them from the world. 

Levi rinses his hands under the tap and uses a cloth to dry them, catching the final portion of the competition on TV before tossing the cloth to the side and dumping his utensils into the sink. For now, he focuses his attention on the assortment of ingredients he’s set to the side to make his all time favourite dessert.

But first, he’ll need to head upstairs.

With what he needs in his hands, Levi escapes the kitchen before it swallows him into creating more and more desserts and then climbs the staircase curling up into the upper floor. Up here, there is a study that he barely uses — not because of his incompetence to utilise it, but instead for a general lack of need, considering he prefers a much more physical and hands-on approach to what he sensitively calls his ‘career’ — a small bathroom and his bedroom, which he heads for and catches a glimpse of the glistening city from the window inside, the door ajar.

Inside, he takes a few steps forward and sets his things down, looking up to make out your shape in the swamp of black bedsheets. He can barely see you in the dark, but you groan and make your presence known, sitting up on your elbows to peer at his silhouette cast by the light from the hallway.

“You finished your cake?” you ask, your voice tired but nonetheless sweet, caring, genuinely curious.

Levi makes out your face in the dim light and waits until his vision settles. Once he sees you more clearly and sees the smile on your face, he nods simply and looks back down at his messy pile of ingredients.

You arch up a little higher to see what he’s looking at.

“Bring any for me?”

Levi doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Rude,” you reply, amused and unable to make out what he’s arranging neatly on the ottoman at the bottom of the bed. “I happen to like lemon drizzle.”

He knows. That’s why he picked that episode to watch, those ingredients at the store. 

“I don’t,” he replies. Levi’s not a fan of lemon anything, really. 

The door behind him creaks ever so slightly, the light widening across the room. You sit up straighter, watching him as he falls into a carefully analysed breakdown of his mystery items.

“Can I have some later?” you ask, filling the silence with conversation. If you strain, you might make out the next episode of Bake Off beginning to play, but you search for Levi’s signature noises instead; his silent yet attentive laughs from his nose, the grunts under his breath, unbothered hums of his attention and or interest. 

Levi looks up then, and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. His blazer is downstairs hanging off one of the bar stools under the kitchen island, his shoes by the door. Now, he’s just dressed in whatever he came home wearing — there hadn’t been time to change, what with you slumbering like a princess in his bedroom. 

It’s a good thing he likes you, otherwise the lights would have been on and his work clothes off. Instead, he left you to it, heading for the kitchen when he came home and switching on his complimentary British Bake Off episode to accompany him in his regular routine of baking.

“I only made it for you,” he tells you. 

You arch an eyebrow — not that he can see, anyway. “Oh, really?”

He gives you a hum, thoughtless. You rearrange yourself under the sheets.

“I thought the whole point was to eat the dessert yourself after making it,” you say, filling the quiet moment with something as he skims his gaze over the ottoman again. 

He doesn’t look up when he says, “Well, I haven’t finished baking yet.”

“Oh?” you reply. “Something else cooking?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, he rounds the bed slightly from the right and whilst looking at you, he climbs up onto the bed with his knees. 

“What’re you making?” you question, a grin widening over your face as he looms near. You feel his hand just miss your leg under the sheets as he lays his hands flat on the bed, lifting his weight closer to you all whilst maintaining an unnaturally cool composure.

If you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he was bored by the entire exchange. His face is covered in shadows, and yet you can still see the slipping shift of something in his eyes as they catch in the light from the windows. 

Levi’s face reanimates in the city lights, now not far from your own. He curls his fingers around the bedsheet and tugs it down, exposing your legs to the cool shift of temperature in the bedroom. You shudder, leaning your head back until it softly hits the wooden headboard. 

“Pie,” Levi says.

“Mmm. I love pie,” you comment. 

He grunts, another one of your favourite Levi-sounds.

His hand shifts from the bed to your leg. In the dark, everything feels more pronounced; his ever-so-slightly rough palm smooths across your thigh and down your leg, past the knee and down towards your ankle. Once caught in his grasp, he manages to pull you from your sloped position against the headboard and back down into the pillows. He knows you're wearing nothing else from the waist down — all the more reason to tug you down and snatch a glimpse of what he knows is his.

“What kinda pie?”

Levi finds your eyes again in the dark, and you’re not sure if he planned it, but now you can see his face in a spectrum of light. His expression is flat, toneless, yet intrigue dances across his eyes as they wander across your face, down past your neck, and down to the exposed skin of your chest from underneath one of Levi’s shirts you stole from his drawers.

He says nothing for a moment. Using both hands and releasing your ankle, Levi presses his hands against your abdomen, running them up underneath the shirt until he reaches your sternum, the sloping sphere of your breasts against his fingertips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pushes the shirt all the way up over your breasts, and uses his body to part your legs until your knees are on either side of his hips.

The weight of his gaze makes you squirm slightly. 

He blinks. Licks his bottom lip so quickly you almost miss it and says very simply, “Cream.”

Your grin widens.

Levi lowers his face to your stomach, his lips pressing against the skin above your belly button. Immediately, as if practised, your hands jump up to his head of hair, your fingers threading through it as he works his mouth down from your stomach to the damp space between your legs.

A home within a home; a place he loves to push his face into when he’s had a particularly long day.

Levi doesn’t even have to put in any effort anymore. You quite contently lift your calves up over his shoulders, widening them enough to feel his lips circle around your clit, two fingers widening your folds so he can stuff his face with your cunt.

Coating your clit with a layer of wetness, he replaces his lips with his right thumb and moves his fingers, using his tongue to part you down the middle, and making you writhe against the bed with a satisfied moan. 

He’ll admit it to nobody but himself — he’s missed you. You’ve missed him, too, and the way it feels when he rubs his thumb against your nub in careful circles and plunges two fingers up your cunt. Levi could fool himself all he liked with the fantasy that baking a cake was enough to relieve his pent up stress from work, but nothing quite works to ease the burden like a face full of his favourite girls’ pussy.

Levi’s left hand drifts from your stomach to your thigh, smoothing over the top before curving down and round to the inner of your legs, his forearm wrapped around you comfortably and effectively locking you in place. He likes to watch the wetness pool between your legs as he gorges himself on your taste, but today he closes his eyes and closes his lips around you, tasting every inch of you like you’re his own slice of dessert, his favourite kind. Topped and served with a string of elated moans, just the way he likes it best.

“Mmf—!” There’s not a lot for you to say, nothing you can conjure up from the air gasping in your throat as Levi’s tongue licks laps around your clit, his thumb just shy to the side as he leaves a wet present for him to massage into your skin, his mouth very quickly preoccupied by the space neglected beneath. 

As his fingers curl up inside of you, then widen apart, your calves drop as if you’re trying to pull Levi closer to your body, and in turn he pushes his left arm down on your thigh and drags you with a smooth motion down the bedsheets and closer to his mouth. Your head arches back with the angled slope of your back, reaching up off the mattress in a coordinated performance of pleasure, and Levi finds the time to open his eyes and look up over your stomach and breasts to find your face; mouth agape and lids closed, gasping silently into the dark. 

Yeah. Out of all the desserts he could possibly create in his kitchen, he’d probably have to confess that his favourite one was one that could be made in the bedroom. 

Your hands take fistfuls of his hair and feeling the hot flatness of his tongue in the space between your clenching hole and your clit, you find your hips grinding up into his mouth, the slight nudge of his teeth making you squirm even harder beneath him. Levi’s no longer phased by the aching tightness of your fingers woven in a knot on his head. Whenever your fingers twitch and the clutch on his hair tightens, Levi knows he’s doing something right.

Every lick and nip against your cunt is matched by a groan, and as you ride the dampness between your legs against his lips, your voice thins out into a raspy nothingness. Your mouth is dry with the air of the bedroom, your eyes forcing themselves to close when they try and open to peer down at the man snug between your thighs. 

Levi feels a mixture of wet substances around his mouth and on his chin, but before he can grant you the pleasure of cumming down his throat, he pulls back.

The emptiness of the space between your legs is jarring, and almost immediately you sit up. Your hands drop from his hair and fall onto the bed, which you use to lift up your shaking body to watch as Levi leans back on his knees and retreats to the forgotten ottoman. It is only when he rises to his feet to observe the array of secret items displayed for his eyes only that you realise Levi is still wearing every article of clothing he was before. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask him, finally finding your voice as he arches over and fiddles with something that sounds plastic.

You catch the shine of your own arousal on his chin as he scans the catalogue of items.

“Preparing dessert,” he replies.

Your brows quirk, but when Levi stands upright and begins to shake something with his left hand, you feel your heart and its fast beating plunge straight to your stomach. A knot wells and tightens, and you bite a moan back and feel your thighs coming together like a magnet in anticipation.

Levi is shaking a bottle of whipped cream.

It shouldn’t surprise you nor excite you the way that it does. Levi has always had reservations about whipped cream — it should be from a bottle or made in a bowl; exclusively used as a side for a tart or cake slice, as a topping on a pancake, as the twist of sweetness on top of a hot chocolate. Levi doesn’t use whipped cream on his desserts in the same way he does as an accessory to the bake, but today — tonight, it seems as though he has found another valuable use for his generally unused bottle of whipped cream.

“This is new,” you say, feeling your ass lift off the bed as you struggle to contain your writhing excitement. Levi tests the nozzle; a burst of white cream spits out onto his finger, and without looking away he puts his finger in his mouth with all the nonchalance of a chef tasting his dish as he makes it. “I thought you didn’t like bottled cream on your desserts.”

“I like it on some things,” he replies. “First rule of baking is that you never feel afraid of trying something new.”

You hum thoughtfully as he retakes his position on the bed. It should make you laugh with the way he looks down at you while slowly twisting the bottle from left to right, but it doesn’t; it only makes you breathe heavier, your pulse quickening and legs opening as if on automatic and letting him take the space he’s claimed between them.

“They do say that it goes well with pies,” you say finally, watching as he angles the nozzle down on your stomach. The placement, if nothing else, has surprised you, and you suppress a moan of eagerness when he presses down and watches with a newfound intensity as the spiral of white cream pools out onto your skin. He’s cautious with the amount; just a small bud of cream, enough to swallow in just a mouthful.

Levi leans himself forward and pauses just before he can lick the dollop up off your tummy. 

“Clue’s in the name,” Levi replies, and with his eyes boring into your own, he presses his lips around the blob of cream and mouths it up off your body. It is entirely too fast, your jaw slacken as he pulls away, as if gauging your reaction. The yearning expression on your face has the nerve to almost look endearing to him.

He swallows. “Sweet.”

He receives from you something sounding like a whimper. Then, his finger is back on the nozzle and using the cream, he creates a trail from where he last was all the way down to your clit. 

You feel yourself clench when the cool texture of the cream sits in a melting bundle on your bud, and your teeth bury themselves into the flesh of your lower lip, biting down with extra force when Levi’s mouth shifts down to your clit and in one teasingly slow strip, he licks the trail of sweet cream up from your cunt to the wet spot on your stomach.

With his tongue, your back arches up off the bed, your knees by his shoulders. Levi is uncomfortably aware of the pooling arousal between your legs, his own forming tightness in his trousers. Watching you writhe with a glistening shine getting more and more pronounced so close to his face has proven to be exactly what he needed to unwind today, but he’s still not quite satisfied.

He’s not ignorant to the way your hips meet with the empty space he leaves when he moves away again, as if fucking an imaginary cock or grinding against an invisible set of hips. He uses his right hand to press you back flat against the bed and savours every second of your aroused moaning when he slathers your cunt with the cream, leaving no wet patch untouched. 

He watches with only minimal irritation when the cream slips down your folds into a white pool on the sheets — his sheets — but he takes its sliding as a sign to move back in. 

Levi licks the cream up as if it isn’t even there; it’s as if he’s taking gulps of you like it’s nothing, licking every inch of the cream and enjoying the wonders of your pleasure as you cry out above him. His nose brushes against the hidden bump of your clit, the feeling of his hot tongue making your toes curl behind his back, your fingers clenching around the sheets.

Ordinarily, you may have laughed at the sight of his lips coated in a white sheen, the cream on the tip of his nose, but today you can find nothing to laugh about. Every unit of energy is devoted to the tightening clench of your cunt, the tingling warmth growing inside of you as Levi wipes his nose and rises off the bed and onto his feet, right where the ottoman stands as a barrier between you.

He lets you play out your imaginary fantasy, rolling your hips into the empty vacuum of space where he was just situated and uses his hands to undo the belt around his waist. His trousers fall with an effortlessness when he undoes the front button, and he compels himself to watch you stare at him with a lustful gaze as he pulls his trousers down to his ankles. He decides he’ll keep his shirt on — it’s only fair, since you’re still wearing his, albeit the fabric is bunched up under your neck in the way he likes it.

He mounts the bed once again and meets you when you moan expectantly, and relishes in the sharp intake of your breath when he takes your right leg and folds it to the side. You look at Levi over your shoulder, your neck to the side as he presses you down with his left hand and uses the right to hold his cock.

You are once again reminded of how truly lucky you are to have a man like Levi; a man who needs nothing but your cunt in his face to get his cock standing rigid against his lower stomach.

You swallow a moan when Levi pokes the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance, and when his eyes catch yours, the sharpened edge of his grey eyes staring straight into your own, you can’t catch the cry of pleasure that escapes when he pushes himself into you, feeling you wrap around the tip of him like your cunt is a mouth on its own.

Levi watches you gasp as if pained and he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up. You’re wet enough,” he says in a low tone.

“Hmf—!” And then the length of his cock is buried inside of you, only proving his point.

There’s nothing to explain the way it feels when he’s stuffing your hole: it’s as if he was made for you, a perfect fit to make you whole. Even with virtually nothing to ease the slip into your pussy, there’s no agonising stretch, no painful play — just a wholeness that feels as natural as anything else in the world.

Levi’s fucked you so many times that he might as well claim he lives up here, and each time he makes himself at home, he’s welcomed with open arms and a swallowing gulp. He pushes his hips all the way against you, until the underneath of your thigh is squished against his stomach and you feel the slight slap of his balls against your ass.

He’s never quite fucked you from this angle before, but it’s not unwelcome in the slightest. He wraps his wrist around your thigh and holds the front of it with his hand, his left coming to hold the sinking curve of your waist, which he uses to push you further into the mattress. 

Every time his dick sinks further inside of you, you let out a moan — he moves in and out so fast it’s as if he’s trying to keep your noise at a constant speed, never wanting to be left in a silence.

Levi looks down at you as he fucks, no longer interested in the way his dick disappears into the dripping darkness of your cunt and instead entirely devoted to mapping out the pleasure on your face. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but everything he loves to see.

His hips rock against you, his shoulders tensing as you clench furiously around his length. Surely you don’t mean to be coaxing him into an early finish — surely you wouldn’t be rushing him along when he’s trying to enjoy his dessert.

The tip of Levi’s dick kisses your insides, but from this angle and the burning heat pooling in your abdomen, you don’t know if he’s hitting your cervix or deeper into your literal stomach. Levi’s fucked you from all different angles in every corner of his house, but he feels extra large today. The darkened edge of his eyes might be deceiving you, the sticky residue of cream still on your skin. 

You’re almost vibrating with pleasure as he fucks you, and all you can do is stay pinned to the bed like a doll and gasp out your praises.

Like most fucks with Levi, he says nothing besides, “Fuck,” in a dragged out, strangled type of way. He likes to make you suffer by dragging it out for as long as humanly possible, just to see you writhe and cry underneath him, your pussy pink and pulsing, begging for him to stop. 

Today, however, luck looks to be on your side. 

Unlike normal, Levi has little desire to unravel you into a sobbing mess. All he wants today is to fuck the brains out of his girlfriend and watch as her cunt fills with his cum.

Levi’s fingers clench into your skin, and for a second he closes his eyes in an effort to ride it out just a little bit longer before filling you up. When he feels your hand wrap around his wrist like a vice, his eyes fly open to look at you; you’re curled up, sunken in the bed, contorted into his favourite shape. 

Levi spares a glance at his cock swallowed up in your hole and watches with pride as he thrusts in and out of the wetness, and after a stuttering sequence of your hips jerking and mouth falling open with the release of some of his all time favourite sounds, Levi devours the sight of white squeezing from around his dick. 

