#until i had enough content to post in one go

[wordsmeetwbb]

Mine, Forever

Word count: 5.1k (everybody cheer)

Content: smut (choking, strap, degradation, possessive!Paige, sub!Azzi, actually one of the filthiest things i've ever written)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I got tagged in this post a while ago and had to write it. it's actually filthy. please give me all the reactions in my inbox, they feed me. sorry for the wait lol

________

Warmups are still going on when Azzi takes her courtside seat at College Park Center. Paige doesn’t see her immediately, too focused on shooting free throw after methodical free throw. It’s not until the commotion from fans forming a line to take pictures with Azzi grows loud enough to reach the court that Paige glances over.

Her eyes flick over for only half a second before focusing back in on the rim and beginning the action of letting the ball fly forward off her fingertips, but by the time she’s in motion, her brain has registered the scene to her right. Paige’s eyes dart back to the stands as the ball leaves her hands. The ball barely makes it halfway to the basket before thudding against the floor, but Paige isn’t watching the airball. Her legs are carrying her towards the courtside seats where Azzi is now surrounded by fans before Paige even realizes what’s happening.

“P! Get over here!” Arike’s yell snaps Paige out of her trance, but not before her eyes catch on Azzi’s outfit.

Her hair is half up and half down with those four little braids and the slut strands that Paige loves. She’s in a low-waisted jean skirt, way too short to be appropriate and definitely shorter than anything Paige knew Azzi owned. And the shirt. Azzi is wearing a white Dallas Wings jersey with a number 5 on the front, and Paige knows what that means. It means her name is printed on the back of the jersey, on Azzi’s lower back, right above her ass, for everyone to see.

Azzi turns around right as Paige is managing to pry her eyes back to her teammates, and her vision snags on the word. Bueckers. In bold, dark blue ink, advertising her name to everyone in the arena. It fills Paige with a sickly sweet feeling of satisfaction, spreading through her limbs like honey.

“Paige!” It’s an assistant coach who yells at her this time, demanding Paige’s attention on some drill or another that she really couldn’t care less about at the moment. But as much as she wants to look at Azzi all day, stare at her jersey draped over the younger girl’s muscular frame, she knows she has a job to do.

Halfway through the first quarter, Paige and Arike are both on the bench, being given a breather while the Wings have a little bit of a lead over Chicago. It doesn’t take long for Arike to lean over and bump Paige’s shoulder with her own, a grin stretched from ear to ear across her face.

“Damn, you got your girl out here wearing your jersey during pride month? Is this the hard launch?” She teases. Paige doesn’t even have it in herself to blush. All she feels is pride, rushing through her bloodstream with an undercurrent of possession.

“I didn’t even know she was comin’ tonight, to be honest,” Paige mumbles, briefly glancing over to Azzi in her seat across the court, legs crossed carefully at the knee in a way that makes her skirt ride up. She’s finally been left alone by the fans and is scrolling on her phone, seemingly disinterested in the game in front of her.

“She hard launched by herself! Ouch, P. She really said if you’re not gonna do it, she will,” Arike laughs. Nalyssa leans over from Arike’s other side, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Nai owes me 20 bucks,” she quips. Paige raises an eyebrow.

“Y’all took bets on whether we’d hard launch?” Arike stifles a laugh behind her hand, and Nalyssa grins.

“Nah. The bet was for when y’all would launch. Nai said two weeks. I gave it a month. I win.” Arike holds up a hand in Nalyssa’s face, cutting her off.

“Wait, wait, wait. This is week three, so you’re not right either,” she argues. Paige’s eyes switch back and forth between her teammates, half forgetting that this debate is about her relationship.

“Winner is whoever is closest without going over,” Lyss says with a shrug.

“Hollup, I don’t think it counts as a launch if I wasn’t involved. This is just Az,” Paige defends. Arike’s eyebrows scrunch together, her face a perfect mask of disbelief.

“Girl, whose jersey is that? I don’t see my name on there, do you? Who’s Little Miss Hard Launch launching with, huh?” Arike taunts. Paige shrugs.

“Aight. That’s me. That’s my name,” she concedes. “Wearing my damn name,” she mumbles again, more to herself than her teammates. Lyss barks out a laugh.

“Keep it in your pants, P. Still got three quarters left,” Arike warns, but her voice is light and a smile curves the corners of her lips.

________

The rest of the game is torture. Slow, painful, beautiful, teasing torture. Paige plays 31 minutes. The other nine minutes are spent staring longingly across the court at her girlfriend, wishing the game could just end in a way that kind of makes her ashamed. But then she focuses on Azzi again, on the way her curls brush the tops of her shoulders, on the number 5 displayed proudly on her chest, and she stops feeling bad about her sudden hatred for how long basketball games are.

Arike only calls her out for staring twice, and Paige actually thanks the woman for it when the game finally ends and they’re all heading back to the locker room. She’s walking fast, as if she doesn’t have to go sit at a table with Chris and Myisha for too long for post-game press anyway. As if walking faster now will get her to Azzi any sooner.

To Paige’s surprise, her speedwalking actually does accomplish her intended goal. Azzi is waiting inside the tunnel, tucked into a back corner near the door to the locker room. Her skirt is high on her thighs, and now that she’s not covered by a row of seats, Paige can clearly see the muscles of her calves, highlighted by smooth, tan skin. She licks her lips, swallows hard, and slows as she approaches.

“You tryna break the internet with your lil outfit there, ma?” Paige murmurs as she stops in front of Azzi. There’s not enough space between them, not anywhere close to a friendly distance separating their bodies. Paige can feel Azzi’s warmth radiating through the air and settling into her skin.

“Not the internet. Just trying to break you,” Azzi replies. Paige’s eyes wander down the younger girl’s frame, catching on the smooth skin of her biceps first, then the belly piercing glinting above the waistband on her denim skirt, then the strong expanse of her thighs, before she drags her gaze back up.

“And the hard launch was just a bonus?” Paige shoots back. Azzi shrugs, a smirk curving the corners of her mouth up.

“You say that like you don’t want everybody to know I’m yours anyway.”

That does it for Paige. Her hands are on Azzi in a heartbeat, grabbing her wrists with sweaty hands, veins still prominent from the exertion of the game. It doesn’t take long at all to drag Azzi into the locker room, which is miraculously still empty, and into the bathroom at the back, pressing her up against one of the shower stall doors and locking it swiftly.

Paige’s hands are still wrapped around Azzi’s wrists, so she pins the younger girl’s arms to the wall, squeezing just a little as she does so. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make her feel a little discomfort.

“You knew what you were doin’ in my jersey. This ain’t for nobody else, is it ma?” Azzi looks up at Paige, eyes big and dark, shadows falling across her face from the dim lighting in the shower. “Nah, this is for you. You wanna show up to my game without telling me in my jersey and that sorry fucking excuse for a skirt and think I won’t fuck you about it? You’re smart, Azzi. Don’t lie and say this was for everybody else to know you’re mine,” Paige murmurs. Her voice is low and dark, a little scratchy from yelling during the game and maybe from something else.