He feels his throat catch. He’ll let you have that one.

Around the quivering clenches of his cock, Levi shudders and lets you squeal until you’ve run dry. He runs his fingers across the width of your connection and smooths the cum between his fingers. Then, without giving you the satisfaction of catching your breath, Levi continues his thrusting which gives him the continued pleasure of hearing you squeal and cry, your free hand reaching to the slip of sloping skin above your pussy as if you were trying to suppress the feeling rippling through you.

Long forgotten are the fingertips pressing bruises into your skin, but each thrust of his dick hitting the same spot inside you is met with an exhausted groan. Finally, when you’ve gathered the energy and courage to look up and around your body at his face, Levi lets slip what you think might be a satisfied smile, and he falters.

Ropes of warmth fill your cunt, and you hear Levi moan, loudly, and he unwraps his wrist from your leg and holds the base of his dick with his right hand. Carefully, he pulls himself out, save for the tip which remains snug in your hole, leaving no space untouched by his seed. He watches with wonder at the way your hole gapes around his cock like a mouth, swallowing his cum up until it billows out. Finally, he slips out of you, staring down at the oozing, swollen hole that is pulsing with cum. 

For a while, he stares at it, breathing loudly as he waits for all of his cum to squirt out of you; it’s like squeezing a cream doughnut and watching the sickeningly sweet contents slide out. 

Levi glances back up at you, amazed that you’ve been bold enough to watch him until the end, and he pats your waist appreciatively before rolling you back so that you’re flat on the sheets, legs apart, cunt wide.

Time to taste.

You watch as his head disappears between your legs, but he leaves no element of mystery. Your body almost jumps up off the mattress when his tongue pushes into your gaping entrance, lapping at the mixture of your cum and his and whatever else he can catch a taste of while he’s savagely licking down there.

Barely having the energy to pretend to stage a protest, you elect for moaning your approval and tiredly rake your hand through his hair again, pushing it from his forehead as you stare half-lidded at the crown of his head.

You lose count of how long Levi remains nestled down there. The only way you notice he’s no longer there is by the way he sweeps his hands down your legs and lays them flat, making note of every twitch and quiver your body makes.

Staring up at Levi and reluctantly forcing your body back up on your elbows, you grin up at him as he licks his top lip and appears thoughtful.

“Yeah,” sighs Levi, sniffing once in the way he does when he’s trying to fall back into his characteristic charade of coolness. “Homemade cream tastes better.”

Unable to argue, you heave out a laugh and meet his gaze.

“You’re fucking greedy,” you say, but that he actually does smile at. 

“So what,” he replies, reaching for another one of the items on the ottoman; a cloth from downstairs that he uses to wipe the mess between your thighs, “we both know I like cream pies. I even shared.”

You flinch when he dabs the cloth against your still-sensitive pussy. You take it from him to finish the honour, meanwhile Levi gathers the bottle of cream and whatever else he brought and never used before opting to watch you shift the cloth between your legs, throwing it back at him in a forced huff. He catches it effortlessly.

“Whatever,” you say, very slowly moving across the bed to the floor. The wooden slabs are cold beneath your feet. “I’m sure your lemon drizzle is miles better.”

Levi shakes his head affectionately and moves to meet you face-to-face when you stand on your feet. He hums when he gets there and strokes his finger down your arm, charming his way into your arms and once he’s close enough to your face, he allows a smile to warm over his features.

He dips his head to greet your lips with a kiss, the first of the day since he left you in the morning.

“Trust me when I say,” Levi says when he pulls away, his expression amused as he croons his finger under your chin and quickly leaves another kiss on your mouth, “I very much doubt that.”

[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap nine/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Ask Me What I’m Thinking About

summary: Baseball can be a dirty game.

wc: 8.3k

warnings: 18+ some drinking, semi public fooling around (in a skybox), steve gets a little too worked up teaching you the rules of the game😏 (slight daddy kink)

authors note: I can’t believe we’re at the second to last chapter 🥺 thank you to everyone who’s been reading and all your sweet words this whole series, you guys really are the best 🧡

🌇 <- chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

The kiss lingered on your lips for days after the Fourth of July. A week at work lost in daydreams about the man that tasted like lemonade and stole your breath under fireworks at the lake. Fingertips trace the places graced by his lips to try and keep the feel of them fresh in your mind, impatiently counting down the days till you see him again.

You tug at the bottom hem of your sundress standing at Steve’s front door. It’s shorter than you’re used to, and the shade of red it was could never be found in your wardrobe until earlier this week. You’d fallen victim to an after work shopping trip with a coworker who had persuasive opinions that had you feeling confident when you looked in the long mirror of the fitting room. Her words ringing in your head like a mantra as you take a deep breath before knocking. Somersaults and cartwheels in your stomach, you wonder if it will always feel like the first time.

Bandit’s loud bark makes your cheeks push up in the kind of smile you usually only give to Steve. The sound of  long nails scraping excitedly on the other side of the door followed by his owner's deep bellow of his name only make it grow more. Butterflies take flight when you hear the click of the lock, another tug and a second deep breath.

“Bandit stop- Hey - oh wow, baby.” Standing there with the door half open, Steve drinks you in with hungry eyes. They roam up the expanse of your thighs, licking his lips when he sees how dangerous a strong breeze can be. “You look - wow, you look beautiful.”

It feels like summer heat on your cheeks, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you try not to beam. Maybe Jenny from work was right. Your eyes are just as greedy as his when you notice the tight fit of his jeans, and the white cubs jersey with the top two buttons undone. It makes his tan darker, along with the crisp tank top underneath. The silver chain around his neck catches in the sun from its place of the soft patch of chest hair that you’re realizing is always on display. His feet are bare and it makes you shift from side to side like it’s  something intimate.

“You look very easy on the eyes yourself Mr. Harrington.” You giggle and it makes him blush a furious red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Bandit whines impatiently behind Steve, his nails tapping against the wood floor. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. She’s coming in, calm down.” He opens the door a little more, turning around with one hand on the handle to usher the dog back to let you in. Your eyes catch his last name patched onto the back of his jersey like it's official. The realization that it probably is intimidates you.

It almost smells like the last time you were here, the rich cedar undertones are met with a hint of Bandit when you cross the threshold. He gives you a loud excited bark for good measure before his owner cuts him loose, shutting the door behind you. Steve doesn’t even try to stop him from jumping when you welcome him with open arms and a high pitched “hiii, handsome!”

Steve rolls his eyes dramatically when Bandit whines licking your face, but the smile he can’t fight gives him away.

“Alright, that’s enough. I didn’t even get my kiss yet buddy.” Steve chuckles, snapping his fingers making Bandit fall back on all fours in a huff.

I didn’t even get my kiss yet.

The words make your breath catch in your throat, Steve was going to kiss you again. He was just going to do that now, whenever he wants, and you’re gonna let him.

“Gettin’ jealous or somethin’ Steve?” You tease trying to hide the way he sets your skin on fire when his darkened eyes look at you like that.

“What if I am?” His voice drops to something new, something dirtier and it makes your thighs clench. 

One of his hands finds its way to where your dress sinches and smooths out at your waist, while the other rests against the wood behind you. He takes the few steps that have your back pressing against the door, fingers squeezing softly at your side before he reaches up to cup your cheek in the warmth of his palm. Looking down over the sharp line of his nose, the pad of his thumb traces the sticky silk of your glossed bottom lip. He wonders what flavor it is today, he can’t wait to find out.

“I’d tell you to do something about it then.” It’s a little shy the way it comes out just above a whisper, meeting his gaze from under your lashes.

His nose brushes with yours, the mint from his toothpaste fanning cool against your cheeks. Needy fingers find their way to his belt loops giving him a gentle tug closer and it makes him grin, you let his lips be a phantom against yours, impatience winning when you pull him in. 

It’s gentle at first and it feels like fireworks at the lake, like the butterflies from your first date. It’s when your hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck that he presses his weight against you. His thumb pulls at your chin begging you to open up for him while his knee pushes its way between your legs. A week of being kept apart with nothing but thoughts of this has your tongues meeting greedy in the middle when you get lost in it. Spoiled with it. Noses press against cheeks and he can taste the tangerine that coats your lips in a sticky sweet mess. 

He groans when you bite at his bottom lip, thick eyebrows marrying in the middle when he kisses you harder, his knee getting a little bolder, getting closer. He can feel the heat that radiates from between your thighs like this and he curses at how short your dress is. Were you trying to kill him? Irrational jealousy pangs in his chest at all the guys that’ll get to look at you like this today. Guys your age. 

Bandit barks at something he sees outside making you both jump apart. Even with kiss bitten lips and a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you already miss him. He laughs quietly, pressing his forehead with yours the golden specs in his mossy eyes gleam feeling like a teenager again. All he wants to do is kiss you.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that all week if I’m being honest.” Steve confesses, long fingers finding yours, lacing them together like he needs you.

“I was terrible at my job this week, and it was definitely your fault.” You grin looking up at him like you love it.

The two of you stand there for a minute letting your eyes take in features that had started to soften in your memories. He smiles before bumping his nose with yours one more time, stealing a quick peck pulling away before you have a chance to kiss back smirking at your small pout.

“Let me get my shoes on and we’ll get out of here. We’ll get some dogs at Wrigley.” Steve calls over his shoulder, ruffling Bandit’s head on his way up the stairs.

“Dogs?” You snort under your breath so he can’t hear, your fingers finding their way back to Bandits fur scratching him behind his ears. You swear he’s smiling when he pants looking up at you with big friendly eyes.

You gaze towards his kitchen as you try to catch the breath he took with him up to his room, the memory of your almost first kiss feels like a lifetime ago. It’s not long before Bandit takes advantage of Steve’s absence, snorting playfully before he trots to the living room. Long nails click against the wood floors when he comes back making your heart swell when the stupid dancing banana you won at the block party sits in his mouth. Its stitched eye is already half gone, and an arm just barely hanging on.

“This your banana, cute guy?” You coo with a sweet smile, reaching out to accept his invitation to play tug of war with the plush toy.

You’re a mess of giggles when he starts ‘growling’ at you and trying to rip it from your grasp, pulling you forward every so often when he pushes back on his paws for an extra hard tug. Too lost in your own world, you don’t notice Steve watching from the top of the staircase. The necklace he bought last week burns a hole in his pocket, especially seeing you like this. He knows he’s already in love and it makes him want to laugh. Classic Steve. The hushed conversation he had with Eddie on the phone in his room lights a fire inside him. 

“It’s a necklace, it’s not a ring Steve. I stopped waiting around for the ‘right’ time and now I’m tryna start a family with the love of my life. What sign are you looking for, big guy? She’s seen your darkest parts and she’s downstairs waiting for you.”

You looked too pretty in that dress not to be his.

You finally get the toy away from Bandit, throwing it far enough for his paws to slide in place for a second before he takes off after it. Too busy laughing at the way he shakes the toy from side to side when he finally gets it between his teeth, you don’t hear Steve come up behind you. The fresh spice of his cologne hitting your nose gives him away first, the big hands that grab at your waist to pull you against his chest, the second.

“Missed me?” He teases, pressing a kiss behind your ear that makes you shiver. He likes that he can do that.

“Not really, I was having a pretty good time with Bandit actually.” He can’t see your shit eating grin, but he knows it's there.

“Not even a little bit?” He presses with a smirk in his voice, his lips ghosting against the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can’t help but tilt your head, giving him more to kiss. 

“Maybe,” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, lashes fluttering when there’s a gentle nip at the dip of your neck. “Maybe a little bit.”

Steve smiles against your skin, humming in approval at your admission keeping you close for a few more minutes, and you realize you’d be more than happy to just do this the rest of the day. 

“Before we head out, I uh - “ He clears his throat, going a little stiff against your back as he starts digging in his pocket, “I got you something.”

You feel the way his hands shake, and it makes you want to turn around but the grip on your hip only tightens to keep you in place. 

“It’s easier to give it to you like this.” He mumbles, giving you a reassuring squeeze, your heart thumps wildly in your chest. 

“Steve what are you -“ Your sentence dies on your tongue when you feel something dainty and cold wrap around your neck. Your fingers reach up instinctively and the tips of them meet the smoothness of a stone that dangles at the end of it. The necklace.

“I couldn’t help myself, I hope it’s o - you just said you liked it and -“ Steve’s a mess of nerves behind you while you look down, fingers toying with the stone, awestruck at the gesture.  “If you think it’s weird I can -“

Turning around you cut him off with your lips, tangerine gloss in the form of appreciation makes him smile into the kiss. You keep it short this time, pulling away no matter how much your body screams for more. You start to think you’ll never have enough. Is this what it’s like to be in love?

“Steve, I love it” You whisper rolling back on your heels, your fingers already obsessed with touching the stone as you look up at him through your lashes. “Thank you.” 

His cheeks turn to cherry blossoms, all the tense muscles in his shoulders relaxing, Eddie was right.

“Yeah?” He wants to hear you say it again, and he can tell by your grin and the glint in your eyes that you know he does too.

“Absolutely, I’m probably never going to take it off.” You giggle looking down in admiration again and it makes Steve feel like a million bucks. He never wants you to take it off either.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand as you walk up to the main gates of Wrigley Field, fingers intertwining like he doesn’t want to let go when he shows the security guard his work badge and you suppress the urge to grab it from him when you make it inside. The urge to see the picture lessened knowing that the chances of it actually being bad were slim to none.

The stadium is intimidating when it’s empty, your mind reeling when you think of what it’s going to be like in an hour when the stands are filled with screaming fans. Concession stand workers bustle around the two of you in preparation for the onslaught of sports goers. Summer hangs heavy in the air with the sun high and bright in the cloudless sky. It smells of fresh cut grass, pop corn, and hot dogs. The perfect day for a baseball game.

Your eyes grow wide when they land on the bright green field that looks even bigger than on TV, it’s the kind of green you know can’t be real with crisp white lines that lead to each of the bases. There’s a few players out practicing, they wave at Steve when they notice him. His fingers squeeze yours tighter when one of them smiles a little too friendly in your direction. The memory of you in his car on the way here admiring the necklace in the visor keeps his jealousy at bay. You were his.

“You gonna give me the grand tour or somethin’?” You ask with eyes unable to focus on anything in particular, still mesmerized by how big it all was while the two of you head in a pointed direction.

“Just grabbing something out of my office for Richard, and then I’ll show you around.” Steve winks and the gesture makes your knees weak. 

“Ooo I get to see your office?” You grin, bumping shoulders. It makes his cheeks push up.

“It’s nothin’ special, baby.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand, fingers curling around your hips to pull you into his side instead. Your heart skips a beat, looping your arms around his waist, still not used to his affection coming so effortlessly like he’s been doing this his whole life with you. 

It feels like a maze while he leads you through the stadium, twists and turns down long back hallways, tight lipped greetings every time someone walks by throwing him a ‘Steve’ with a nod of their head. Their curious eyes always land on you tucked under his arm. Who is that? Your palms sweat at the thought of how Steve was going to introduce you. The gift around your neck makes your mind wander.

It’s when you get to an elevator that you decide there’s definitely no way you’d be able to find your way out of here alone. More than confused when the back of it is all windows overlooking the opposite side of the field you had come in from. Steve laughs from behind you as if he can read your mind, big hands finding their way to the metal bar, caging you in with your back against his chest.

It takes you to the very top with a loud ding before it drops a little and the metal doors slide open. He doesn’t let you get too far before he takes your hand again to lead you down a hallway. The white walls are lined with awards, plaques, and framed Sports Illustrated covers filled with faces of different baseball players, some you recognize and some you don’t, as you make your way to the very end. You try not to make eye contact with the few men who have their doors crack half way open.

“Just gotta find the plans for next season really quick, then we’ll go see Eddie’s guy Antonio. If I don’t buy hot dogs from him specifically, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Steve rolls his eyes at the last part but you catch the hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he unlocks his office door, pushing it open to let you in.

“I’m startin’ to think Eddie might be your boyfriend. Were you talkin’ to him in your room earlier? Does Peach know?” You tease looking up at him as you brush past, and you’re not surprised when the smell of cedar hits your nose again. The faint hint of cigar smoke creeping in underneath. Of course his office smells like him. 

Steve’s eyes go wide, cheeks flushing pink when he realizes he wasn’t as quiet on the phone as he thought.