Azzi shakes her head, still denying it. Paige switches to pin both of Azzi’s wrists above her head and brings her free hand up to the perfect, unblemished skin of her throat. Her hand circles it, fingers resting on the sides of her neck. Azzi’s pulse drums against Paige’s thumb. Paige presses in just a little bit, teasing more than anything, but Azzi gasps as her head tips back to rest against the tiled wall of the shower.

“Fucking slut. Wanted to show yourself off, huh? Show off who you belong to?” Azzi nods quickly, desperately. Her mouth is open slightly, and she’s breathing heavily. Paige’s focus draws down to her lips, and before she even decides to do it, she’s kissing Azzi.

It’s not gentle, or loving, or careful. Their teeth clash when Azzi opens her mouth, and when Paige licks into Azzi’s mouth, the younger girl lets her teeth nip. It makes Paige groan, soothing the sting by licking further into Azzi’s mouth, tasting peppermint and vanilla.

Paige pulls away for a moment to pant– “You want it? Want me to fuck you right here in the bathroom like the whore you are?” –and it’s all Azzi can do to nod desperately again like she doesn’t remember how to form words. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, Paige’s chest fills with frustration.

She moves the hand on Azzi’s neck up slightly so her fingers grip Azzi’s jaw, squeezing tightly. Azzi’s mouth falls open as she breathes, jaw forced wide by Paige’s grip.

“No. Tell me. I haven’t even touched you yet. You can be so dumb already that you can’t talk, so be a good girl and use your words.”

That pulls a pathetic little noise from Azzi’s throat, as she scrambles to form a sentence. All she manages is a few words at a time, though.

“Please, Paige. Fuck me, please. Right here, right now, need it.” She’s throbbing between her legs, thighs pressed together tightly to try to relieve the ache, but it’s not working. The other thing that helps is when Paige shoves her legs apart and one of her hands immediately darts under her skirt, pulls her panties to the side, and slides through the wetness she finds there.

“Fuck, baby. So needy, and from what? My hands on your throat? Fucking pathetic,” Paige spits out. Azzi whines, hips bucking forward to try to get Paige to slip a finger in. Usually, that would send Paige into a rant about asking for what she wants, not doing anything without permission, and all the other things Azzi knew but rarely had the patience to comply with.

Paige must need it as bad as Azzi does, though, because she just shoves two fingers in at once, fucking in and out of her sopping cunt as Azzi clenches around her in an effort to adjust.

“Shit, so good P, ah.”

“I’m giving you what you want. What do you say to me, Az?” Paige taunts. Azzi replies on instinct alone.

“Thank you, thank you.” Paige grins, the expression cocky and satisfied. It’s the face of a woman who knows she has all the power. Just looking at the blonde forces another moan out of Azzi’s mouth. Her hips are moving of their own accord now, grinding against Paige’s hand while she thrusts in and out.

The sloppy sounds coming from between Azzi’s legs are absolutely sinful, but they’re both so needy they can’t even find the headspace to be embarrassed about it. That is, until somebody bangs on the door of the shower.

“Dude! Y’all are fucking disgusting, please get out of the locker room.” It’s Lyss’s voice, and the horror is clear in her tone even through the door. “Nobody wants to hear your freaky ass sex life. For the love of god, man…” Her voice trails off as she walks away, but Paige and Azzi are both still frozen against the shower wall.

Paige shifts on her feet slightly, which jostles the position of her fingers inside Azzi. Azzi groans and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Please take your fingers out of me and then shoot me. I’m serious,” she mutters. Paige barks out a laugh, even though her cheeks are still glowing. She does slide her fingers out, though, patting Azzi on the hip lightly to steady her as she tugs her panties back into place.

“Shit, I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” Paige says. Her voice is quiet, but still low and rough from arousal. Azzi closes her eyes and tries to get her body under control.

“Can we just hide in here forever? So I never have to see any of your teammates ever again in my life?” Azzi asks weakly. Paige’s face softens, and she brings her clean hand up to cup Azzi’s jaw.

“Hey, I got you. You’re mine, right? I’m gonna take care of you. Nobody here is gonna say anything, I swear.” Azzi looks at her skeptically until Paige holds out a hand, pinky up and curved. “Pinky promise?” A small smile slips onto Azzi’s face as she nods, hooking her pinky with Paige’s.

________

True to her word, Paige gets Azzi out of the locker room incident-free. She unfortunately doesn’t manage to talk her way out of doing post-game press. So it’s late when Paige finally makes her way back to Azzi, who has been waiting in the hallway outside the locker room since she escaped an hour ago.

Paige is freshly showered, blonde hair hanging wet around her shoulders, dressed in a lavender Nike sweatsuit. It’s a good color on her, but Azzi is a little frustrated that more of her skin isn’t showing. She’s half naked in her miniskirt and Paige’s jersey tucked into her bra to crop it, and in a moment of insecurity, she tugs the jersey free.

The fabric is a little crumpled as it falls, hiding the tan skin of her stomach and the belly piercing Paige loves so much, but Azzi immediately feels better.

“You comin’ back with me?” Paige confirms. Azzi nods, and they start to make their way to Paige’s car.

The entire drive to Paige’s apartment is tense. The air feels too thick, Paige keeps looking over at the skin of Azzi’s legs on display in the passenger seat, and the glances are making Azzi’s blood heat quickly. She shifts in her seat, pressing her thighs together. She never truly calmed down from earlier if she’s honest, even after being interrupted and embarrassed. She can already feel herself soaking through her underwear, probably getting the leather seat of Paige’s car wet, and somehow that just makes her feel hotter.

Paige notices, because of course she does, but all she does is settle her right hand onto Azzi’s upper thigh, fingers curving in dangerously, but she doesn’t move. She brushes her thumb over the smooth skin on the top of Azzi’s thigh, but her fingers that are so close to where Azzi is throbbing and needy stay disappointingly still. They don’t talk about it, though. Paige just reaches over and turns the music up.

By the time they actually enter Paige’s apartment, Azzi is dripping through her panties and down her thigh. The sound of Paige locking the door clicks behind her, and it snaps something inside the younger girl. She spins, pushing Paige up against the door and kissing her hard.

Paige doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, sliding her tongue into Azzi’s mouth and dragging a hand over her waist and hip teasingly.

“You better be planning on fucking me now,” Azzi threatens. Paige steps back, letting her hand drop from Azzi’s body. She raises an eyebrow.

“Or what, Azzi?” A shiver runs through Azzi’s body. She isn’t prepared for the back and forth, but she scrambles for a response anyway.

“Or I’ll take myself somewhere else and find somebody who will fuck me.”

She’s bluffing. They both know that, but the idea lights a flame in Paige’s stomach. She walks forward quickly, grabbing Azzi’s hips and manhandling her into the living room. She shoves her against the side of the couch and then backs up without saying anything.

Azzi starts to turn around to face Paige, but ends that attempt quickly, gripping her with large, warm hands to stop her motion.

“Paige–” Azzi starts. Paige shushes her.

“Nah. You wanna act like a brat? You’re gonna get treated like a brat. Stand there and fucking listen to me,” Paige orders. Azzi’s knees get a little weak, and she grabs the arm of the couch to stabilize herself.

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” she whispers, more to herself than to Paige.