“I was just - I was just following up with him on something about my trip out there in a few days.” He stammers, making you giggle. You try not to think about the news of him leaving again so soon.

“Yeah, whatever you say, handsome.” You grin and it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, the whites of his teeth showing in spite of himself.

“Ha ha, very funny.” He dead pans before making his way around his desk that just looks like a bigger version of the one in his house. An actual desktop replaces the sleek laptop. He clicks the mouse harshly before his long fingers work the keyboard.

It’s hard to tear your attention away from him but your curiosity gets the best of you. His office is huge, you think. Maybe the size of your whole apartment kinda huge, and it's just as nice as you thought it would be.

A giant window that overlooks the entire field takes up one whole wall, walking over you realize you’re so far back that it makes the grown men out there look small. Your chest tightens when you see how high up you are. The rest of the walls are decorated with similar pictures like his office at home, group shots of work retreats, team building dinners, shaking hands with people you’re sure are important in the sports world and he looks handsome in all of them. 

There’s a baseball bat propped in the corner, and the image of him on his bluetooth swinging it around in his office while making a deal, makes a home inside your head and the dough of your thighs press. Glancing back over your shoulder at him, he’s too lost in whatever he’s searching for in his emails to notice the smirk on your face, his bright eyes squinting at the screen.

It’s heavier than expected when you grab it, the weight of it making it feel like a weapon in your hands. You do your best to remember what you’ve seen a few times on TV as you try to grip it how a real player would, before giving it a sloppy swing, your wrists almost giving out on the curve.

“Honey, you’re holding it all wrong.” You can hear the way he tries to suppress his laugh, the sound of his shoes hitting the carpet telling you he’s coming to assist. 

“Oh yeah, Mr. Big League?” Regripping the wood again, you try your best to ignore him when he stops behind you, determined to do it without him.

“These nicknames, you need to stop. They aren’t very good.” He snorts, referring to the previous classic ‘Mr. Sports’. 

That’s when he gets it. The first eye roll of the date. He thinks the first is always his favorite. 

“I think it was the nicknames that got me the second date.” Grinning like an idiot you take another terrible swing.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna break your wrist.” The laugh he was trying to hide earlier comes out when his arms wrap around you from behind, big hands over yours holding the bat steady and it makes you forget how to breathe for a second.

Steve’s arms cage you in and it feels like he’s everywhere. The mint on his breath still smells fresh when the side of his face presses against the top of your head, hot breath fanning across your cheek. The muscles in his stomach twitch against your back, while the ones in his arms tense, squeezing you close as his fingers move over yours helping you tighten your hold. You can barely see your hand underneath his and your stomach flips at the sight. 

He’s talking but you can’t focus on the words he’s saying, not when you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs from the corner of your eye. The stubble on his jaw rubs against your temple as he tries to explain the proper stance on deaf ears. Pine form his body wash lingers on his skin, he overwhelms your senses but all you want is more. You can feel it in the way your body leans into him, the curve of your ass shameless against his denim.

“Okay, so that’s the grip. Now your stance, it’s all wrong.” His mouth is closer to your ear, lips ghosting along the shell of it demanding your attention. It’s as if he knows he doesn’t have any of it and all of it at once and you swear he gets closer, a subtle grind of his own hips in response to yours.

“I’m listening,” you say breathlessly. It gives you away, making his lips curve up into a smirk.

“I’m sure you are, baby.” The tip of his nose nudges behind your ear, while his fingers make a path down your arms, the pads of them dragging gently against your heated skin, callouses leaving goosebumps after them. Your breath catches before they curve around your sides, squeezing at where the dip of your hips meets the top of your thighs.

“Now, you wanna push back your hips a little.” His strong hold moves your body with ease, making your ass press hard against him and you feel that part of his body for the first time. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it. Thump, thump, thump.

“Like this?” you ask, innocence dripping from your tone. When you grind against him with more pressure you can feel just how big he really is – especially as his jeans begin to tighten. 

“Fuck - baby.” It comes out a little desperate, like he’s warning you but his hold only tightens keeping you in place. “Yeah, just like that.”

It’s his hips that roll this time, and it makes your eyes hit the back of your head. Your fingers threaten to come loose around the bat, too distracted by the man behind you. Especially when his lips ghost a path up the side of your neck, hot and wet.

“I think it’d be easier if I could have something to lean on, you know? I just really wanna teach you right.” He nips at your earlobe and it makes you shiver, pressing yourself back against him hard enough to feel the zipper of his jeans between the fat of your ass cheeks.

“You’re the professional, who am I to say no to you?” You knew you were laying it on thick, but the groan it earns makes you swallow your pride with a press of your thighs.

You squeal when he yanks you back, dropping the baseball bat to the ground with a low thud. Your giggles fill the usually quiet office and he wishes he could have you here all the time. He takes a couple long strides backwards before he hits the front of his desk, pulling you onto his lap as he sits on top of it. His hands get greedy when they reach around to grab at the tops of your thighs, the material of your dress bunching up underneath them, revealing more new skin to him. He wonders if you can feel just how hard you already have him.

“Despite not watching, like, any sports, something tells me this can’t be right, Steve.” You smirk, another giggle slipping out when you feel his smile against your neck.

“Like you would know.” He scoffs, his hands find their way back to your hips, encouraging another roll from them. The little gasp he earns makes him twitch in his pants. “Yeah?”

You nod with a ‘mmhmm’, eyes closing when he does it again. Tangerine on your tongue when you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, your hands finding a home on the tops of his thighs. You grind against him like you mean it, like you’re not playing along with whatever game this was before. 

“God, - shit, baby, this dress. This fuckin’ dress. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His lips get sloppy on your neck, tongue and teeth nipping on sensitive stubble rubbed skin. 

Knock, knock, knock 

You both jump at the same time, hearts hammering in your chests. The feeling of being close still makes your body buzz at high frequencies as you try to recover from the last five minutes. 

“Steve?” The familiar voice is muffled behind the closed door. 

You watch Steve readjust his pants to try and hide the obvious, a nervous hand running through his hair before he answers. You make him feel like a fucking teenager.

“Hey Richard,” The husk from Steve’s voice is gone as he looks at you to make sure you’re ready for company.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you pull the straps back onto your shoulders giving him a quick nod, cheeks burning and underwear a mess. 

“Come on in.”

Richard strikes again.

Steve takes one last look at you, dark eyes that eat you alive while his tongue rolls in against the inside of his cheek. Eyebrows marry together in a mixture of annoyance and lust when he realizes just how close he’d gotten to everything he wants. 

The door creaks and it wouldn’t be so loud if it wasn’t so quiet. A tentative Richard  steps into the room, brown eyes looking back and forth and you wonder if he can tell he interrupted something. You try to control your breathing, turning towards the window after you give him a friendly smile to try and hide the way your chest heaves.

You hate Richard.

“So we meet again.” He jokes trying to break the ice. Yeah, he knows.

Steve gives him a tight lipped smile pushing himself off the desk with another hand through his hair, the soft thuds of his shoes filling the beat of silence as he walks back behind his desk.

“I was just finishing printing out those spreadsheets for you.” Steve clears his throat and it makes your lips twitch, your eyes getting lost in the green field below you. 

You can’t bring yourself to face his boss like this, again.

“Great! I’ll take them now. I was just coming up here to see if you and your lady were coming to the pre-game drinks at The Barrel Room downstairs, some of the guys wanna run some things by you.” You can hear Richard scratch the back of his neck when Steve doesn’t answer immediately.

Steve wants you alone. Now.

“You know I hate to mix business with games, but they really wanna meet the guy behind the marketing.” He adds, telling Steve it’s really not an option to say anything other than ‘yes’.

“Sure, sure. The game doesn’t start for another hour anyway.” Steve gives, and you meet his eyes from over your shoulder with a small smile that says it’s okay.

Despite the no smoking sign, the smell of cigars linger on most of the men in the members only bar under the field. Your summer dress feels out of place in a room full of business men dressed in their expensive casual attire. Their expensive cologne mixes with the sting of whiskey that’s over a sphere of ice in most of their glasses. Lit by a dimmed chandelier, small TV’s line the space over the bar with live feeds of the field and ESPN. The nicest sports bar you’ve ever seen.

Steve keeps a tight hold on your hand when he orders you both glasses of champagne and a bottle to be delivered to the suite, winking at you when he picks the sweet option.  

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t think I’d be doing anything for work today.” He lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist pulling you to his side. His soft lips kiss your temple as a second apology.

“It’s fine, it’s actually kinda hot seeing you like this.” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you love the way it makes the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Oh yeah?” He grins, the green in his eyes threaten to turn black when his hand slides a little lower, the tips of his fingers touching just above the curve of your ass. They twitch with the urge to squeeze. 

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, just for him to hear, dripping honey like in his office. You turn your  body towards him, pressing yourself closer with a palm running up his chest, fingers playing with buttons when you bite your bottom lip into a smile.

The low groan you get vibrates from his chest, his hand daring to go a little lower, pulling you even closer.

Clink, clink

The bartender slides the two flutes over, popping you both out of your bubble right as someone clears their throat behind you.

“Steve, they're over there in the corner. They just need maybe ten minutes of your time and then I’ll get out of your hair.” Richard’s voice breaks you two apart but Steve still keeps a hand on the small of your back as he hands your glass over, the popping and fizzing of the bubbles inside making it shimmer rose gold in the low light. 

“Sure, I’ll follow you.” He takes a sip before bringing his eyes back to yours, the blunt ends of his nails scratch lightly against your back, giving you his undivided attention. “You gonna be okay for a little bit?” 

“I’m a big girl, handsome.” You smirk around the edge of your glass, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when he looks at you like that.

“I know you are, baby.” The smile that takes over his face knocks the air out of your lungs. Steve presses a kiss to your forehead before he follows Richard to the two men across the room who are looking eager to meet the man you can’t get enough of.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and another glass of champagne, your eyes meeting Steve’s every so often across the room in a silent apology. This second glass is enough to make your skin come alive, fingertips buzzing and nerves melting. The bubbles tickle your lips when you take another sip, the strap of your dress falling down your shoulder at the same time. 

Licking your lips, the sweetness of your gloss mixes perfectly with the fruity hints of the champagne and it makes you give a quiet ‘mmm!’ when it hits your taste buds. Setting your drink down, you can feel him staring as you fix your dress. Your fingers wrap around the soft material, and you dare to meet his eyes again. The green forest you’re so used to getting lost in is replaced by the kind of darkness you’ve only seen in the night sky, the kind where the moon hides the stars in its depths. The men surrounding him are talking but he’s not paying attention, his sole focus is on you.

The two glasses of champagne makes you feel bold. Holding his stare, you move slowly when you pull it back to its home on the top of your shoulder. Soft fingertips drag across your skin, leaving the kind of goosebumps he usually gets and it makes his jaw clench. He needed to get out of here. 

He knocks back the rest of his glass, saying something to the men that have stolen enough of his time from you. He finally excuses himself with a few strong handshakes and that million dollar smile. The one that always makes your thighs press. Running a hand through his hair as he pushes through the crowded bar, his eyes stay locked on yours, heavy lidded and hungry and it makes your stomach do flips.

“Ready to pay attention to me?” You pretend to pout when you turn around to face him. When you lean back on your elbows he can’t help but take in everything you’re offering him. 

Big hands grab at your waist, pulling you against his chest. He’s got a lopsided salt and pepper grin when he dips his head down to skim his nose along your jaw before his lips stop right at your ear. They twitch when he feels the way it makes you shiver.

“More than you know, baby.”

The suite is somehow even nicer than you’d imagined it’d be, the kind of nice that makes you giggle when you take it all in. Flat screen TV’s hang from two separate places on the exposed brick walls. The bottle of champagne he’d ordered earlier sits chilled in a bucket on the marble countertop in the small kitchen with two glasses. The stainless steel fridge that you’re sure is fully stocked shines in the bright, low hanging lights. 

The open concept leads to a living room area, a dark gray leather couch sitting in the middle looking way too comfortable for something like this. It faces a giant window that overlooks first base, high enough in the stadium for no one to be around you and gives out to a balcony with four seats to watch the game outside. 

“Jesus Christ.” You laugh wandering around the new space, fingertips touching the cool leather of the couch as you look at one of the TV’s that hang over it. A crystal clear image of the game getting ready to start just outside. The empty stands were completely filled while you were busy in the boys club downstairs. 

“Yeah, it’s a little ridiculous.” Steve chuckles, the loud pop of the champagne being opened echoes in the big space. “I never watch games in the suites. Me and Ed are always in the stands. I was actually a little surprised when Richard offered it.”

Maybe Richard wasn’t that bad.

You can hear the way the bubbles fizz when he pours you each a glass, neither of you speaking. The realization you were finally alone hangs thick in the air. No more interruptions. The crowd cheers outside when the announcer booms through the speakers that line the outside of the field. The sounds of the game starting cuts through the tension like a knife. Steve clears his throat behind you, making you jump a little. 

“Sorry, honey,” He smiles, trying not to laugh as he hands you a glass.

“Champagne and hot dogs? Steve, I think you’re trying to get me to fall in love with you,” you say,  a part of you that feels like it’s already too late. You are in love with him.

“I still can’t believe you asked Antonio for ketchup, shoulda taken a picture of his face.” Steve snorts, cheeks turning pink at your words. 

“Normal people eat their hot dogs with ketchup, Steve. I’ll ask for ketchup at every hot dog establishment in this city. I don’t care.” You roll your eyes at him for the second time today, and he thinks he’ll get a lot more of those by the end of the night as you keep sipping your sweet drink. 

“I’ll make sure not to be there when you do.” Steve winks smiling over the edge of his glass and it makes you just as flustered as the first time.

“Whatever, it’s a stupid.” You mumble turning back towards the window because looking at him was becoming too much you– fingers twitching to touch him, your lips pouting just to kiss him.

You set your drink down on the coffee table, the buzz from before coming back when the alcohol breaks through the food you had on your way up here. The nerves in your stomach become a mess as you walk up to the thick glass. The game he was supposed to teach you was already in full swing below. The tight baseball uniforms have you imagining what Steve would’ve looked like iand the thought is enough to make the softness of your thighs meet. 

Steve sets his glass down next to yours, licking his lips as he gets to take in the way your dress wraps around your curves. You can feel the heat of his stare on you and it makes you shiver, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. You try to focus on the game and not the way he comes up behind you. He smells like whiskey and summer, the fruity notes from the champagne coming out in the breath that fans down your neck in a mixture of Steve.

“Speaking of rules.” The husk in his voice is back, and the tip of his nose nudges behind your ear. He can’t see the way it makes your eyes hit the back of your head, but he can hear the way it makes your breath catch as his lips brush that sensitive spot on your neck. 

“Yeah, some teacher you are. The game, the-“ you stutter when his hands find their way to your hips, squeezing before they move down, long fingers spreading wide over your thighs. “The game’s already started.” You manage to breathe out, giving into him pulls you against him.

He’s already hard again, and he’s barely touched you. The feeling of your body, with only the thin material of your dress keeping his hands from what’s underneath, sends his brain into orbit, especially when he feels the slow grind of your hips searching for more.

“You actually gonna listen to me?” Steve asks with lips so close to your ear that it almost makes you whimper. All you can do is nod, and he relishes in the way your eyelids get heavy when he hums ‘hmm?’ to ask you again. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll listen.” You can’t find it yourself to care how you sound a little desperate.

One hand stays on the curve of your hip, while the tips of his fingers on the other trace over the goosebumps already blooming on the exposed skin of your thigh. They catch the bottom hem of your dress, dragging the soft material up with them. Wet lips leave sloppy kisses along your neck, smiling against the curve of it when he feels the way you spread for him, silently granting him permission. 

“So, the umpire is the guy crouched behind the hitter,” He whispers, as he keeps moving up at a pace so slow it almost makes you stomp your feet, tempted to throw a fit to make him touch you. “He keeps track of the pitches, the swings and misses. Three strikes, you’re always out.”

He reaches the lace edges of your panties, and it makes him twitch in his pants. How dare you?

“Fuck - baby.” He dips a finger underneath, tugging the material lightly before letting it snap back against your hip. “You wear these for me?”