“Look at you. All dressed up for me, wearing my name, fucking advertising who you belong to. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes, all for you. This is for you, P. I’m yours,” Azzi promises. Her voice is already breathy, and Paige hasn’t even touched her. She’s still several feet behind her, eyes tracing the way the fabric with her own name drapes over Azzi’s curves. She whispers a curse to herself before coming up behind Azzi and shoving her down over the arm of the couch.

“Stay down, just like that,” she demands. Azzi’s nodding before she has really registered the words.

“Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” she babbles. Paige runs her hand over the letters of her name on the jersey carefully. The action is contrasted with her hands roughly shoving Azzi’s skirt down to her ankles only a second later. Azzi is left in a pair of light purple panties and Paige’s jersey. She starts moving to take the jersey off to help Paige speed up the process, but she doesn’t get far.

“Stop. Keep it on,” Paige orders. Azzi freezes, letting the jersey cover her briefly exposed skin again. “I wanna see my name on your body while I fuck you,” she murmurs. Azzi clenches around nothing as a gush of slick leaves her. Paige sees it, sees the way the wet spot on Azzi’s panties is suddenly darker and larger, and she grins.

“That sound good to you?” She taunts.

“Yes. Please. Sounds good,” Azzi pleads. Paige nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer, and pulls Azzi’s panties down to her ankles as well.

“Stay,” she commands. And, like a fucking dog, Azzi does. She stands completely still, bent over the side of the couch with her skirt and panties around her ankles while Paige leaves the room for a few moments, then returns with a noticeable bulge in her sweatpants. Azzi swallows, suddenly salivating.

“Good girl, Az. Good job staying still for me. Now bend over more and arch,” Paige commands. Azzi does as she’s told without thinking while the sounds of clothes shuffling and hitting the floor fill the space behind her. Her thighs twitch.

Azzi gasps when the thick head of the strap presses against her hole, dragging through her folds just to tease her. “Paige,” she pleads, arching her back further. Paige chuckles darkly.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, please, need your cock Paige.” Azzi’s hips stutter when Paige moves again, the tip of the cock catching on her clit. “Oh, please,” she tries again. Paige pulls her hips away, taking all the stimulation with her, and Azzi feels like she honestly might cry.

Then Paige is back, lining the tip of her cock up with Azzi’s hole and pressing in. It’s careful for all of three seconds, and then Paige is snapping her hips with a kind of force Azzi didn’t know she was capable of. It pushes her whole body forward, hips bumping into the couch, elbows sliding over the cushions as she tries to stay still.

It’s impossible not to move, though. Paige doesn’t slow down in the slightest. She thrusts into her hard and fast, dragging obscene squelching sounds from Azzi’s cunt that make her blush.

“Fuck, look at you. Wearing my name while I fuck you. Dirty fucking slut. Just want everybody to know who you belong to,” Paige says between heavy breaths. Azzi moans, mouth open, eyes shut, and grips the couch cushions. “Tell me, Azzi. Who do you belong to? Whose name are you wearing?”

Azzi tries desperately to form the words, but her brain is so caught up in the pleasure between her legs that all she can do is whine and push her hips back. Paige thrusts into Azzi again, so deep she can feel it in her stomach, and then she stops.

Paige stays completely still behind the younger girl, cock still buried deep, and all Azzi can do is clench around it and let out a pathetic little sound. Paige’s hips twitch when she hears it, but she quickly grips Azzi’s waist and holds her down on her cock firmly. Azzi wants to cry.

“Paige, please, why? Why did you stop? I was so close. Why?” Azzi sounds like a child whining about a toy she didn’t want to share, even to her own ears. If she weren’t so worked up, she might have cared. But her cunt is throbbing, dripping down her thighs, and Paige is buried inside her, so Azzi doesn’t care one bit if she sounds like a spoiled brat.

“I asked you a question,” Paige says. Her voice is low and rough, and Azzi honestly can’t help it when her back arches more, pressing her ass into Paige’s hips. Paige tightens her grip on Azzi’s waist, fingers digging into the bones painfully. Azzi feels her slick drip down the inside of her knee.

“Who do you belong to?” Paige prompts. This time, free from the beautiful torture of Paige thrusting roughly into her cunt, Azzi finds the words.

“You. Paige. I belong to you. I’m yours,” she promises eagerly. Paige’s eyes flutter shut with a groan.

“Damn right you are. You’re my slut. Say it.”

“I’m your slut.” Paige’s hips slide out, then snap back in harder than before. Azzi moans loudly, and she knows Paige’s neighbors can probably hear her, but all she can think is how proud she would be for them to know who’s fucking her this good. To know who owns her like this.

Paige slides in again, so deep Azzi can feel it in her guts, and it knocks loose the flow of words from Azzi’s throat.

“I’m your slut, Paige, you fuck me so good. Only you, I swear. Nobody else could fuck me this good. I’m yours, oh, please–” she whines loudly when Paige’s arm wraps around to her front and she starts to tease Azzi’s clit in fast little circles. She’s barely pressing down, barely giving Azzi enough to feel it, but it’s almost too much at the same time. Azzi clenches down on Paige’s cock, making the slide harder, but Paige just slams in rougher, pushing Azzi’s clit into her hand.

“Fuck, Paige. So close, gonna cum, please, gonna–” Paige drives into her over and over, each snap of her hips an exclamation point on the possession fueling the movements.

“So easy for me. Only for me, right, Az?” Paige taunts. Still, she doesn’t slow her hips or her fingers, driving Azzi higher by the second.

“Only you, just for you. I’m yours, please let me cum,” she begs. Paige leans forward, sucks a bruise into Azzi’s neck, drags her teeth over her pulse point, and then pulls back again, all without slowing down.

“Look so fucking good in my jersey. Fuck, Az. Been such a good girl, you can cum for me. Let go, baby.” It only takes the words and a few more circles of Paige’s fingers on Azzi’s clit before she’s cumming, shaking apart on Paige’s cock as she fucks her through it.

Paige doesn’t slow down in the slightest as Azzi collapses forward over the armrest of the couch. She keeps snapping her hips into Azzi’s cunt roughly, her fingers circle faster, and everything sounds so wet that Azzi genuinely wonders if there’s going to be a stain on the couch when she gets up.

“Good girl, Az. Get up, baby. Turn around for me. Come on,” Paige urges, finally pulling her cock out. Her voice is still low, but it’s edged with a tightness that Azzi is less familiar with. She does her best to push herself off the couch, to turn around and lean against the armrest, but her legs are shaking badly enough that Paige has to steady her.

“Fuck, there you go honey. Doin’ so good. Just give me one more.” That’s all Paige says before she drops to her knees in front of the younger girl.

She pushes her legs apart, guides one over her shoulder, and then just stares for a moment. The look on her face is one of awe, the same look people give famous artwork or a particularly beautiful sunset. There’s a hunger simmering in her eyes that doesn’t come from sunsets, though. Paige licks her lips and then slides two fingers into Azzi’s dripping cunt. Her eyes drift shut as she hums at the feeling.

“So fucking tight. Always so tight and wet. Look at that pretty pussy, just swallowing me up. Shit, so hot baby. Just relax f’me.” Azzi does, letting her body melt into the pleasure of Paige’s fingers.