“Maybe.”  You smirk, arching your back so your ass rubs against him in a way that makes his grip on your hip turn bruising. He exhales a deep breath through his nose to try and regain control.   

“Maybe?” He tsks while the hand under your dress gets bolder, the pads of his fingers brushing over the heat between your legs, groaning when he feels the way you’re already soaked through them. “This doesn’t feel like a maybe.” 

“I’m missing the game because -“ You gasp when he dares to push them to the side, a thick middle finger swiping through your folds, moaning at how you feel like silk.. 

“Because?” He practically purrs as he circles your bundle of nerves with a pointed pressure, like he already knows just what to do to make you fall apart.

He feels even bigger pressing hard against your ass like this. Your hips roll to meet the motions of his finger, offering him a little relief when his hips meet yours at the same pace. 

“You’re -you’re not teaching me.” Your jaw goes slack when another finger starts circling your entrance, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

“Well, you’re not looking.” He’s smug, especially when he dares to push the tip of his finger in just enough to stretch you out, earning a gasp.

The crack of the bat meeting the ball makes your eyes snap open. The loud cheer of the crowd is enough to make the ground shake underneath you. Steve uses the distraction as his opening to slide the first two knuckles of his finger inside you. Your hand comes down to wrap around his wrist, a small whine escaping you when he pushes it all the way in. He braces himself against the window when your hips start to roll, helping him work you open. Every movement of his hand brings you closer against him to meet in the best kind of friction. 

“See, your eyes are closed, honey.” You can feel his grin when he nips at your jaw, the middle finger on your clit being replaced with the pad of his thumb when he has it join in stretching you more for him. 

Opening your eyes is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially when he already has you feeling so full with just two of his fingers. They flutter open with every ounce of your strength you have left, and he hums in approval when he sees them again.

“Good girl.” His praise makes you clench around him and he’ll never forget it as he starts littering kisses along your shoulders, the strap of your dress falling down again. “Now he didn’t get a home run, but the bases are loaded. Do you know what that means?” 

The deep baritone in the way he’s talking to you makes it even easier for his fingers to keep up their pace, coating them in even more slick when it vibrates against your ear. 

“No- oohhh,” Moaning when his thumb adds the kind of pressure that threatens to make your knees buckle. He grinds himself against you with a little more force, never this close to cumming in his pants since high school.

He grunts, his cool facade breaking when you meet his hips, circling slow when you feel him push between your ass cheeks again. 

“It’s when the hitting team has a member - god, baby, you feel that? So fucking wet.” He pauses so he can hear the mess you're making of his hand. 

“There’s a player on every base, so if he can hit it far enough and they can all make it to home base, they’ll gain the lead -  You’re so damn tight.” Steve doesn’t know if he can even do what he’s asking of you anymore, too lost in the feeling of the velvet of your walls wrapped around his fingers and what it’s going to feel like when he finally gets to be inside of you.

All you do is nod, the coil in your stomach tightening in a way you’ve never felt before. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and the muscles tense as he keeps working you to the edge. The thrust of his hips against you becomes shameless as he chases his own end.

Another loud crack of a bat catches your attention, you can barely see the baseball as it soars far over the field. Bouncing off of the back wall when no one catches it, the players on their respective bases start making a run for it, making the crowd go wild.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty?” He asks leaving open mouth kisses anywhere he can reach, teeth nipping at sensitive skin while his fingers curl, the tips of them hitting the spot that makes you see white. Your eyes catch the silver around your neck in the reflection of the window and it's enough to make you give in.

“Ohmygod, Steve - fuck, yes, yes, daddy, yes.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s how your voice raises a pitch when you call him daddy or if it’s the way you reach behind him shamelessly trying to work him through his jeans, but it’s enough for his own body to go rigid. He moans loud enough to drown out the crowd, and you feel the warmth of his release under your palm. Your own washes over you hard enough to make your legs shake. You clench around his fingers that struggle to keep up their pace, but still relentless in their mission to keep you falling apart for him. You give him another squeeze through his pants and it makes him whine overstimulated against your neck.

The sound of the sports broadcasters vibrates from the speakers of the TV, signaling the switching of teams with the Cubs in the lead for the first inning. When Steve can finally see straight, the realization of what just happened makes his cheeks tinge the darkest shade of red. You made him cum his fucking pants. The day of touching and teasing took just as much of a toll on him as it did you. Your walls still flutter with every twitch of his fingers still buried inside of your heat, and he swears his dick threatens to get hard again.

He’s gentle when he pulls himself out of you, pressing soft kisses with sweet words against your cheek when you whimper a little at the feeling of being empty again.

“How’s my tough girl?” He whispers nose nudging your cheek as he puts your underwear back the way he found it, tugging down the bottom of your dress before turning you around to finally face him.

Your body still buzzes like a live wire, no one making you cum that hard from just their fingers before. The men your age always want to move so quickly. Steve’s eyes are still glazed over with a post orgasm glow, cheeks flushed, hair mused and all you wanted to do was kiss him.

“Feeling like an expert in baseball.” You giggle, and it makes him throw his head back giving you one of those deep bellied laughs you love so much.

You don’t wait anymore, pushing up on your toes -  your lips meet his in an explosion of things you want to say but can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t hesitate to meet with the same eagerness, pushing you up against the window with a big hand coming up to your cheek, his thumb coaxing you open with a pull on your chin.

That feeling stayed with you the rest of the day, the two of you attempting to watch the game in between kisses cuddled on the couch and teaching of rules that you claimed were stupid just to get him to scoff. It swelled in your chest the whole car ride home, your fingers fiddling with the stone dangling from your neck and his hand finding a home on the top of your thigh.

You almost let it spill when he walked you to your door, kissing you stupid in your narrow hallway despite the sticky thick humidity. He watches the way you silently battle with the urge to invite him in, and despite everything inside of him wanting to just get lost in you for the rest of the night, he couldn’t have you like that once and leave. So he keeps kissing you by your door until sweat drips from your pores and your dress gets rucked up to your hips again. Promising you his time when he gets back, eyes gleaming with sincerity with his forehead against yours.

Yeah, you were in love with Steve Harrington.

———————————————————————

beta’d by @chechelia thank you ily ♥️

dividers by @chechelia

🌇 -> chapter ten

[bunnyreaper]

guy fawkes/bonfire night with the 141

(mild nsfw/18+, mostly fluffy though)

as the resident demolitions expert, you best believe johnny has that shit on lock. he refuses to go to an organised display because he just knows he can do way better. his job gives him the expertise and access to anything he might need (and ghost secretly helps him assemble anything else if they need to skirt the law just a lil)

he ends up with a massive cache of intricately rigged up fireworks all perfectly timed--johnny had been planning it on and off for half the year, working on preparing for all of october and pulling late nights leading up to november 5th.

he bonds/flirts with you by begging you to help him a little with the set up. of course you don't really know enough to help, but you hold things for him, give him encouragement and listen to his excited rambles after you make sure to ask questions to get him going.

when the big night finally comes, he's setting off remote detonators with glee, pulling you into his body as the two of you watch the display. you get lost watching the sparkle in his eyes--both his passion and the flurry of sparkling explosions.

the sex that night is even more frantic than usual, johnny filled with excitable energy after watching all the blasts.

simon is in charge of the bonfire and is very territorial about it. starts collecting huge amounts of wood early on and setting it all up in the field behind the barracks. the whole thing is stacked PERFECTLY, structurally sound as fuck and to go up in a barrage of flames.

he'd love to make "guys" to set up on the bonfire, leaning into his goofy side. some of them have masks just like him, some of them have printed out faces as your enemies, one of them has hastily sewn in features that look a LOT like soap... but simon swears it's just coincidence when the scot loses his mind looking at it.

he's happy you have to quietly tag along as he sets up, and occasionally indulges you in chat as the two of you carry piles of wood back and forth. of course he keeps jokes for the occasion in his back pocket.

on the night he lights the fire, steps back and admires his work as he hugs you from behind, cradling you as he rests his head on the top of yours and the two of you listen to the crackle of flames as they lick up the sides of the structure. as the night goes on, his hands start to wander over your body and his lips find their way to your neck, making you burn hotter than the fire did.

john is on general dad duty ensuring safety, but more importantly he's pn hot chocolate duty. his recipe is a special one (and yes there's a bit of whiskey in there of course) passed on from his mother and his grandmother.

he's insistent on everyone having a thermos filled with it, to keep you warm and to enjoy the start of winter properly. of course while handing out the flasks he tells stories of bonfires he saw as a kid.

he invited you along with him while he worked in the kitchen, allowing you to be the only one to know about his secret addition to the drink (you'd giggled and encouraged him to add more, as well as making him do a shot as he prepared the other drinks).

the two of you had a blast shoving the whipped cream can into the thermos to fill it up with the topping--and price had definitely squirted some on your face.

he also put you in one if his oversized jackets, wrapped a scarf around you and made sure you were covered in layers of clothes and hats and gloves. he didnt want you getting cold even for a split second. the coat smells just like him as he leads you out into the field hand in hand, his other holding a bag with your hot chocolate filled thermos' in.

when you make it back to your room after all the festivities, he makes sure to warm you up properly, pinning you to the bed making you feel drunker than the whiskey-filled beverage did.

kyle takes point on setting up a cozy space for you all, but especially for you. he knows exactly what he has in mind to make the night just perfect for you. he sets up a little lean-to or two, lays down a picnic spread and fills it with all the warmest and comfiest blankets and cushions for you to lounge on. he strings dimmed fairy lights across the top, lays some lanterns around the outside and creates the most enchanting little set up imaginable.

he does it all because he knows it'll make your night, your month, your year. yes the guys will be there two but this is all for you, because he knows something so pretty and aesthetic and cozy will make your heart so happy.

he makes sure to help you snap photos of the comfy space, making sure the memory is never forgotten, but mentions that he has one final thing before you all get comfortable and wrapped up in the blankets.

he has a stack of sparklers waiting for you, as he knows they're one of your favourite parts of the occasion. two two of you take cute photos with the sparklers, with kyle showing you how to make the trail show up by giving the shot a long exposure time, of course the two of you draw hearts together.

later on when you're cuddled up, maybe his hand sneaks under the blanket and finds your clit, making sure you really see sparks.

[spiderlily-w1tch-blog]

𝙺𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒 𝙳𝚎𝚗𝚔𝚒 - 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft Festival/fireworks + on a blanket ft Kirishima, nipple play, fingering, belly bulge, threesome, spit roasting, throat pie, creampie, quirk play(small Electric Zaps); ft a good bit of explicit x kiri towards the end and KirixKami if you reeeeaaaally squint

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own BNHA or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 4,323

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Includes Threesome, hints of future Polyamory/Threesomes, 1(One) use of N/n, 1st Person POV, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

I happily pressed against Denki’s side, tucked into him and laying on the blanket to watch the upcoming fireworks.

“Ei! You got the camera? You gotta get some good shots, I hear they’re gonna be especially gorgeous this year!” I call out to my best friend when I saw him jogging back over the hill.

“Yup! Got it right here!” He cheers, holding said camera up with the safety strap around his wrist. I grin widely at him and shift to a silly expression when I see that he’s already recording. I laugh in joy at the whole situation, being wrapped in my boyfriend’s arms on a nice, cool summer night, my best friend along with us, about to enjoy some beautiful fireworks.

“Denki, look,” I turned my head to smile lovingly up at my boyfriend as I nod my head in the direction of the camera. He looks up and sees Ei pointing the camera right at us with a goofy grin of his own.

“Yo, what’s up!” He laughs as he brings his arm up as a sort of wave.

“So, Mr Kaminari, tell us about yourself, who is this lovely little thing on your arm?“ Our self-appointed cameraman asks in a deepened voice that makes me giggle.

“Well, Mr Cameraman,” he shifts his attention from looking into the camera to looking down at me, “this sexy little babe is my spectacular,” he presses a quick kiss to my lips, “lovely,” another kiss, “perfect,” yet another peck, “girlfriend.” He smirks at my flushed, smiling face as he reaches across his body to plant his hand on my waist.

“Well, as a completely neutral party with no association with the two of you in the slightest,” my head fell forward into Denki’s shoulder as I laughed at Eijirou’s over-exaggeration of his role, “I must say that I agree with your assessment. This lovely young lady is, indeed, positively sexy,” his ‘cameraman voice’ tapers off at the end, so it ends up just being Ei calling me sexy. I lift my head and bite my lip as I send a sultry smile at the camera.

“Why thank you, Mr Cameraman. Or should I just say, Ei?” I tease, sending ‘bedroom eyes’ at the lens.

“Kami knows there isn’t a single sane person who wouldn’t see how fucking hot you are, baby,” Denki says lowly, though loud enough for the camera to pick it up, as he leans down to press wet kisses to my neck.

“Fuck..” Ei breathes, biting his lip with a small smile on his face as he watches Denki’s display of ravishing me.

“Fuck is right, oh Kami..” I groan out as he begins to suck on a sensitive spot on my neck.

Ei moves to sit on his knees on the edge of the blanket, keeping the camera trained on us. Denki raised his head from my neck and leans in to kiss my lips, our tongues immediately tangling. Ei begins to shuffle around, closer to us but not in the way, zooming in on our messily locked lips. So long as we’re being recorded, I decided, why not put on a show? I open my mouth and move my tongue to dance wetly with Denki’s in between both our open mouths.

I hear Ei lightly groan at the view and close my lips to suck on Denki’s tongue. Our bodies shift slightly to be facing each other just a bit more. We go back to kissing each other, though it’s sloppier than before, with spit dripping down our lips and creating ropes between us when we separate.

Denki returns his head down to my neck, then kisses down my collarbone, sucking on the skin lightly until he gets to the neckline of my cami tank top. His hand on my waist slides up and gropes my boob over my cami while his other slinks up my thigh and teases his fingertips at the edge of my skirt. Ei zooms the camera back out to catch the whole scene, Denki’s tongue practically down my throat, one hand groping my breast, the other inching its way under my skirt.

Denki and I had to pull away and as our tongues receded from each other mouths, thick strands of saliva connected us before they broke and dripped down our chins. Taking the opportunity, I look over at Ei and the camera and find him palming himself through his basketball shorts. I bite my lip with a smile and glanced back at Denki to motion for him to take a look. He got a wolfish grin as he saw his best friend so hard from watching him and his girlfriend practically fucking.

“Y’know, I think it’d feel a whole lot better if you actually touch it instead of rubbing over your clothes, dude,” my boyfriend prompts, taking a good look at the impressive tent in his shorts. Ei looks startled for a moment before he grins back at us and slightly struggles to wiggle out of his clothes with one hand while trying to keep the camera steady. I giggled at the show and got on my hands and knees and crawl towards him.

“Lemme help, Eiji,” I smile and take the camera and turn it around to aim it at the redhead, “you look so good right now.” He blushes before continuing his actions of shuffling his shorts down his legs. Once he’s out of them, he makes quick work of pulling his low-cut muscle tee up and off his body. I tilt my head beside the camera and bite my lip again while I look him up and down and lowly hum at the sight.

He gets up on his knees and presses his hands to the front of his hipbones and presented a bit. At first, I thought he was presenting for the camera but when I catch his eye, I realize that he’s presenting for us. I smile at that and rub my thighs together before he smirks and reached for the camera in my hold. He leans closer to me than he has to and I gladly appreciate the view of his pecs and hard cock so close to me.

“You ready to put on a show, princess?” He asks lowly as he glances down at my lips. I smile again and lean forward to brush my lips against his, though don’t fully kiss him.

“Absolutely,” I mutter and pull back before he can move to fully press his mouth to mine. I wink at him as a sort of promise of ‘maybe later.’ I crawl back to Denki and sit back on my knees and leave my legs spread, but my skirt dips down enough that it hides the main event.

“You look like you’re having fun, baby,” Denki smirks as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to my jaw.

“Oh, I am… I so am…” I sigh out and close my eyes in bliss when his hands move up to cup and squeeze my tits. He lets out a low chuckle and dips his head down to kiss and nip at my neck.

“I’m so glad, baby…” He groans into my ear, his voice low and sultry. He slid his hands up and hooks his fingers into the top of my cami and slowly drags it down to let my tits pop free. “Ooh.. Would you look at that…” He hisses a gasp and brings his hands underneath my tits and accentuated them as he plays with them for the camera. I moan and throw my head back on his shoulder when his fingers found my nipples and started pinching and pulling.

“Fuck, such a pretty sight.” Ei mutters and zooms in on my tits before aiming at my face to capture my pleasure.

“Mm.. Fuck baby, please..!” I whine out when the ache between my legs gets to be just too much. Ei’s cock twitched at my voice and I send a glance right at him to tease him just a bit.

“Who am I to deny such a pretty little thing?” Denki asks, a smirk more than evident in his voice. As he continued to grope my tit with his right hand, his left creeps down my form and lands on my skirt splayed out over my thighs. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby.” Denki presses a kiss to my neck and laves over it before he began sucking it to leave me a nice hickey.

His hand on my thigh begins to curl and bunch up my skirt to expose my panties to Eijirou who lowers himself to get a good angle. Finally, I decide that teasing the camera isn’t worth the prolonged ache in my cunny and reach down to grab the hem. I pull it up to my midsection and show off my pastel yellow panties with a little black bow on the front.

Denki had bought them for me for our second anniversary. It came as a set with a matching bra with black trim on top and a nice little black bow right in between my boobs. That, unfortunately, didn’t last because Denki got too excited when I wore it for his birthday just a couple months later and ended up ripping it open when the clasp got stuck. I hardly mind, though, didn’t then and I don’t now, because, Oh Kami, it was so fucking hot.

“Ooh, baby, you wearing my favorite panties?” My boyfriend mumbles into my neck, sounding like he was barely restraining himself.

“You know it, wanna be good for you.” I tease, bucking my hips just slightly to get his hand to brush over my wet cunt under the soft fabric. He groans at the contact and can’t resist any longer. He rubs me over my panties for a bit, going up and down my slit and paying special attention to my clit every so often. Then, it seems he just can’t hold back, he slips the fabric to the side and swipes through my slick folds more before deftly inserting 2 fingers inside me.

My thighs tensed as I let out a moan and arch my back into him, one hand coming up to grip onto his bicep to ground myself. Denki works his fingers hard and fast and damn does he know how to use that quirk. It’s just barely noticeable when he sends little shocks to the walls of my cunt and to my nipple as he pinches it again. The little shocks bring me closer to the edge and it still renders me speechless at how fast he can get me so close so fast. A whining moan escapes me and my nails dig into his arm, leaving little crescent indents. Ei leaned back again and zoomed out just enough that he could switch the focus to either my tits or my dripping, squelching cunt with minimal movement.

"Fuuuuck.. Denki!" The heel of his palm ground into my clit and it seemed to only accentuate the minuscule zaps he sent into my fluttering walls.

"You gonna cum, baby? You gonna fuckin' cum?" Denki speeds up his fingers and focusses his zaps into my nipple that he still has pinched between his forefinger and thumb. "Go ahead, baby. Come on, babygirl. Cum for me. Cum on my fingers, baby. I want you to cum on my fingers before I fuck you so deep and hard right here on this blanket. There're so many people 'round here, baby. I want all of 'em to hear you. I want them all to hear what you sound like when you cum so pretty on my fingers. Want 'em to know who you fuckin' belong to." His voice was gruffer than before as he spoke directly into my head from where his chin is hooked over my shoulder.

"Y-yes! Fuck yes! Fuck, please, I wanna cum so bad! Please make me cum, baby..!" I whine out unabashedly. I really don't care who sees or hear me, I just want to cum. Wanna cum so bad...

"Ooh, good girl. Good fuckin' girl. That's it, baby, go on and cum right on my fingers. 'M makin' you feel good, yea?" I couldn't muster any coherent words anymore, not when his fingers curl so deliciously directly into my g-spot and the praise he practically growled in my ear, so I resorted to just wordlessly nodding my head which a high-pitched attempt at an affirming hum after I attempted to speak.

"'M'onna.. 'm'onna c-cuuhh-" I couldn't form the words and it seemed to please him, even moreso if I had to guess.

"Perfect, baby. So good for me." The praise he continued to mutter into my ear finally pushed me over the edge and as Ei zoomed out fully, keeping the view of my cum, squirting over Denki's hand and spilling out onto the blanket, mostly centred but still capturing my blissed and fucked out expression.

I cried out loudly in pleasure as my body twitched in my boyfriend's hold, moreso when he didn't stop his movements while I was still cumming and even after. My head is thrown back against his shoulder and my throat already feels nearly raw from how loud I moaned when I came and from how breathless I had been since the start of this whole thing with Denki kissing me as hard and long as he did. The needy whines and high-pitched pleads and moans in between didn't help either. His hand finally left my oversensitive cunt and massaged soothing circles on my hip, his other stayed on my chest and simply cupped my breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the side in a small apology for the abuse on my sensitive bud.

“You did so good, baby. So so fuckin' good,” Denki muttered into my skin as he kisses along the column of my throat, “you want your reward now?” The promise of his thick cock filling me up immediately gets my hips twitching and a whine building in my throat.

“Please, Denki. Wan’ it so bad.” I whined, almost forgetting about the camera until I hear Ei grunt from behind it. I look up and, in my still-hazy state, roll my hips to show off my pussy more and take a deep breath to accentuate my titties, and to get more air in my lungs to regulate my breathing from the intense high that still had me heaving.

“Who am I to refuse a request from my pretty baby when she’s begging so nicely?” I feel Denki's hot breath against my neck as he pressed light, teasing kisses there, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. His hand on my chest slid down and grabs at my hip as his other moved back towards my mound. Rather than continue his assault on my womanhood, his fingers splayed around it and spread my lips open. I shivered at the air that met my wetness, even with the August heat, the night air has a chill that made me shudder. His hand still on my hip squeezed and, finally, I feel his cock head rubbing through my wetness.

"Holy shit..." Ei breathed as he leans down more to get the action on camera. He bit his lip again, this time hard enough that his shark-like teeth broke the skin. He didn't seem to mind as not even a hiss escapes him, he stays focussed on the sight of my boyfriend's cock sliding over my pussy. I moan when his tip brushes my clit and Denki chuckles seductively in my ear and focusses his movements to keep rubbing against my bud.

"You like that baby? 's it feel good? Or d’you want me inside you, pretty baby?" His breath ghosted over my ear as he spoke to me, his tongue coming out afterwards to lick at the shell of my ear. I shudder at the feeling but manage to compose myself to answer him.

"W-wan' you.. 'nside. Wan' y’u i'side s'bad.." My words were slurred from how cock drunk he makes me. The words were high pitched with the whine crawling up my throat from his teasing.

"Of course, baby. Anything for my princess." He pressed a kiss to the side of my head before he pulled his hips back enough to angle his hips and align his member with my entrance. Once he was in position, he snaps his hips forward and buried his cock all the way to the hilt in one go. My back arches and a loud moan is ripped from my throat with my eyes blown wide as my hand flies back to tangle itself in his hair.

"FUCK!" I don't even try to mind the people in our radius, more than likely they look over and see what's going on but I don't spare them more than a second of thought. Denki's hand slides up from where it rested over my mound to rest on my tummy to press down lightly on the bulge that appeared with his thick cock buried so deep inside me. Eiji groans behind the camera and vaguely I recognize his hand moving down his body towards his own dick. I get a moment of rest before Denki's hand is planted firmly on my free hip and he starts thrusting.

"Hoooly shiiit, babygirl.. So fuckin' tight. Nice and warm inside you, princess. So fuckin' perfect." Denki's strained voice calls from behind me while he speeds up his thrusts and nearly jackhammers into me. I let loose broken and cut-off moans as he slammed into me, each thrust jolted my body forward with its force and I couldn't keep myself upright with just my pure will. Realizing this, Denki took his left hand from my hip and instead, moves it to my shoulder to help keep me from falling forward.

"D-Den-ki..!" I moan out as the new angle had him slam directly into that special spot inside of me. My best friend’s groans could be heard and, through my pleasure, I managed to focus in on him. I see his hand wrapped firmly around his base, like he’s trying to keep himself from cumming. As Denki keeps ramming into me, I purposely lean forward and send a sultry gaze at the camera that follows my motions.

Denki seemed to realize what I was doing as his hand slides from my shoulder down my back as I lower myself. I set a hand down on the ground in front of me to stabilize myself as I feel Denki’s thrusts speed up again. His hands grasped tightly at my hips and he snaps his hips into me harder and faster, rocking me back and forth.

“Ohoho.. Good girl. You’re such a sweet baby,” Denki chuckled as he pounded into my g-spot, making it hard for me to focus. Looking up, I see Eiji’s confused, but very turned on, gaze on me until I lift my other hand to his leaking member. With the camera aimed directly at me and my motions, he takes a sharp inhale when I run my fingers up the side of his cock with feather light touches.

“Holy shit…” All three of us hear a voice from beside us, a bit away, but we do little to react other than a smirk growing on my lips. As Ei moves his hand, I take his member in my own and only tease him a little bit.

I run my tongue up his shaft and swirl it over his tip before fully taking him into my mouth and letting Denki’s rough thrusts do the rest. I keep my right hand planted on the ground to keep myself up while I grab at my best friend’s thigh to keep him still with my left. My body rocks back and forth on both cock with my boyfriend’s hard thrusts into my dripping cunt.

“She feels fuckin’ great, right, Kiri?” Denki chuckles through his strained breaths and grunts.

“Yea, holy shit… I dunno how you’re not inside her 24/7 when she feels so good..!” Ei grunts as he shifts the camera to catch Denki’s cock sliding in and out of my pussy, my juices coating him and practically making him shine.

“Oh, it’s fuckin’ tempting.” Denki bites his lip with a smirk and angles his hips to slam directly into my cervix. Ei glides the camera up to capture his sexy expression and the sight had him rolling his hips, pushing his cock deeper down my throat. I gagged a bit but quickly adapted and slightly bobbed my head a bit along with Denki’s thrusts pushing me forward. My moans were muffled by Ei’s length and I feel him twitch in my mouth, alerting me that he’s close to his end.

“Damn, Kiri, you close? Looks like you found fuckin’ heaven over there..” My boyfriend’s light voice teased our best friend, though he didn’t seem to be fairing any better.

With Denki’s long, thick hot dick pushing so perfectly inside me, scraping against all the perfect spots and ramming deliciously into my cervix, I knew I wasn’t far behind. If my boyfriend’s moans getting louder are any indicator, he’s nearing his own climax as well. Mr Cameraman moves the shot again and stops for a moment to capture Denki sliding in and out of my squelching pussy again, then he moves it all the way back to my face. His tan cock glides down my throat again and again and the view has him twitching even more.

Denki’s hand slipped down between my legs again and his fingers deftly start playing with my clit, wrenching a wanton moan from my throat. Muffled by Eiji’s cock, it sends vibrations up his shaft and the sensations become his undoing.

“Oh- Fuck! Holy fuck- holy fuck! Oh, Kami yes! Fuck yea, baby, take it all. Take it all!” Thick spurts of cum shoot into my mouth and down my throat and it makes my eyes roll back with the feeling. I swallow as much as I can and moan at the taste. The dual sensations of Ei’s thick hot cum filling my mouth and Denki’s skillful fingers on my little clitty, as well as his cock still jackhammering my insides and hitting all the right spots and pounding my cervix perfectly, has me seeing stars. My arms and legs tremble as my second orgasm wracks through my body. My fluids gush around my lover’s cock and my walls clamp down around him. Ei shot the camera up to catch the lovely scene.

“Holy shit, baby..! Ohfuckohfuckohfuck- Ohhh fuck yes, baby! Just fuckin’ like that-!” Denki’s moans were almost frantic as his hips stuttered and his hands clamps down on my waist again. Finally, as he slammed into me with deliberate thrusts, his cum shot out into me and filled my cunny to the brim.

With his tip pounding directly into my cervix, I could almost feel his cum flood my womb. The warmth that filled me from both ends and all the sensations of pleasure gave me another orgasm just as my second climax ended. Denki stayed inside me as Ei slipped out. My arms gave out and my back arched as my front fell down to the blanket. Denki rubbed a soothing hand up my spine and set it firmly at the base of my spine as he began to pull out.

“Fuck- fuckfuckfuck-!” I ramble as his cock drags along my sensitive walls again.

“I know, baby, I know. You did so good, pretty girl.” My boyfriend leaned down and pressed comforting kisses to my shoulder once he was fully out and I could feel his cum leaking out of me. “C’mere, princess,” he spoke gently as he sat down behind me and guided my hips to sit between his legs.

“That was so amazing, N/n. You’re so so pretty,” Ei smiled at me as he turned off the camera. I weakly smiled back as I panted against Denki’s chest who had his arms around my middle. “Good thing we brought 2 blankets, huh?” The redhead chuckled and coaxed a tired laugh out of me, as well.

“Enjoy the show, perverts?” Denki called to the side and, once again, I could hear the smirk in his voice. I lolled my head to the side and saw a small group of people, all still looking over at us. With the little strength I have left in my arms, I gave them a cheeky smile while I wiggle my fingers at them in a wave. Ei chuckles at them and comes back to our side with the other big blanket we brought in case we got cold. Denki turned my face to him and gave me a sweet kiss and groaned happily at the taste of my mouth as we felt Ei wrap the blanket around all of us.

“That was certainly a fun way to pass the time, huh?” Ei joked beside us, coaxing a giggle from me. “You really did look so fuckin pretty, princess.” He muttered as he kissed my cheek, “And holy hell, dude, since when can you look hot like that?” Denki mocked offense was a dramatic scoff and a hand over his heart.

“Excuse you! I am always this hot! Tell ‘im, baby!” I giggled and rested back more into Denki again.

“Well, I wouldn’t say always…” I tease, earning myself an offended gasp.

“Betrayed! By my love! Ugh- I knew it. You two are plotting against me…” He sniffles dramatically and can’t hold up the act much longer when we all burst out laughing.

“Oh! Ei! Grab the camera! I think the fireworks are starting!!” I call excitedly and point at the sky. He grabs the camera and turns it on right as the first one explodes in the sky.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

@frosch-thefrog

[prickly-paprikash]

One of my favorite things about Denis Villeneuve's style is how utterly masterful he is at subtle storytelling. Using the visuals to tell a tale that, even when you don't figure it out explicitly, one feels it immediately.

In Dune Part 1, my favorite form of this is at the very beginning when the Herald of the Change arrives to formalize the transition of Arrakis' ownership from the Harkonnens to the Atreides. The procession is full of pomp and posturing, with the Herald speaking in this loud, bombastic voice just to announce what is already a given, and Leto responds with his own spectacle—the armies of Atreides, chanting as one. It's all a show, since at this point House Atreides has been commanded by the Emperor. The contract is a legal formality; the costly procession on Caladan was (un)necessary showmanship. In the books, showing off the illusion of power and authority is vital in maintaining this cruel, unyielding power system, and without bringing mention of it, the film shows this off too. Then, once the Duke has sealed the form with his signet ring, everything just... drops.

Leto looks at the Herald in the eye, and asks, "So, it's done?"

And just as Leto replied to the grandiose display of the Emperor, the Herald now replies with the levity the situation truly deserves.

"It's done."

Both the Herald and the Duke know what this truly is. It's not a reward. It's not a show of love. The Herald, at this moment, is looking at a dead man walking. Millions of their currency sunk into this process, barely five minutes in total, and all to simply declare it all "done."

You can even feel a sense of satisfaction from the Herald.

The Emperor, in his paranoia and envy, guided the hand of the Atreides into a trap. And the Atreides know it is their doom, but they have no choice. They are popular and loved by the Great Houses, but they are bound by honor. And bound by might.

And all of this, narrowed down into one brilliant scene.

Once again, this subtle, visual storytelling is in full display in Part 2, and my favorite by far happens on Giedi Prime.

The Bene Gesserit Sister, Lady Margot Fenring (who is also a Lady of her own House in the books), watches on as one of their prospects, Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha engages in ritual combat for his birthday. Afterwards, in a hallway lit by only the fireworks outside, she stalks the Harkonnen heir, and Feyd catches on immediately.

Here's the thing: barring other Sisters of the Bene Gesserit, Paul Atreides, and some very gifted Mentat Assassins—you will never know if a Sister of the Order is stalking you. From the beginning, she had wanted to be caught by him. A lure. A tantalizing bait, perfectly designed to entrap the feral Feyd.