Once she gets going, she’s not gentle. Paige’s fingers slam into Azzi’s cunt repeatedly, drawing out more slick and making Azzi twitch in overstimulation.

“Fuck, Paige. Too much,” Azzi whines. Paige looks up at her and Azzi almost cums on the spot.

Her blue eyes are wide and reverent, shining as her gaze darts between Azzi’s face and where her cunt is swallowing her fingers hungrily. As Azzi studies her, she realizes that Paige has her other hand between her legs, fingers teasing her clit. Azzi lets out a high-pitched whine and forces her eyes to stay open to watch.

“You can take it. Watch me and take it,” Paige orders. Azzi doesn’t even think about obeying. Her body just does it.

She watches as Paige leans forward and starts to leave little kitten licks to her clit. She watches as Paige slides a finger into herself, hips twitching forward. And she keeps watching when Paige moves down to slide her tongue into Azzi’s cunt next to her fingers.

Paige hums at the taste, and the vibration sends shivers through Azzi’s body. She’s rapidly approaching the edge, and the way Paige’s hand moves between her own legs is only making it worse.

“Shit, baby. Taste so good. You’re so wet. Who’s this for?” Paige pulls away to whisper the words in between breaths.

“All for you. You make me this wet, P,” Azzi whimpers. Her head tips back again, eyes fluttering, but then Paige’s teeth graze her clit and her eyes fly open again.

“Fuck,” she rasps.

“Look at me,” Paige demands. “Look at how I make you cum.” And Azzi does.

Paige keeps licking her, alternating between messy, flat lines over her clit and sliding her tongue into her cunt. Through it all, Paige fucks her fingers deep into Azzi, drawing out wet sounds and moans.

“Close,” Azzi whines. Paige opens her mouth wider, jaw starting to ache, but she doubles her effort and licks Azzi’s clit with renewed vigor.

After a few more moments, Paige lets out something that might be a whimper, her hips twitching forward again. Before Azzi realizes what’s happening, Paige has slid forward, stopped fucking herself with her fingers, and is dragging her cunt over the top of Azzi’s foot sloppily. The image is absolutely filthy, and Azzi didn’t know how much she needed to see it. To see just how desperate Paige could get, just from fucking Azzi.

“Oh god, Paige, holy shit, wait, I think I need to–” Azzi tries to warn the blonde, but she can’t get the words out fast enough. All it takes is one more glance down at Paige, grinding herself on Azzi’s foot, bumping her clit into her ankle, before something snaps in Azzi’s stomach.

She cums with a cry and a gush of liquid, rushing down her legs and onto Paige’s face and dripping onto the floor. Some of it hits her foot, and Paige sobs as she rubs herself faster, the liquid making the motion easier.

“Please, Paige, give it to me, please,” Azzi begs. Paige is still flicking her tongue against Azzi’s clit, although her eyes have rolled back into her head and she’s using both hands to grip Azzi’s hips and steady herself now.

“Fuck, I’m yours, cum for me, please, I want it,” Azzi continues. Her brain hasn’t quite caught up with the stimulation still coming from between her thighs, so it sneaks up on her when Paige lets out a cry, her teeth grazing Azzi’s clit, and she shatters again.

She doesn’t squirt this time, just shakes apart under Paige’s hands, fingers flying into Paige’s hair to steady herself. She’s moaning again, too, mouth open and head tipped back. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure and overstimulation, Paige’s movements slowed to a stop. She lets her cunt just rest on top of Azzi’s foot, hips twitching every so often as she comes down.

They’re both panting, faces wet from Azzi’s cunt or tears or both. They don’t speak at first. Paige presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Azzi’s knee, does the same on the other side, and rests her head there carefully.

“You okay? Was that too much?” Paige rasps. Azzi lets out a breath that might be a laugh.

“In a good way. Me squirting maybe should have been a sign that it was good,” she jokes. Paige smiles, eyes drifting shut.

“You were so good for me. My perfect girl,” she mumbles. Clearly, the combination of exhaustion from the game and the orgasm is getting to her, so Azzi helps tug Paige off the floor, wincing at how sticky her thighs are.

“Shower, then bed,” she declares. Paige mumbles something that might be an argument, but she doesn’t fight it when Azzi guides her into a hot shower, the water washing away sweat and slick and saliva.

“You were so good to me tonight,” Azzi whispers into the steam, her hands massaging shampoo into Paige’s hair. Paige leans her forehead into Azzi’s collarbone, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin.

“You’re good to me. I just give it back to you,” she murmurs. Azzi smiles.

“I love you, P,” she whispers. She feels Paige smile against her.

“I love you. Mine, forever,” Paige whispers back.

[ptej1980]

The price of opinion….

Me, us, we have obviously made people cranky with our well researched and evidenced based theories …or they are not liking the silence from our faves…or the queer content from JD and his crew.

I came into the fandom with the intention of just being a silent observer, happy to enjoy, happy to engage in some conversation. I have only been blogging for 8 months, but in that time I have made some incredible connections and had some great conversations.

Everyone on my blog knows it is a Lukola safe space. I try to post or comment on content that is put out from reliable sources…using fact and just providing enough information for you to draw you own conclusions so the choice is everyone’s whether to like, follow, block or scroll on by.

The fact that there is a specific blog out there saying they are Lukola, then accusing myself and several other large accounts of being homophobic, crazy and cult like is so baseless and immature. I am not going to name them, I am sure most on here would know the one I am talking about. I am pretty they do not have many followers, but if you wanna check out your follower list, not everyone who says they are a Lukola have good intentions.

I remain unbothered by being called out by certain Blogs. I confidently put out my thoughts and opinions, not hurting or harassing, not stalking or being evasive. Just opinions based on facts. If they don’t like or don’t agree well they can just….

I will always be here living my best life enjoying what our two faves give us. Happy in the knowledge that they and the fam are enjoying this time together.

Remember that their silence is loud 💛, after pic in Aus. We all saw pic of N/L and consensus was that it was them. After that….nothing from Jake to say he was still in Aus, (but he most likely is) however nothing to confirm it was him. However a lot of content about him and his mates, especially his very close friend Ellis.

Antonia posted some concert story post, interesting song choices, Fia has great post about it. Interpret how you will, I think she went to a concert and posted a story, maybe still trying to stay relevant after losing another 100 followers.

Lucy Hale posted a white mars wrapped post, however not a confirmation of where in the world is Luke ☺️. No pics ect…..

Until further notice I am going to believe that my 2 faves + BN are travelling as a fam. Enjoying their summer holidays.

Dates to look to.

10 June ASTRA. Awards in LA Nic nominated and Bridgerton

13 June One year Anniversary of 2nd Part S3

15 June Fathers Day Uk ☺️

All in time reveal….Stay sturdy Xx 💛

[l-u-xreads]

"Say My Name"

Hi guys!!! Okay!!!!!! I have been sitting on this story for a good minute, tweaking it here and there until I drove myself crazy! Debating for so long if i wanted to get into writing and actually posting it. I've been sitting on so may stories and ideas that I am excited to share with you all soon. I was SCARED lol ! Go easy on me pleaseeee.. I also will gratefully welcome any criticism and comments. Cheers to my first fic of many!

Lastly, I am open to taking requests! Okay, enjoy! :)

Pairing: Terry Richmond(Rebel Ridge) x Black Female Reader

Summary: A playful bet sparks between Terry and Reader : whose name will the baby say first—"mama" or "dada"? The wager? One night of anything the winner wants.

Warnings: Fluff, Mild Sexual Content / Light Smut, Minors DNI, Teasing and Suggestive Language, Playful Flirtation

Word Count: 2,500+

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

There was something so peaceful about Saturday mornings in the Richmond house.

The scent of cinnamon waffles wafted through the air, soft 90s R&B hummed from the Bluetooth speaker, and the sunlight spilled gently across the kitchen floor where Terry stood in gray sweatpants, barefoot, flipping waffles.

You were curled on the couch, your bonnet still on, wrapped in his old hoodie with a sleepy-eyed baby girl perched on your lap. The baby—your baby—had Terry’s bright, feline-like eyes and your wide smile. She giggled, a high-pitched sound that always made your heart skip.

“She’s definitely saying ‘mama’ first,” you declared lazily, bouncing her on your knee. Terry peeked over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. “You wish.”

“I know,” you grinned, brushing a curl off your daughter’s forehead. “I carried her for nine months. We bonded." Gently squeezing her chubby cheeks and kissing her nose. "She knows who gave up wine and sushi for her.”

He turned fully around now, pointing the spatula in your direction. “Okay, first of all, she spent nine months kicking you. That’s not bonding, that’s training.”

You laughed. “Training for what, your side of this argument?”

“She’s a daddy’s girl. Watch.” He strolled over, crouched down to your daughter’s level. “Princess. Say ‘dada.’ Come on, sweetheart. Daaaaa-da.”

She blinked and blew a spit bubble.

Laughter echoing through the room as she clapped her hands, proud of herself for being cute. “She’s trolling you already,” you said smugly, standing to carry her over to her high chair.

Terry took her from you, brushing a kiss on your neck in the process, his lips lingering a second longer than necessary. “Mmhmm,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow. “You trying to distract me?”

He smirked, placing the baby in her chair. “I don’t need to distract you. I just need to make a bet.”

You turned, arms crossed. “Oh?”

“If she says ‘dada’ first…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping a notch. “I get one night of whatever I want.” You tried to play it cool, but the warmth that bloomed at your cheeks and down your chest betrayed you. “Whatever you want?”

He nodded, voice playful but husky. “No rules. No time limit. Whatever I want."

You tried to stay composed, but a grin cracked your lips. “Fine. But when she says ‘mama’ first? You do that thing I like.”

“The thing with the—”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh shit, bet.”

“Deal?” he asked.

“Deal,” you said, sealing it with a kiss that started off innocent but lingered with just enough heat to make you pull away before breakfast got too cold.

********************************************Day One of the Bet

You both tried everything.

During tummy time, you whispered “mama” like it was a secret spell. Terry? He sang “dada” like it was a nursery rhyme hook.

At bath time, you cooed “mama” while wrapping her in a towel like a burrito. Terry read her bedtime stories replacing every third word with “dada.” You caught him showing her flashcards.

FLASHCARDS.

Day Four of the Bet

Terry woke up to the sound of your voice.

“Mama. Can you say ‘mama’? Say ‘mama’ for mommy.”

He cracked one eye open and caught you sitting on the edge of the bed, the baby in your lap, both of you bathed in soft morning light. “Cheating,” he grumbled, voice gravelly with sleep. “This is cheating.”

“She wakes up when I wake up. Not my fault.” You turned to look at him. He rolled onto his side and pulled you both into his arms, smothering you with sleepy kisses. “Mmm. You’re lucky you’re fine.”

“I know,” you said, pressing one back onto his jawline.

She squealed. You paused.

“She’s gonna say it,” you whispered, holding your breath.

She burped. Terry cackled.

Day Seven of the Bet

You both stood at the sink, washing bottles side by side like some domestic sitcom couple. You were in a oversized t-shirt turned "nightgown" and Terry had been eyeing you all morning—especially after you bent down to grab the bottle scrubber and he caught a glimpse of your panties underneath.

“You wear that on purpose?” he asked lowly, rinsing a nipple of the bottle way too slowly. “Wear what?” you said innocently, leaning forward just enough to tease him.

“Oh, you dirty for that.” Terry sending a gentle slap to your ass. You smiled sweetly. “Motivation for winning. I like to keep the prize warm.” you winked.

“Mmm,” he murmured, stepping behind you and letting his hands slide around your waist. “Well now I have to win.”

Leaning back into his chest. “You always say that.”

Terry lowered his lips to your neck. “And I always do.”

You were about to retort when you heard a noise from the baby monitor.

A gurgle. A babble. And then...

“Da-da.”

You froze.

Terry blinked. “Wait—did she just—?”

You both sprinted to the nursery like it was an Olympic event. She sat in her crib, giggling. “Say it again, baby girl,” he begged, breathless. “Say ‘dada.’”

She clapped. You tried not to look completely crushed. He picked her up, spinning her gently in his arms, and she laughed like it was the best day of her life.

“Say ‘mama,’” you said hopefully.

“Daaa-da!” she squealed. Terry’s eyes met yours, triumphant.

Walking toward you, baby on one hip. “I believe you owe me one night. Of whatever I want.”

********************************************That Night

You had just put the baby to sleep when you walked into the bedroom and found Terry already there, lights dimmed and shirtless.

He smiled slow, the kind of smile that made your stomach flutter. “You ready to pay up?”

You slipped your robe off slowly, wearing nothing underneath. “I’m a woman of my word.”

He sat up, eyes running down your body with open appreciation. “Good. 'Cause I’ve been thinking about this shit all week.” You climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. “One night of anything, huh?” He leaned in. “Anything.” gently moving your hair out of your face.

“I’m a little scared,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You should be,” he whispered, before capturing your mouth in a kiss.

It was the kind of kiss only a man who knew exactly how to love his wife gave. He kissed you like it was date night, prom night and honeymoon night all rolled into one. Like it was the last kiss he would ever give you. Something to remember.

Your body against his bare chest. His hands found your hips like they were made to live there, thumbs brushing over soft skin as you leaned in close.

He kissed you deep, with heat and hunger that had been simmering since Tuesday. His mouth moved down your neck, slow and purposeful, like he had nowhere else to be, warm breath ghosting over your skin.

Leaning you both back a little. “You know what I want?” he said against your collarbone.

“What?” smiling, curious of what he was about to say.

“I want you exactly like this—on top. Slow. Eyes on me. Not saying a damn thing but my name.” "Show me how much of a winner I am."

You swallowed hard, your thighs already tightening around him. “Whatever you want... daddy,” you whispered, and then you kissed him like you meant it—deep and dirty and full of the promise to make good on everything he’d asked for.

Somewhere between his mouth on your chest and your hand trailing down between you both, you forgot who technically won the bet.

Because tonight, it felt like you both did.