And he sinks in immediately.

Here is where my favorite visual storytelling comes into play.

In the hallway, we begin with a fully covered Margot. She is veiled completely in shadow, with the oil fireworks illuminating only her visage.

Next, Feyd strikes and holds his blade to her neck, revealing her face. But only her face.

Slowly, the scene shows off little by little her skin. In the hall, I believe the most we see is her throat, and I could be mistaken. The light flashes erratically, and we see her the way Feyd must see her.

In the shadows, a threat. In the brief sparks of light, a curiosity.

And when Margot confuses him, leading him to the Guest Wing where she stays, the light fully shows her off. She's still in formal clothing, but now we see her dress. It reveals a plunging neckline that barely shows off the top of her chest. Her top is sleeveless, showing off her shoulders and the soft musculature of her arms. In the dark, we could clearly see her wearing a veil that covered her body.

And the light mimics her, stripping away and revealing something beautiful. Irresistible, especially to Feyd, who despite his high intelligence and skill, is just as brutal and animalistic as his uncle and brother. All three so easily give in to their vice, and Feyd is no different.

He is allured by her. He lusts after her.

And all this without a word hinting towards sex in their entire shared dialogue.

Just the use of light, shadow, and body to tell a story.

Afterwards, Margot speaks to the Reverend Mother and Princess Irulan, revealing that she has secured a child from Feyd in her womb, which again without saying anything specific immediately shows that the Sisters have such power over their own bodies that they can ensure fertilization and have complete knowledge over their pregnancy. They even control what sex the child will be, as alluded to in Dune Part 1 when Jessica, out of the love she had for Leto and his desire for a son, rebelled against the Bene Gesserit's orders and sired a male.

Again, without info-dumping, we immediately understand that this religious order engages in Eugenics, and uses sex, fanaticism, and more to control the Great Houses.

Please watch Dune. Please read Dune.

[diazsdimples]

JAMES JAMES JAMES HERES AN OFFICIAL ASKING *BEGGING* YOU TO WRITE YOUR BUDDIETOMMY/EDDIETOMMY FIC THAT YOURE WXCITED FOR AND NOW YOU HAVE TO WRITE ITS THE LAW. IDK WHAT EMOJI IT WAS IF IT WAS EVEN ONE BUT 🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️

THATS 60 SENTENCES THAT YOU HAVE TO WRITE NOW. YOU GOT THIS BABY YOURE GONNA DO SO GOOD YOURE GONNA WRITE IT RIGHT? 😘😘😘

Here’s my favourite picture of Eddie Diaz for motivation 💜

I would do anything for Eddie Diaz, just you watch. LOOK AT HIM. Also I wrote 1.5k for this in one sitting, the beans are SO BACK!

Though he’ll never admit it, looking at Tommy is one of his favourite things to do.

If you asked an outsider, they would probably say that Buck’s the most attractive out of the three them, with his boyish good looks, bright blue eyes and bulging muscles beneath the obscenely tight shirts he wears. He’s got the cutest dimples in his cheeks that pop out whenever he’s got that mischievous smile on his face, and that alone regularly makes Eddie’s knees turn to jelly.

Tommy though. Tommy is handsome in an almost classical, old-timey Hollywood kind of way. Where Buck is softness and fuzzy around the edges, Tommy is all sharpness and angles. His cheekbones are so pronounced that Eddie often marvels that he doesn’t cut a finger when he caresses them. The cleft in his chin is a perfect shape, and Eddie’s thumb nestles in it like it was fit to size when he kisses Tommy senseless.

And now, looking at Tommy with the wind through his hair, a smile on his face, and a pale orange tank top that gives Eddie just the slightest hint of a nipple? Eddie wants to pull the car over and ride Tommy until he can feel him in the back of his throat.

He won’t do that though – they’ve just given the Chevelle a new leather interior and he’ll be damned if he’s going to ruin it already.

The drive to Point Dume is stunning. The sun glints off the ocean like light on a sapphire, blue and sparkling as the waves crash against the shore, and the high cliff faces on their right are large and imposing, making Eddie feel small.

The beach houses along the coast are large and luxurious – and will probably be non-existent in a few years if climate change has anything to say about it – and Eddie and Tommy entertain themselves by pointing out what style of architecture they’d look for if they ever retired to the seaside. Tommy likes the classical, almost ramshackle style of the older beach houses, whereas Eddie’s drawn to the sleek lines and metal beams of the more modern styles.

Not that it matters anyways, because on their firefighter’s salaries they’re lucky they can even afford to rent a place big enough for them and Chris, but it’s always fun to dream.

Tommy pulls over in Malibu and they each get an ice cream cone, leaning against the hood of the car while they eat.

Eddie’s not usually one for public displays of affection, usually seeing them as tacky, but he leans into Tommy’s side, humming as his boyfriend slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks as he presses a kiss to the crown of Eddie’s head.

“Yeah,” Eddie hums, tucking his head under Tommy’s chin. “Just like being here with you.”

“You’re so sappy today, what’s gotten into you?” Tommy laughs.

It’s because I love you. I love you and I’m here with you and it’s perfect.

The words stick in Eddie’s throat, unable to come out. He’s been thinking them for a while now, but no matter how hard he tries, the moment never feels right to say them to Tommy. With Buck, they fell out of him as easy as could be. Like it was second nature, something he’d kept inside him for years and was finally able to say them aloud. But for some reason, Eddie feels like the first time he says it to Tommy needs to be on some grand occasion, with fireworks in the background and Buck watching as his boyfriends declare their love for one another.

Maybe, after today, they’ll finally break free from Eddie’s mouth.

Instead, Eddie pokes Tommy in the side. “Am I not allowed to show affection for you once in a while?”

“Of course you are,” Tommy replies, expertly dodging the nip Eddie aimed at Tommy’s neck. So, he’s got a bit of an oral fixation? Sue him. “I’m not complaining.”

Eddie stretches up to kiss Tommy’s cheek, before darting forward and taking a chunk out of Tommy’s ice cream. He wrinkles his nose in distaste as the bitterly cold flavour of mint explodes in his mouth and lets out an exaggerated gag.

“You’re an idiot,” Tommy laughs as Eddie takes a few hurried licks of his own ice cream, keen to replace the mint with something much more agreeable. “What did you do that for?”

“I forgot you like to eat frozen toothpaste,” Eddie grumbles in response. He lets out a quiet moan of appreciation as the softer, warmer flavour of rum and raisin coats his tongue.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

“I appreciate you and Buck, don’t I? I’d say that’s pretty good taste.”

Tommy snorts, reeling Eddie in for a breathtaking kiss. He’s minty and cold, his tongue sweeping across Eddie’s lips, making them tingle in its wake. A groan rumbles low in Eddie’s chest as Tommy kisses him, his hand firm against Eddie’s back.

“Touché, Mr. Diaz,” Tommy murmurs as he pulls away. “Sassy little shit that you are.”

Eddie grins and blows Tommy a kiss. He finishes the last of his ice cream in a few hasty bites, before flopping back into the passenger seat of the Chevelle.

“Come on, if we don’t send Buck a photo of the cove in the next few minutes, he’s going to think we’ve crashed and go frantic.”

Tommy snorts, knowing Eddie’s not far from the truth, and climbs back into the driver’s seat. There’s a soft look on his face as he gives Eddie a quick kiss before throwing the car into gear, and it makes Eddie feel as though he’s been filled with hot air.

The drive through the exorbitant neighbourhood that is Point Dume is probably one of Eddie’s favourites that he’s done with Tommy.

They probably look like a couple of weirdos as they cruise slowly past the lavish mansions, making pointed comments about the designs and the landscaping. Tommy even boldly announces at one point that if it were up to him, decorative cacti would be illegal. Eddie giggles as Tommy tells him about the times he was drunk as a teenager and had repeatedly fallen into the cactus outside his grandparents’ home. It had taken three separate occasions of his grandmother picking prickles out of his asscheeks before they’d taken Tommy aside and asked him to cut back on his drinking – or to at least watch where he was going if he was going to sneak back in.

[pendarling]

List

• Part 2 > End >>

The villains in the city thought it would be hilarious to rank every hero by the level of beauty.

That’s right.

Not by skill or power, intelligence, speed, or strength at all, but beauty.

First place obviously went to Charisma. Their hero name was literally Charisma. There wasn’t anything more blatantly attractive than that. To top it off, Charisma was naturally photogenetic. Every angle captured of them was another magazine cover. Everyone downtown knew Charisma was certainly God’s favourite creation.

‘Fair enough.’ Hero thought as they stared at the screen in front of them. Their computer hummed quietly as they looked into the comments of civilians discussing their thoughts on the subject as well.

[I fucking love Charisma.]

[Congrats on first place!!😍]

[My favourite hero]

Moving on to the next one was Saturn Dust. Another gorgeous and close second place; it seemed like the villains knew what they were doing. They must’ve taken weeks or even months to prepare a list this detailed. Below each hero was a rating out of five for their other attributes like fighting style and general costume design. Saturn Dust even had a cute catchphrase, which earned them extra marks.

Hero shook their head grimly, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Yet, all Hero was interested in was finding their position on the list. Their eyes wandered as the page scrolled for what seemed like forever.

Were they really that bad?

Before they could fully comprehend it, they’d reached the end of the page. Surely, they must’ve missed it.

Again, Hero scrolled up the page. Eyes now focused and leaning forward on their chair. Their finger paused every few seconds to count the numbers beside each name.

“43, 44, 45, 46…”

However, nothing came about. Bewildered, Hero rubbed their eyes and looked around at their empty apartment. The window let in a cool breeze from the night. Maybe they were tired, but the aching feeling of being forgotten was too painful.

Their fingers tapped on the keyboard.

Ctrl+F

A search bar popped up on the top right corner of the page. Hero quickly typed in their name, desperation getting to them.

Two results appeared, and they hurriedly pressed enter. The first that appeared was a comment mentioning them, equally as baffled at where Hero belonged on the list—the second displayed a small note underneath hero #33, citing Hero as a close friend but nothing more.

Frustration clawed at them after being left out. How hard was it for those villains to give up some recognition here? Should they throw fireworks next time? Or was someone purposely messing with them?

Hero crossed their arms as they thought about their next step. It was impossible that they could’ve gone so unnoticed for this long. Their contributions weren’t like the others, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t do anything at all.

Looking at the page in its entirety, Hero noticed a small grey font underneath the title page.

Each hero listed was ranked based on villains who fought them in battle. This meant all information was first-hand account to keep it as accurate as possible.

Hero slapped their forehead.

It made so much more sense now. Hero only ever fought Villain. They never or hardly ever interacted with the rest of the villains in the city as frequently as they ran into Villain.

They pressed their lips together.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” They grumbled. Unlike them, Villain did fight multiple heroes at a time. Why would they purposely leave them out? Unless they forgot about them.

Their stomach turned as an aching grew within them. There’s no way Villain could’ve forgotten them but given so much valuable input to the other heroes. Hero scratched their head and glanced at the clock, their thoughts tumbling out of them by the second in search of answers. Then again, they could’ve just never approached the list and dismissed it entirely. It’s not like Villain was the only one asked for their opinion.

Hero tapped their foot, their eyes still blankly staring at the computer screen and then back at the clock. The depths of their consciousness begged them to go out and make a fuss to catch some attention. The other half of their mind demanded that they quit immediately. If not even their enemy could notice them, they might as well not participate at all.

They sighed and shut down the computer.

All this nonsense was getting to their head. It was best to be left in the dark about it anyway. What was that saying again?

Ignorance is bliss.

Hero settled into bed and tucked themselves in. Their eyes closed. ‘Besides, what am I even going to confront Villain with? You don’t think I’m attractive enough to get on the list?’ Hero blushed. Maybe they wouldn’t say it like that. Or— did Villain find them attractive?

Their memories passed them in their past interactions. Hero’s face grew warm. What if Villain was very protective of them and didn’t appreciate the chances Hero might have at getting admirers? What if they got jealous easily?

No. That’s all too ridiculous. Realistically, Villain was unlike that at all. They were manipulative and sadistic. That’s why they had those underlings of theirs always kissing at their feet. Hero frowned as their brows furrowed. No one as self-centred as them could care about some low-level hero.

That didn’t matter to them, though, because Hero didn’t need this. It was below them. A stupid list running around the internet wouldn’t affect them for life. If anything, it was pathetic that anyone would want to be on there. They should be happy that it didn’t get to them.

For about 20 minutes, the reassurance did the trick, but even Hero couldn’t be fooled for too long.