Later, breathless and tangled up in sheets, he whispered, “Next baby’s saying ‘dada’ too.” You laughed against his chest. “Oh, is that part of your evil plan?”

“Mmhmm. Two for two.”

“Well,” you sighed, pretending to consider, “I could be convinced to give you a rematch…”

He grinned. And you knew the bet wasn’t really about winning. It was about laughing in the kitchen. Sneaking kisses over bottle warmers. Being a team, even when competing.

And loving each other, deeply, wildly, every single day. But still…

Next round?

You were definitely winning.

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

I feel like I could make a bonus to this as like a "Morning After" kind of thing.. Let me know!

L-U-X <3

[telamonisms]

1x1x1x1 x reader..general fluff hcs.. I'm stavrign... reader can be a killr or a survivor any is fine.. there's not enough 1x content

✦I have to agree with you anon, there isn't nearly enough content of 1x, for this, reader is a Survivor.

✦GENERAL FLUFF HEADCANONS WITH 1X1X1X1✦

✦You were convinced that something had to be wrong with you to watch her slaughter all your team mates and still feel so curiously drawn to her that you didn't even try to run. 1x herself agrees.

✦But it was exactly this which had her feel curious about you in turn. He'd at first written it off as you being so terrified you'd ended up paralyzed by the fear. When you kept doing it though, he began to doubt.

✦"You. Why do you not run in terror at the sight of me, weak one?" Had been the words which started it all. Their downfall if you may.

✦When you explained that you were curious about them, they didn't exactly know how to react or process it and just killed you. Oh well there's always next time!

✦Said next time you had a far better luck, able to strike up a somewhat calm conversation with him, asking questions that he'd in turn answer.

✦Until you asked why she seemed to be so against Shedletsky. The Mass Infection that ended you was, at least, mercifully quick.

✦Time to retry! You apologized in case you'd hit a sore spot and she went off. You hadn't expected a trauma dump from the 1x1x1x1 but you kept quiet and listened, thinking through it all about how despite the anger in their words and voice, you could feel how much they needed to let it all out.

✦By the time she was done, the round came to an end, needless to say, now you were pissed with Shedletsky and the next time you encountered 1x in a round you spent your time shit talking him.

✦Something bloomed within 1x's chest that day and from then on he seemed to be far more merciful to you, either avoiding you until you were the last one standing, or straight up fully sparing your life and instead talking more with you.

✦While at it, you also noticed how he seemed to look more towards getting to have conversations with you.

✦One day you asked her why. Why was it that she spared you so, that she seemed to enjoy your talks, that she, when not sparing you, made sure that your death was quick and painless. You told her that it almost seemed like she didn't hate you.

✦"I don't." Came out her answer and you were confused, but isn't she the Creation of Hatred? Shedletsky's hate personified?

✦He explained that "personified" is the keyword, hate is not all he feels, not all he is. Much like with Chance's dog motifs, I could go on a deep dive about how 1x doesn't just feel hate, but for the sake of the headcanons staying on topic, I'll only do so on a separate post if anyone wishes me to.

✦Ever since then, you two have grown closer and closer. You hesitate to put a name to what you two have, but you do kmow that you enjoy eachother's company and care for and cherish one another.

✦Maybe, just maybe, if you all manage to make it out of this realm, there wouldn't be any reason to not keep seeing eachother, spending time with eachother, no longer limited by an artificial timer marking the end of a round, perhaps you two would spend hours or even days in eachother's company.

✦I thank you for this lovely request and I do hope it is a good read. 1x1x1x1 alongside Chance are two of the characters I feel the strongest about. Especially with how much mischaracterization they both get put through and how much of their nuance people take away from.

[yelenaslyubov]

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

MAIN MASTERLIST || YELENA BELOVA || REQUESTS

a/n: here is my first post of the week for my 1k follower celebration! this was definitely inspired by the song ‘dirty little secret’ as well as the art made by rose616.art on instagram it’s amazingggg pls check it out and support the artist!!!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: jock!yelena belova x fem!reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: make out, language, suggestive content, i do not play soccer/football so many rules and regulations im sure aren’t correct

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: your soccer team plays against your rival school, which also happens to be the team your girlfriend plays for. the best part is, no one knows you’re together

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 1.8k

It was the last minute of the second period and the game was running neck and neck. Each time you creeped up, the opposing team fought right back. It was too close to call and everyone was playing as if it was the last time they would step foot on the field.

You switched from looking at the scoreboard to the opposing team in front of you. It was easy to be distracted by the numbers, but you also needed to make it count.

You watched as the team in black and gold sent their player to the corner to retrieve the ball. You zoned in on their every move and you could practically see the sweat dripping down their face.

Time almost moved in slow motion as you observed every single player—picking apart every minor detail about them and how they were feeling. The last player was the goalie. She was harder to read.

She didn’t seem to care about much that was going on around her. Her body language deemed her cold and confusing, even from your vantage point. Her short, bright blonde hair was slicked back out of her face by a headband and hair tie that pulled half of her hair up out of the way.

She ran her hands over the top of her hair and closed her eyes. This was her moment of peace before the storm rained down again in the next few seconds.

Once she was done, she kneeled down until she was squatting while resting her harms on her toned thighs. By the time you were done watching her, the player was in the middle of their kick, sending the ball flying through the air.

You watched as the ball soared above you, backing up as it came closer to you. It landed near you and you immediately took the opportunity to steal it.

You were quick on your feet, weaving through opposing and team players. It was all a blur as black, gold, and blue colors whizzed passed you the farther you ran.

When time got down this close, all you could see was the ball in front of you and all you could hear was the crowd yelling for or against the play at hand.

“Come on, y/n!”

“Ball’s coming right for you, Yelena!”

A different player stood in front of you, hoping to block your path to the goal. Luckily, they set themselves up for failure, their legs being open slightly too wide. You kicked the ball between their legs and quickly recovered it swiftly on the other side.

You risked looking at the countdown. 22.03 seconds left. You exhaled out the anxiety that had built up in your chest.

You got into a brief footwork scuffle on the way down to the goal. You knew they were trying to kill time and run the clock down, but that wouldn’t work on you.

After the ball was zigzagging between you and the player, you were able to kick it out of their way. Surprisingly enough, no one was in the line of fire, paving your way directly to the net.

Your strides were quicker and longer now as you tried to use all the time to your benefit. With only a few seconds left, you wound up and kicked the ball so hard it was sent up into the air.

Yelena matched its precision with the same amount of stamina. She launched herself sideways, her hand extending up above her head to try and block the ball. Her face fell as the ball flew just above her fingers and hit the net with a ‘swish.’ She collapsed on the ground right before the sound of the buzzer echoed outside.

You cheered and screamed before running over to your teammates where you all joined each other in a group hug.

“You should be so proud of yourself!”

“You fucking did it!”

“We made it!”

Your teammates showered you with praises from how well you played the game.

As per usual, each team was required to walk alongside each other where you high fived and met each other in the middle.. You never liked doing it much and felt like it was a bit performative, even if you weren’t the one on the winning team.

You all formed a single file line. You were one of the first people due to your position and performance. You walked alongside the other team and touched hands with everyone. At the end of the line stood the blonde haired girl. When you touched hands you looked her in the eyes and focused on her hazel eyes and blue eyeliner.

“Good game, blue,” she said, an accent dripping off her tongue.

“You too,” you nodded. You held eye contact for what felt like several seconds before you were being escorted off the field.

The line of players behind you followed close behind as all of you walked back inside the building and into the locker room. Once everyone made it back inside it was like thunder the way everyone roared. You didn’t want to brag out on the field so you saved it for behind the scenes.

Some people high fived each other and others joined in for a celebratory embrace. Everyone was excited in their own special way as you watched the players praise everyone’s performance.

After a few minutes the commotion died down and everyone was packing their things and leaving. You knew that you had things to do after the game, meaning you needed to shower off in the locker room before getting dressed and leaving.

“You coming?” Kate, another player on the team asked.

“You go on. I’m not leaving here without showering, I smell like a barn,” you responded. “I’ll catch up in a little bit.” Kate smiled and nodded before leaving the locker room, the door slamming loudly behind her.

You gathered your things and threw them into your bag. All except the clothes you planned on wearing after your shower. You were getting ready to undress before you heard the locker room door open again. No one announced themselves which you found odd.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing through the vast room. There was no answer and you couldn’t hear any movement. “Is someone there?”

You waited a few more seconds before someone’s head peeked out from behind a row of lockers. It was the blonde haired player from the other team.

“Hi,” the woman said.

You let out an exasperated breath. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

“Well, it was pretty easy. You see, there’s this thing called a door handle. I moved it and it opened the door-”

“When are you going to stop being so damn sarcastic all the time, Belova?” you teased with a laugh.

“As soon as you stop making me look like a fool out there!” she whined.

“It’s not my fault that you get so distracted that you can’t keep a goal out of the net to save your life.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped and she gasped. “Now that’s not cool.”

You crossed your arms and smirked. “But it’s also the truth.”

“Of course it’s the truth,” she said softly, looking down and fiddling with her hands. “It’s hard to play when I’m busy watching you.”

“I could say the same. I like the new eyeliner look, it fits you.”

Yelena shrugged smuggly. “What can I say, I have to rep my girl somehow.”

“You started wearing blue eyeliner for me?”

“Don’t get all excited or else I won’t ever do it again.”

Your cheeks turned pink when you smiled. “This whole secret thing is getting old.”

“I don’t know,” Yelena said. She grabbed your hands and pulled you in close. “It’s kind of exciting, no?”

After she pulled you in, she walked closer to you, backing you up against your locker. “You know what they say right?”

Yelena hummed in response but you could tell she wasn’t listening. She was solely focused on your lips as you talked. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

You smiled and grabbed Yelena by the collar of her shirt, your lips crashing into hers sloppily. You were starved of her from going so long without seeing her, let alone touching her. You didn’t even mind the sweet taste of her sweat that was hiding on her upper lip.

Yelena pressed you against your locker with her body, forcing you to succumb to her mercy. Her hands were digging into your side but you didn’t even mind. In the secrecy and quiet of the room, you were together at last.

You underestimated how difficult hiding a relationship would be from the people you spend the most time with. Things seemed easy at first, but it piled up and weighed on you. There were some days that felt like you could combust right on the spot. Yelena definitely didn’t make it easy, especially like this.

Her hands were tangled in your hair that was glued to the metal of the locker. Yelena’s head was now nuzzled in the crook of your neck and all you could hear was the sinful sound of her lips and her heated breath.

That’s why you were woefully unprepared when the door to the locker room slammed shut. You were too caught up in the moment, unfortunately not seeing Kate standing across the room dumbfounded. You and Yelena snapped your heads towards her as your blood ran cold.

“I forgot my phone,” Kate said, breaking the awkward silence.

You scratched your neck and nodded. “Yeah, for sure. Sounds good.”

Kate looked between you and Yelena while she walked over to her locker to retrieve her phone. She held it up to you, indicating that she got what she came for.

“I’m just- I’m gonna go.” Kate pointed behind her, still not taking her eyes off of both of you. “As you were.” She scurried off, looking as scarred as ever.

When the door slammed again, you and Yelena busted out laughing. Between getting caught in action and the pure horror on Kate’s face, it was enough to get you going.

“Kate Bishop looked so petrified!” Yelena laughed.

“I probably would have been too! Not many people are known for sleeping with the enemy around here.”

“Oh, sleeping with? Is that an option?” Yelena smirked.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Belova.” You shoved her shoulder teasingly. “You should probably get out of here before we get caught by a real unwanted visitor.”

“Fine, if I must. Are you still coming over tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Yelena kissed you once more quickly before running away and out of the locker room, leaving you with your secret once more.

.

.

.

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[fatherwound]

𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: first love/late spring

part two posted! • ao3

summary — running from something you can’t name, you return home for the first time in years. everything is the same. everyone too. except you. that is until the familiar face of joel miller, your dad’s best friend, comes back into your life. you thought you’d left your foolish childhood crush on him in the past thought it long buried. but your life has never been that easy. coming home was supposed to help you figure things out. not make them more complicated.

word count: 2k

psa — this is not your usual dbf!joel fic. i got tired of seeing the same thing over and over with joel as a lowkey predator, so when i say this is slow burn i mean it. but i promise it will be worth it. x

content warnings — age gap relationship (reader is late 20s/joel early 50s), father issues / eventual cws: mention of domestic violence (past), alcoholism (past).

author's note — for tumblr I am breaking up the first chapter into two parts, because it's 5k otherwise. the first chapter consists of 3 memories after this beginning, so it feels most natural to split it this way. please enjoy and like if you read! this is my first ever fanfic so any support is appreciated. x

You never thought you’d find yourself back here. When you left for Boston, almost ten years ago now, you never expected to come back. Not that you don’t love your home, it’ll always hold a special place in your heart.

But Boston was supposed to be your escape, the beginning of your new life. You had always told yourself you weren’t going to be one of those sad people who spent their whole lives in the same spot that they were born. You always wanted more than that.

And yet, here you stand, surrounded by the all too familiar sights and smells of home. The warm sun shining down on you. The sweet smell of honeysuckle on the wind. The dust already caked to your shoes from the driveway.

Spring in Texas was always your favorite, the hydrangeas your mother planted all those years ago, in full bloom by the front porch. They’ve always given you a tight squeeze on your heart, you’re glad your father has taken such good care of them while you’ve been gone. He never had a green thumb, so you honestly expected them to die without your loving hand.

You should go inside, you know you’ve been standing here just long enough to start to be strange, like you’re avoiding something. You know your dad probably hasn’t noticed you yet, so you reckon you have a few more moments of peace.

You tug the strap of your duffle back onto your shoulder where it’s starting to slip off, your skin already beginning to sweat. Too many years in that New England chill.

You really should go inside, you know your dad will have ice cold sweet tea in the fridge, and it’s been so long since you’ve enjoyed a glass. But that damn truck has you stuck in your tracks. You noticed it as soon as you broke past the tree line of your father’s long driveway.

You don’t know why it’s got you so rattled. It’s not like you didn’t think you’d see Joel. It was inevitable. You just thought you would have at least a little bit of say of when and where.