They shot up in bed, fist slamming onto the headboard, “Dammit! Why aren’t I on that list!?”

~~~

MASTERLIST

•

Part 2 >

End >>

[lulublack90]

Prompt 30 -Camper

@wolfstarmicrofic June 30, word count 998

Previous part First part

Last part guys xxx

James ran past them with Lily close behind and Severus closing in. 

“Lily, wait, it’s fine, we’re friends now!” Severus called after her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. They chuckled quietly as James fled the hall. 

Sirius trailed his fingers down Remus’s spine, making him shiver.

“Wanna get out of here?” Sirius whispered into his ear, nipping gently at the lobe. Remus stilled and leaned away from Sirius. 

“Erm, Sirius,” He took a deep breath. “I-I-I really like what we’ve done so far, but I don’t think I’m ready for you know,” He blushed so hard he was sure Sirius could feel the heat coming off his face. 

“Oh my gods, Remus,” Sirius let out a relieved sigh. “The way you were talking then, I thought you were breaking up with me.” Sirius pulled him in close again. “This is all new to me as well and I am in absolutely no rush. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left, yeah?” He kissed the top of Remus’s head and Remus relaxed. “When I said wanna get out of here, I meant to go take part in the age-old tradition of making out at make-out point.” Remus snorted into Sirius’s white shirt.

“Yeah, alright then. Wouldn’t want to break tradition,” 

They left the noise of the dance behind. Remus pulled the cowboy hat from his head, feeling a bit silly away from the dance. 

“No, no, keep it on,” Sirius grinned at him, “It’s doing unspeakable things to me,” Remus could feel the blush returning, but put the hat back on to appease Sirius. 

There were couples dotted all about the top of the hill. Sirius took them to a relatively private spot and sat down on the dry grass. Remus joined him and Sirius immediately took his hand, stroking his thumb along Remus’s knuckles. He sighed contentedly and brought Remus's hand to his lips. 

“I love your hands, you know. I can’t seem to stop touching them. I’m going to be sad when I can’t hold them every day.” Remus’s heart was aching already at the thought. They had so little time left and then he’d be returning to Wales and Sirius, James and Peter to London. He’d never see him. There was no way his dad would drive him to London just to see a boy he met at camp, nor would he give him the money for the train or the bus. A horrid thought ran through his mind, telling him it would be better to let Sirius go now so it wouldn’t be so hard. But as though he’d read Remus’s mind, Sirius took his chin in his free hand and turned his head towards him. 

“We’ll find a way. I promise.” And Remus believed him. Sirius closed the gap between them and kissed him, soft, sweet, burning. Remus didn’t want to ever lose this feeling. 

“I love you,” He blurted out. Sirius didn’t even skip a beat before he returned the words. 

“I love you too,” Remus threw himself at Sirius just as a huge bang went off, and green sparks lighted the sky, then more bangs and more bright sparks. 

“MR PETTIGREW!!!” McGonagall’s voice rang clear between the bangs. Oh, Peter, they both shook their heads at the same time. They leaned back and watched the fireworks display. Remus didn’t think it could get better than this.

The next few days passed in a blur and before he knew it, he was packing his unworn clothes back into his shabby suitcase, ready to put in the back of his dad’s car and leave Camp Hogwarts behind. He looked around the room at the friends he had made. Peter, with singed eyebrows from where he’d accidentally set off all the fireworks. James with his black eye from Lily, that he wore proudly. Severus, who had come out of his shell and become a part of their group, easily once they put their feud aside and finally Sirius. The boy who had changed his life the second he walked into that cabin. He had to blink hard to stop tears from escaping. 

They took their bags out to the gate, waiting for their rides. 

“I’m going to miss you all, so much,” Remus finally said, a thick lump forming in his throat. Before he could do anything to stop them, all four of the other boys had piled on him, hugging him tightly. 

“You’re coming back next year, right?” Perter asked. “I know we’ll be a bit old, but it’s tradition at this point and we’ll meet up throughout the year, right?” Remus gave Peter an extra squeeze. 

“My mum likes Wales, maybe we can visit?” Severus asked, a bit unsure. Remus wrapped him in a hug.

“Of course, we can go down to the beach. It’s not far from my house.” 

“And you are more than welcome at mine anytime, both of you,” James added, including Severus. “Mum and Dad would love it. The more, the merrier,” James lifted Remus off his feet as he hugged him. “Come on you lot, let them say goodbye.” James ushered Peter and Severus away. 

He and Sirius didn’t say goodbye. It was too hard. Instead, they just held hands and waited for the inevitable. 

“I’ll see you soon, I promise. I’m this close to getting my driving licence and then you won’t be able to get rid of me.” 

He heard his dad’s car pull up. He looked at Sirius, tears escaping finally. 

“I love you,” Sirius said, squeezing his hand. 

“I love you too,” Remus croaked. They shared one final kiss before Remus picked up his suitcase and headed to the car.

“So,” Lyall said curtly as Remus buckled his seatbelt. “Were you a happy camper then?” He asked as he pulled the car away. Remus stared out of the window, not taking his eyes off Sirius until he couldn’t see him any longer. 

“Yeah, I was. Can I come back next year?”  

[somewhere-at-the-burrow]

𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐸𝒜𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒞𝒰𝒫

⤹ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬 // 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐬 !

(( I finally made it to a professional quidditch game! ever since I got into shifting, I have been waiting for this moment and this post is inspired by what it was like and how absolutely immersive this experience was. I only stayed for one day, so this was the main event of my shift last night! I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS FINALLY HAPPENED CAN YOU TELL IM EXCITED !! holding myself together all day until the moment i'm writing this has been unbearable and all I want to do is tell someone about this so let's begin!!))

★ it is pretty common for most professional League games to be held at a large pitch in Dartmoor. it is a permanent structure that can be visited by portkey / floo network (similar to the World Cup). for the final game in the League, many many people came to watch and the area was full of people camping out overnight to spend time at the fairgrounds !

★ I honestly did not expect the event to encompass that much space, but when we got there rows of tents and vendors lined the grassy fields and I was so grateful that my friends and I decided to come a couple hours earlier

★ in the fairgrounds, there were so many quidditch centered vendors selling a range of things from broom kits to the latest gloves to luxury brooms

★ the luxury brooms were absolutely breathtaking to look at! i am such a quidditch geek in this reality, so Cedric had to physically drag me away from this one display of a foreign racing broom that was so stunning and sleek IF I GET RICH IM COMING BACK FOR IT

★ the whole environment was more magical than I could've even imagined. the whole time we walked to the pitch, music and the sound of little trick charms surrounded us. there were tiny fireworks and whistles and bagpipes, too. it was overstimulating but in an enthralling way... I never wanted to leave, truly.

★ another thing that was completely fascinating to me was the giant pictures of the team players moving around and waving and doing all sorts of portrait shenanigans. these were on the side of the pitch!

★ ONE OF THE KESTRELS CHASERS OH MY LORD. his name was Conor Quinn and the whole time Ginny and I kept looking at each other every time we saw his poster because that man is so attractive. it came with scrutiny from the boys, but no regrets!!!

★ when the game was about to start, it was so exhilarating because it was a crowd effort. the crowd was involved in so many chants and hearing the rush of people screaming for their favorite players was so so cool (i was unashamedly chanting as well. looking back, I was kind of obnoxious but oh well! that is the experience!)

★ a chant I remember so vividly was a series of claps while people synchronized "HOLYHEAD .... HAR-PIES!". I swear the entire Harpies fanbase was there we CARRIED the chants

★ when I tell you this quidditch game was in my top five moments of life... I cried when the ball was released & I have no shame!!

★ the Harpies were behind by quite a bit in the first half of the game, and we genuinely thought they were going to lose. in this reality, the snitch is worth a different amount of points, so if Grace Belling (the Harpies seeker) would've caught it, they still would have lost

★ sometime around this point, one of the older beaters (Finn O'Cleary) got knocked off of his broom and when I say he was older I THOUGHT HE DIED. that poor guy just layed in the pitch for so long until the substitute came in and it was such a dramatic turn of events we didn't even know what to do in the stands

★ nonetheless, the Harpies caught up again and everything was so expertly planned it was AMAZING

★ the nose dives?? the sharp turns around the stands?? IT WAS SO EXPERTLY EXECUTED and Iris and I were on the edge of our seats trying to memorize the moves to use next year in quidditch

★ it's no surprise but the Harpies caught the snitch and they won!! they waited until their points were exactly 10 over before they went for the snitch, which was so risky last minute but it made for such a thrilling game!!

★ the crowd was absolutely WILD. especially since it was the seeker's first year on the professional team and she already won the League Cup. the players were flying over the chanting crowds and everything was ballistic

★ Ginny and I were throwing our hands up and I hit Harry really hard accidentally and I felt so bad and he just brushed it off saying I was having a good time. it ended up bonding us more though and we shopped around together in the final shop before we left!

★ I got the COOLEST poster for my room. i've made it a goal in each of my DRs to collect as many knickknacks as possible for my room, so this moving poster of the updated team was perfect :)

★ anyway, the party was very much still going at the fairgrounds when we left around dusk... my god the irish really did "have their pride on!!"

note: i realized i wrote so so much (and i could still write more!) but here is what it was like for me! truly one of the best nights of my life.

we ended up going home and having dinner in the garden, which i might write about as well bc that is kind of a family tradition on big days!

much love if you've read this far!!

daphne (your local harpies fanatic)

[luv-gukkie]

cherry | 𖦊 : three

pairing: yandere! jimin x f. reader, yandere! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || yandere

summary: you’re the cherry on top of everything. the little girl in front of your parents; the gooody two-shoes of your family, friends, and everyone who knows you. so when you’re staring at the two bright, red lines on the pregnancy test. you know you’re fucked, you really do. especially when there’s not only one man, but seven.

word count: +1.4k

tags/warnings: unprotected sex (this is fiction, don't be silly), creampie, squirting, manipulation sex, mention of namjoon, mention of taehyung, public sex? (in a amusement park), soft sex, rough sex, size difference, jimin cares for reader (a lot :]), strawberries with whip cream is kinda sexualized…(sorry fresas), jungkook’s possessive> and wants to do EVERYTHING for the reader

notes: i don’t know why, but this jungkook, has me feeling some type of way. im imagining his black t-shirt that display his tattoos and pretty, long hair. i CANT get it out of my head :,). i love jimin’s part with the churros. he’s too cute. who else likes churros?

tag list: @bananamochidaisy @mageprincess7

༻❤︎︎ ★ ★ ❤︎︎༺

"i'm going out with my friends to go to a carnival," your pointer finger traced his arm filled with beautiful tattoos. ignoring his intense stare. "i heard there's gonna be fireworks!" you squeal, hoping that you've gotten out of jungkook's grasp. but he doesn't let go, "if you wanted to see fireworks so bad, pretty baby, you should've just told me. i'd buy them for you to see, wanna do that?" your hand drops onto the white shirt you borrowed from namjoon last night. you can still smell the thick cologne, some of it rubbing against you. too bad he left so early in the morning with a small wink in your direction. "but i really want to go with my friends." your eyes have the temptation to roll, but you'd be in bigger trouble if you did.

his clinginess reminds you of taehyung, who, with no doubt, has filled your phone with messages so early in the morning. "we can buy you something nice beforehand?" jungkook hopes you like that enough to stay with him. his thumb starts to rub your cheek, noticing you eyeing the velvet fruits. "and buy some strawberries with whatever toppings you want. how does that sound?" you can feel yourself boiling in the inside at the fact he doesn't give up. you beg yourself not to yell because you know he won't take you seriously, or he'll make you regret it. "tomorrow?" you ask, your legs spreading apart just a bit for him to direct his sight to your panties. shirt sliding up your thighs. "pretty please, kookie." jungkook has a light blush on his cheeks, the sweatpants he's wearing not doing anything to hide his growing hard-on. his eyes look up at you, asking permission, in which you nod. both your eyes hooded with lust. his fingers pinch one of the strawberries, messing the whip cream around your mouth before thrusting it to the back of your throat. his fingers reaching far deep into your mouth causing saliva to drip down the sides of your lips. jungkook's doe eyes shining at the wet spot as he releases himself from his slacks. moving your panties to the side, he moves his dick across the slit of your damp cunt. jungkook pushed his cock through your tight hole, groaning at how your walls rejected his entrance. your legs quivered as the feeling, head digging into his neck. tears at the edge of your eyes from the painful intrusion; he's always been too big to handle. his tattooed hands bringing your face closer to his by pulling your hair. he breathed on your lips as he muttered, "we'll go tomorrow." before pecking your lips and pulling out only to slam back in with full force.

~

"ugh." you stared at yourself in the mirror, watching the limp you had when you walked. maybe you shouldn't had convinced jungkook using that way. but at least it worked. luckily, your friends were still going to the carnival so you invited jimin, a 'friend'. you'd meet up with everyone there, including jimin. he had wanted to take you in his car, have a small dinner before going but you told him it would be more fun to see each other at the carnival. he didn't like the idea, but accepted when you told him you would give him a special surprise.

when you arrived at the carnival, jimin was standing by himself. hand in his phone, and two corn dogs in the other. you hugged him by behind, smile on your face as jimin giggled. "you look so pretty!" jimin pecked you all over your face, hands smothering in your hair. he grinned in the inside at the necklace you were wearing: a small gold dove that he gave you. "my friends will be here soon, let's finish these corn dogs jiminie." hands together, a corn dog in the other with huge smiles on your faces as you planned what rides you'll both go on.

you all went on every ride in the carnival. olivia was basically green from the roller coasters she went on. nolan had his eyes shut close every time you guys were at the top or edge. all jimin did was tighten his hold on your hand, pearls out for show. his eyes looking at you from the side, enjoying the view he got. your hair flying all over the place, happy yells escaping your mouth. jimin couldn't believe he got a chance to be with you. but he saw the way nolan eyed you too. his cheeks flushed when you spared him the tiniest bit of affection towards him. it had jimin rolling his eyes in annoyance, the urge to color his face a shade of purple and blues.

the crowd was larger than when you guys arrived, people pushing and shoving. you yelped when you accidentally tripped on someone's foot. jimin was quick to save you from the embarrassment of falling in a public place and having bloody knees. "be careful sweet cheeks." he playfully said, not letting go though. still worried you might fall and get hurt. "thank you," your hands covering your face, hoping to cool down your burning face. when you looked around, none of your friends were in sight. a pout on your lips, "we lost them, didn't we?" jimin nodded his head, an idea popping in his head. taking you by the arm, he dragged you to a churro stand on the other side of the walkway. it was practically empty, a few people here and there.

your eyes distracted by all the options of churros, you failed to notice how jimin stared you down. a heat surging through his body at the skirt you wore. it wrapped around your body too perfectly, giving the perfect amount of skin to have him want more. soon enough, both of you were munching on strawberry filled churros and chocolate covered churros. you sneaked into a higher ground with jimin trailing behind you, "i never knew you did things like this," he muttered with a smirk on his face. "it's too get a good look at the fireworks, you know they start soon?" he laughed at your sassy tone, pulling you into his lap and kissing the sugar away from your pink lips. jimin stuck his tongue down your throat, fingers softly pulling your hair to your back. soothing his hands down your back until they reached your ass, where he snuck them into. you whined in the kiss, his mouth sucking your bottom lip. jimin slipped you out of your panties, leaving open kisses down your neck and collarbone. you tugged his pants and boxers off, his tip glistening with his pre-cum. jimin grabs you hips gently, slowly sliding you onto him and waiting for a while before starting a fast pace. he dug his face onto your covered breasts, soft groans escaping his lips each time he felt your wet walls clenching around him.

your walls began to spasm around him, reaching closer to your high. you whined into his ear, head hiding in his neck as he pushed upwards into you. a breathy moan emerging from his throat at his release, cumming inside you. a grin on his face when he eyes the sticky mess falling on your inner thighs and down his cock. jimin hugs you tightly as he makes you lay down next to me, dick still inside of you. "i love y—" jimin's voice gets interrupted by the loud, colorful explosions in the night sky. you giggle, "jiminie, look at the fireworks!"

but he can't look at the fireworks, not when he sees a purple bruise on your lower collarbone, purposely hidden by your clothes. one he didn't leave.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 8

Prompt: Breeding Pairing: Hongjoong x fem!reader WC: 900 Summary: PWOP. It is what it says on the label This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Hongjoong or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. TW/CW Under the cut!

TW/CW: Unprotected, pregnancy talk, called “honey” and “little cumslut”, Hongjoong is needy, so is reader.

 Once he started he couldn’t stop, It took one time cumming as deeply as possible in your hole to convince him this was always the way to do it. It became an obsession, a project. Sex turning from one and done into a multi stage marathon. No longer was he worried about cumming early, in fact that way he could just fill you more. Pushing his own seed deeper into your womb as he fucks you again. He’d all but stopped masturbating, even during long tours, saving up his release for when you met again.

 Chest pressed into the mattress, hips held high about for him to pound into he jolts and jitters as his own seed spills around him and onto your legs. The first round of the night, a big one. They’ll only get smaller, more painful even as he continues. Because he will continue.  “I think it’s gonna take this time,” starry eyed you mutter. The possibility of it actually happening was nearly zero thanks to your implant. Still you say it with conviction because it pleases him.  “Everyone will know you’re mine then. No more hiding. I’ll dress you in the finest clothes and show off my work to the world.” Another spurt of cum forces it way into you as he thinks about your stomach, swollen with child. His child. Tits fat with milk. Taking you to art galleries and displaying you alongside his other accomplishments. He pulls the two of you to the side, leaving his cock soaking in the mixture of fluids, rehardening slowly before ever going fully soft.  His arm snakes over you, cupping your breast, rocking ever so slightly to bury himself again without disturbing you. His thumb absentmindedly plays with your hardened nipple, dragging it down and letting it spring back to place.  “Sleepy.” Your scoot back to his chest, nose pressing into your hair. “I like.”  “I know you do, honey. I know you like feeling full. I promise I’ll keep you nice and full.” His lips press against your hair, inhaling the scent of skin and shampoo. “Gonna fuck you all night if I have to.”  You moan, his base needy nature on full display. When he holds you like this it’s impossible to feel unloved, unwanted, alone. When he’s rutting into you, promising the moon, you feel safe. It’s easy to fall in and out of blissful sleep, eyelids heavy with pleasure. The persistent targeted drag against your gspot serves to keep you vaguely present as fireworks spark and fizzle.

 Hongjoong can feel your body slacken and tense in his arms as you drift between conscious states. “I should let you go to sleep,” he almost sounds repentant. Truly he feels a little guilty, knowing how hard he’d pounded into you previously. A good climax was better than any melatonin or cbd gummy to get you into a hazy dreamlike headspace.  “Don’t let me, wanna cum again,” you whine. You’re always whinier when you are tired, after your first round. Hongjoong knows this. He knows round two is not the time for hair pulling, snarling, fuck-you-dumb, crass kind of sex. Even though you both like it. Round two is for exactly this; hazy, needy, sloppy, whiny sex.  “Oh Honey,” he coos, “need more before bed? My little cumslut needs more?”  You toss your top leg forward onto the mattress, opening yourself up for easier access which he eagerly takes. Abandoning your breast in favor of carefully rubbing circles around your clit, Hongjoong groans. He can feel your walls tightening with your stomach, anticipating the next wave. “More, more,” you beg and plead, “want more.”  “Even when you’re all fucked out your walls are milking me dry,” Hongjoong sounds deliriously happy. Your cunt is sloppy with release, slick slap of his balls against your skin is proof enough of his handiwork. “Wet little pussy, working me so well. So good for me.” He tugs at you, rolling with you on top of him, using the full force of his thighs to fuck up into you, deeper and deeper. “I’ll give you as much as you can take.”  Through the haze of your orgasm you can feel the twitch of his dick, lodged as deep as he can go. Spurts of release force remnants of round one from you, a white ring forming at the base of his cock.  “Thank you,” you babble. Body shaking, possessed by pleasure. His pleasure. He enjoys every second of it, holding you tight as though he could absorb it. You can barely breathe, eyes rolling back. Your walls squeezing another dry, painful orgasm from him. The pain completes him, penance for using you, for wanting to own you like he does. You aren’t his but maybe just maybe if his cock is the only thing your cunt craves, you could be his.  Exhausted, both of you flinch and jitter, muscles activating randomly as your overstimulated nerves cool down. His member stays lodged inside, a poor stopper for your leaking hole. Another sign your night is not yet over.  “Is this all me,” Hongjoong asks, running a finger along the tight muscle of your pussy. “Going to have me dripping in your panties for weeks.” He can already feel the faint twitches of his rehardening. Lacing his fingers between yours you pull him close despite the slick and sweat.  “Again, just in case,” you giggle. “Just to be sure.”  “Of course honey, to be sure.”

Hated that I kind of had to be short and sweet with this but if all my kinktober fics are 2k+ words...well. TBH this particular kink is one of my favorites to write so trust it will be in others as well.

[casinocarpediem]

▪︎■☆New Years🎊☆■▪︎

☆ 🔞‼️NOT SAFE FOR WORK‼️🔞

☆ trans!bot!Miguel O'Hara / amab!dom!reader

☆ 2k words

☆ late (I faced multiple family issues during the first few weeks of January, so sorry for the delay 😭😭)

☆ words such as cunt, pussy, cock and hole are used to describe Miguel's genitalia

☆ please correct me if I missed anything 😓

°○☆ nsfw under the cut ☆○°

The sound of fireworks. Loud and colorful. One would expect to walk outside and see the display of reds and blues. Even purple or green. Or a wonderful mix of hues patterned together.

Fireworks were symbolic. Fireworks were for to celebrate the new year coming ahead. To celebrate the birth of new months to spend with the people you love the most and to make thanks for the previous year and all of its challenges and shortcomings.

Other people had parties over it. Charcuterie bords plated with soft cheeses and salty cold cuts, added with a side of fruits and oranges. Not to mention the flaky biscuits.

Other people spent time together. Blowing their horns and rambunctiously declaring out their love for all people to hear on the top of their lungs until their throats burned and their ears stung.

You and Miguel decided to spend time together. Of course, a blend of the two given directions to spend the birth of a brand new year.

There was a party held in HQ for the other spiderpeople who were also celebrating new years eve and you and Miguel enjoyed it but had leave sooner on account of celebrating it on your own with him.

"You do realize i could have bought all of that for you" Miguel says with his eyebrows raised. While feeding himself a piece of unflavored biscuit dipped in cream and biting down on the snack. His large hands made it look miniature..

"Well I wanted to treat you, obviously. It isn't fair if you're getting me so much. It's the least i could do. Especially for today." You mention as you sip your wine and smile. Leaning against the circular couch and watching the muffled fireworks from outside pop into colorful combinations with your loving husband.

"I like the Queso de Bola from your universe." Miguel mentions with a huff and a smile then buries his face on your shoulder to lean on it. You snort, then decide to speak, "There isn't a difference between the one from mine and yours... even if it's from the future. It's.. still a cheese ball"

"Yeah. But I can taste the difference. The ones I've got were made by machines. Not cows." You shrug. He has a point. But despite that there isn't much a difference in flavor.

Eventually you two settle on finishing up the charcuterie board and drink the wine you two had. Mundane conversations about life. All the while you had your hands on Miguel's stomach whole you cuddled with him from the back.

He was talking about atomic particles and the more he explained the more wine he drank. Despite his tolerance he became tipsy quicker than you both had planned. Not that anything changed. He just became more clingy and open. And a little sleepy. It was adorable to see honestly. Though, there was no doubt the warmth growing inside of yours and his stomach.

It settles with you both lying down in bed watching some movie that you can't really focus on right now because Miguel's kissing your neck and rubbing his clothed pussy against your thigh. The kisses were alright. You spared some back. But the sudden wetness you felt when his hips moved on your leg had snapped your attention to him.

You finally got your eyes off of the movie and looked at him. Most of his face is buried onto the plush pillows but his eyes had that half lidded look that always made you feel warm. Everywhere. He needed something. He needed you.

You both have done this before. More than once. Of course, he was your husband and he has needs. He has a lot of needs. And you were always receptive of fulfilling them.

Without a word you reached over to him without moving the sheets away and traced your hand down his body. He closes his eyes and sigh softly. Adjusting his own body so that it was now facing the ceiling. Snug right beside you with the blanket covering everything you two were doing.

Your palm brushed against his pecs. So soft. You squeezed on the muscle and he twitches and hums in response. You apologize by kissing his cheek.

You go lower and your hand is on his muscles. Thumb tracing against his torso. He was breathing faster and his squirmed a little. Impatient. You apologized by kissing his nose.

Your hand reaches the spot he had needed you to touch. His warm wet cunt. You wanted to tease him but decided against it. It was new years after all. Why derive your husband of the pleasure he deserved? As a little thank you gift for just being here with you. For existing. Because he loved you and you loved him and nothing will change that. Especially another year to spend with your darling husband.

He groans a little. With the way your fingers rub his cock, and graze against his hole. Overall spreading the wetness. The warmth that is, Miguel. You use your thumb to rub at the slit softly but fast enough for his liking. He pants and turns his head so that it's buried on your neck. His breathing is labored and he does as much as to lick at and bite your neck. His hand rubbing against your clothed throbbing cock to share his own effort.

You groan at the touch. Close your eyes for a second to focus fully on the way you pleasure him and how he pleasures you. You move your fingers down, 3 of them, entering his sopping cunt. Your thumb flicking his clit while moving your fingers back and forth and curling your fingers to press down on a spongey spot that has his seeing stars.

He whines. Growls? Could be both. What mattered was that it felt good his warm pussy felt around your three fingers that moved in a way that had him curling his toes. He gets your fat cock out of your boxers and strokes it properly. Now your distracted. Your fingers move a little erratically inside of his hole. Sucking more in. Greedy little thing.

You continued moving your fingers. In and out. Curling your fingers up at a degree that caressed his gspot in the right ways. Your thumb stimulating his cock. He was shivering. Not from the cold, a blanket ensured that. He shivered with the way your hands moved inside of him. For a moment he stops stroking you because his hands gripped the sheets tightly.

He chokes. And you move your head to kiss him. It's messy. Sloppy. But it's full of love. It's always full of love. Everything you do for this man has always over-poured itself with so much love, he even doubted if he deserved it at some point. Not that you wanted to linger on the thought. Because he deserved so much more.

And when he cums. You're there for him. He whines out when you prolong his orgasm with a few more strokes of your fingers. Thrusting in and out at his usual preferred pace whilst flicking his cock with your thumb. The more he gasps out while his gangs graze your tongue the better. He knows you love him he knows.

You're not even finished with him. Oh no you weren't.

Not when you moved the covers away from his beautiful legs and moved yourself to face in front of him. His eyes were lidded and he had himself waiting for you, legs spread and revealing his vulnerability in its full glory. Only for you. Always for you. You leaned down, kissing his legs. Every scar littered on his skin you appreciate quietly with a soft peck of your lips, maybe a soft bite or two. You can smell his heat approaching the further you go down and it's exciting but you have to remind yourself to be patient.

You leave a kiss on his happy trail and the little bit of soft fat on his abdomen, not giving it what it wants at first. Take it slow. Just the way he likes it. To take your time appreciating him and his body. And when your tongue will part the dark curls coated on his cunt and land your tongue on his hole, hold him down while he squirms and throw his head back.

You'll lap up the slick that's been dripping down his pussy lips since his earlier orgasm and drink it up the more you lick deeper, nose budging his clit. Hold him down, please do. With the way he'll call out your name and arch his back the faster you pressing your tongue deeper in his walls. He'll squeeze you inside whenever you prod and press against that area that has his pussy creaming all over again. When he comes, again, he squirts this time. At this point it's easier to drink up now that you're nearer to him.

He's so sensitive and his clit is throbbing. He's twitching against the bed and his grip on the sheets are evidently strong. Luckily he had made a way to make his bedsheets harder to tear so there was no damage done. He could tear and pull and scratch all he could but nothing would be damaged. Other than perhaps you, some red angry marks here and there on your back.

Like the ones forming now, with your face pressed against his and your own throbbing cock rubbing against his own heat. Wet shy slickness. Rubbing your girth against his clit and he can only whine and make half assed growls, demanding you to go faster. He's cute isn't he? All desperate like that, legs spread trying so hard to get your dick inside him, whilst his ankles pressed against your spine trying to thrust you in himself.

And when you give him what he wants he'll scream again. He'll scream your name. He'll scream because he can feel your cock parting his warm, creamy walls. The soft and humid interior of his pussy. It has you both seeing stars. Just as colorful as the fireworks from earlier. You ram into him and the deeper you go he has his eyes rolling back and his words falling into mumbles. Soft moans and slight growling.

Words you'll hear would be please and thank you. Then it'd turn into curses and demands. Him asking you to hurry up. And if you thrusted into him just right he'd return back to his more polite pleads.

You can feel him squeezing so good around your cock. His hole, slick and just sucking you in. The crown of your cock hitting his cervix and it drove him hazier. He laughs, because the intensity of it all has him in a precious, soft, fuzzy delirious state and you kiss his forehead. To make it all better.

His walls squeeze at you. And it feels so fucking good it's driving you insane and he swears he can feel you deep back in his throat. Because he chokes on his own noises for a good second before his head falls back and he whines again. Rutting against the knowledge of you knowing you'd end up filling him to the brim. Stuffing him full of your cum and your scent will just overwhelm him because you're his and he's yours and anything about you. Your personality, your voice, your scent. He wants every ounce of it and it only multiplies I'm sensation when he knows he's leaking with your love. Your scent and your very DNA in its pure form, as Miguel thinks to himself.

Well, one thing or another, the thought of you filling him up again has him squeezing you and he squeals because it's all so much. Too much. The way you kiss his face and mutter praises into his ears, your hands spreading his legs apart while the head of your cock hits him deep and I'm talking deep. He cums on your cock and arches his back, mouth opened for a silent scream as he growls next and twitches. Claws digging further into your back, he'd apologize for that tomorrow morning.

Right now he was focusing on experiencing the best fucking orgasm he's had for this year. This precious, brand new year. With you and in this bed. When he cums his pussy squeezes you and you couldn't help it either. Coming undone as well with a groan and filling him up full. Miguel's gasps because the sheer warmth of you is making him feel full. Feeling fulfilled. It could be for whatever reason but no matter what it'd be he's so happy to be here with you because he loves you so much and he's so full of your love. Literally.

One things for sure, you were willing to go a little longer. To thank him for being here with you..

(A/N: it's finally here!!! I'm really sorry for the delay afhfhrjjf (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ) but that's no excuse, so I finally finished this work :) I hope you guys like it. I'll make more soon. Please be patient with me ♡)

[mothiepixie]

With New Year's approaching, I was super curious.

How would each of the Sans spend New Year's with Mottie?

Love your work! (I live on a ranch and Farmer has my heart right now)

Thank you so much!! He's definitely my comfort character right now 🥹

I hope you enjoy this and also I hope you have a wonderful New Years! 🎆

Sans🛋:

He likes to keep things really simple. He loves parties but he's definitely the type to be glued to the couch and watch everyone from a distance. This includes watching Motti interact with others. There's just something about watching the way she interacts with each person that fills him with a sense of ease.

But as it strikes closer to midnight, he'll leave his spot and ask Motti to come with him. He'll shortcut her to the roof and wrap a blanket around them both. As it strikes midnight the fireworks in the neighboring city go off, and he'll kiss her cheek. (Which she steals a full on kiss in return)

Big Red🔭:

He's not a fan of boring get-togethers and just chilling with his family. He's more used to living it up at the bar, where everyone is sloshed to the nines. But he knows that's not Motti's jam, and that she's not a fan of loud and rowdy places. He'll do something different for her, and for himself, by taking her to the mountains where the light pollution doesn't reach.

In the back of the truck, he's got blankets and his telescope set up. He's unsure by the whole thing and trying to save face that he's not at all embarrassed by this display of love, but he gradually becomes more relaxed as the night goes on. Once it hits midnight he's about to kiss her when Motti beats him to it. It throws him off and makes him super flustered.

Boysen🍷:

The week leading up to this he has been mad busy with work, but even so, he made arrangements at a popular and expensive restaurant. He has rented out the entire rooftop for the evening and it will be just Motti and him. He messages her the day of and says to be ready and dress up. He may or may have not sent her several outfits and jewelry for her to choose from. Boysen will come home and quickly get ready himself, and shoot glances at Motti when she makes remarks she's ready before he is.

The evening is spent dining and making quips at each other while they enjoy a fire in front of them. The location he chose has the best view once midnight hits and the fireworks go off, but both of them were long locked lips that they never saw them. 💋

Farmer🌾:

Everyone is gathered outside at his and Pap's place, and have set up a movie projector and snacks galore. No one is really paying attention to the movie, which is fine because it's just there for anyone's enjoyment. However, Motti will be wondering where Sans is though. He has rarely been seen all night and so, she ends up finding him on the veranda sitting on the porch swing.

He beckons her over and while she's getting situated he pulls out a thermos and pour some hot apple cider. While curious, Motti will ask if he's not enjoying the festivities and he tells her that it's nice to have everyone here, but he just wants to see the new years with just her. Motti will rest her head on his shoulder and he rests his head on top of hers. They both go into the new year looking at the stars and hearing the distant cheering at midnight.

Dream⏳️:

It's not really something he celebrates since acknowledging the passage of time is a mortal thing. However, that doesn't mean he does not care when it's important to Motti greeting a new year. He'll hang around at the party she's throwing, but he's standing off to the side like a pretty wallflower and observing the festivities.

He has a red cup in his hands, but he more or less has it to feel like he's fitting in. The party has started off fun, but he's just around so many people, and in an enclosed area, that his empathic abilities are starting to overwhelm his senses.

Motti takes note that Dream is looking off and takes him elsewhere that is vastly more secluded. She gives him the option to leave, but he refuses. Every second, every minute with Motti is important and that means celebrating the concept of time with her no matter what.

Cross😵‍💫:

To be honest, he gets invited to the party and has a grand time, but he's inwardly nervous. He was just told about the tradition of kissing at midnight and he spends majority of the time hyping himself up to kiss her.

He's overthinking about it; does he just swoop her up and kiss her? Maybe dipping her??? He could also spin her around and into his arms before cooly and awesomely placing a big fat kiss on her lips.

But he starts thinking of all the ways he could mess up and now in a mix of confidence rising at one thought and shattering his own self-esteem the next.

With midnight just minutes away, he's standing near Motti wondering what tactic to choose, and when the clock strikes midnight he's frozen in performance anxiety. Motti doesn't hesitate and grabs his shirt collar and pulls him in for a deep kiss. He was worried for nothing.

Error🆘️:

He doesn't care much for it. Hell, he doesn't really even remember what's the point of celebrating when he was trapped in the anti-void. But Motti is yapping about the importance of celebrating and he begrudgingly finds himself wearing a party hat and party horn stuck in his mouth.

He hates it he doesnt, it's not fun at all he's having a blast and doesn't like the streamers Motti put up or the table filled with his favorite snacks he already devoured the chocolate. He's sitting on his bean bag like a perturbed cat being disturbed during their nap. But Motti mentions she wanted to spend it with just him and part of him wants to believe it so badly. Motti asks if she can give him a kiss on the cheek and he becomes a flustered mess, and begins short circuiting at the thought.

Ink🌌:

He takes Motti through multiple AUs and changes their outfits to fit each occasion. He's party crashing and eating the food, while Motti is trying to play devil's advocate and calm down all the people Ink has upset.

By the end of the night, she is growing exhausted, but Ink will take her to Outertale and he finally calms down. Motti gets to enjoy the beauty of space and finally relax. He will paint the scenery before him, including Motti, effortlessly and gift it to her.

Nightmare🥷:

To be honest, he will swoop in at the stroke of midnight and steal Motti away right in front of everyone. He relishes in their shock expressions and rash responses.

He spends the rest of the night huddling a pouty Motti to his chest, chuckling the whole time.