You had already spent the last two hours of your trip mentally preparing to see your dad again, which was a tiresome enough endeavor. You hadn’t expected to have to tackle them both in one go.

You can feel the all too familiar twist of anxiety in your gut, you ball your fist up, trying to hide the slight tremor there. You close your eyes, and try to picture how things will go down, like you always do.

You’ll walk inside, have the awkward hug with your dad, he’ll ask how you are, and you’ll give the same unspecific answer as always. It won’t really matter because he can talk enough for the both of you. Then Joel will probably walk out after him, and that’s where you mind goes blank.

God, you really thought you’d have more time to prepare to see him again. “Fuck” you swear under your breath, “Let’s just do this”.

You shake your head, grip your duffle bag probably a little too tight, and walk up the rest of the drive. When your feet hit the wood of the steps, you let out a short breath before putting your hand on the screen door and opening it up.

As expected, almost immediately your dad pops his head out of the den,

“There you are!” He walks up to you and there is the slightest pause before he puts an arm around you to pull you in for a hug. It’s clearly a little uncomfortable for both of you, but your dad has never been one for hugs. Always treating you more like a son than a daughter.

With a slight pat on the back, he pulls away, “So, how was the trip? Long drive huh? Hope you didn’t do it all in one go. Did you get your car looked at ‘fore coming all this way? Here, I’ll take a look at it in a minute, see if you need a top up on anything. I’ll check out the battery too, just make sure it’s all good to go.”

You nod, smiling, inserting the occasional noncommittal hum.

Eventually, your dad takes long enough of a break for you to get a word in, “Hey do you mind if I go set my stuff down? I was really hoping to get a shower…”

“Yeah, yeah sure thing, but first come say hi to Joel, he’s just out back, he was helping me set up this new grill I got. I’ve been wanting one for years, but I never could justify spendin’ that kinda money on something like that, but hell he finally convinced me, and-“

You have to interrupt his train of thought, as usual, “Yeah, sure thing Dad.” You drop your duffle on the ground beside the door, and watch as your dad walks towards the kitchen, “Here, I’ll pour you a glass a’ tea, and I’ll meet y’all out back” he yells over his shoulder.

You mumble a response, not really listening. You slowly walk towards the back door, opening it with a slight tremble to your hand.

God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Joel. Your Dad’s best friend.

You’ve known him forever; you grew up with Sarah always following close on your heel. You’ve seen him a few times on the rare Christmas you would come back home.

It’s just Joel. Typical, grumpy, quiet, nonchalant, handsome in his own rough way, Joel.

That’s what you keep telling yourself as you walk down the back steps, and you’re almost able to convince yourself until you see him.

Those broad shoulders, his muscled back visible through the dark navy shirt he’s wearing as he kneels next to the grill your dad was going on about.

He hears you walk up and brushes his hands off on his worn denim jeans before turning to face you, and god it’s like someone just punched you in the stomach with as much force as humanly possible. You’re honestly amazed that you don’t double over.

“Hey kiddo” he drawls in that rough Texas accent you swear sounds better on him than anyone you know.

You don’t know how, but he looks so different and yet the exact same. His hair is a bit longer than it was the last time you saw him. Curling a bit behind his ears. There’s a lot more grey in his patchy beard and streaks of it in his hair now. His face looks a bit more weathered than you remember, but it looks good on him.

His eyes though, are the same as always, brown and endless, and that’s when you realize you’ve been quiet for probably a moment too long.

“Hey Joel, long time no see” you smile, stepping closer.

“Yeah, well seems you’ve been too busy for me and your ol’ man, Miss Big City” he chuckles.

You laugh awkwardly, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that”, you say as you nervously rub your neck.

You both stand there a moment longer before he closes the gap, wrapping his big arms around you. You melt into his embrace immediately, reciprocating in a way you didn’t with your dad.

He says softly into the top of your head, “It’s good to have you back, kiddo. With you and Sarah both gone it’s been too quiet ‘round here, even for my likin’” he chuckles.

Letting you go, he musses your hair a bit, which you both love and kind of hate. You're 27 and he’s acting like you’re still the kid he’s known all these years.

You suppose to him, you are.

“How is Sarah? She’s at A&M, yeah? I see her post a lot on Instagram, but it’s been a minute since we’ve talked.”

“Yep, just finished up her junior year. I asked if she was gonna come by this summer, especially with you back in town. But she’s got this good internship she’s working this summer, so I don’t know if she’ll have the time but, she said she’s gonna try.”

You nod along, but before you have a chance to say anything else, your dad pops up beside you two, handing you both a cold glass of tea.

“I see you too already did your reunitin’, hasn’t she grown up? I swear you’re taller than the last time we saw ya” your dad shakes his head and looks to Joel.

“Yeah, I guess she has, what are you now anyway? Probably pushing 30? Hell, what’s that make us?” He chuckles looking at your dad.

“I’m 27, thanks. Still got a few years ‘fore I’m old. Can’t say the same for you two. Bunch of senior citizens about to be walking around here. Gonna be retirin’ soon, yeah?” You joke, already falling back into old routine.

“Ha ha, very funny” your dad says, and puts a hand on both you and Joel’s back. “Well, hun why don’t you get ready, and we can all go grab some dinner, how’s that sound?”

You break eye contact with Joel, and nod to your dad, “Yeah sure, that sounds good.”

You turn to walk back inside, but you can’t resist turning around to steal one more glance at Joel.

What you aren’t expecting is to meet his gaze, and you immediately look back ahead, a flutter spurring in your gut.

You grab your duffle from its place in the hallway and walk up the stairs to your old room.

Everything is how you left it.

Band posters on the walls, string lights hung up, your old worn-out flannel comforter still probably needing to be thrown out. Pictures of people you haven’t spoken to in years lining your mirror. Even your old journal is still resting in it’s spot on your nightstand.

It all a bit surreal. You’re such a different person now, and yet everything else is still the same. It’s odd how life works like that.

You drop your duffle on your desk chair, and flop down on the bed.

It’s so strange being back here, in this room. Once again thinking about Joel, and how completely normal you feel about him.

You push into your eyes with your palms. God, maybe you really haven’t changed that much at all. Still pathetic.

You groan, and roll onto your side, staring out your bedroom window.

The trees outside rustle in the wind, and it’s almost enough to calm you for a second.

But your mind never is one to give you a break.

The familiar drawl of Joel and your dad float up through the window, and your drawn right back down into your spiral.

You can’t do this again.

You remember a time when he was just Joel, but it hasn’t been like that in a long, long time. And you hate it.

Maybe coming home wasn’t such a good idea.

Coming back was supposed to help, supposed to clear your head from the hell that’s become your life in Boston. The last thing you need is more complications.

You’ve had enough of complicated.

Leaving your apartment in the middle of the night, Andrew working late again; you can only imagine the shit storm that will be waiting for you when you go back.

If you ever do.

But you know you will, you’ve never been able to run away from anything.

This is just a hiatus. A break to gather your thoughts and try to figure out your next move.

And if you happen to spend time with Joel, would that really be so bad?

So you had a crush on him as a kid? You were a child, with childish whims, and childish feelings. And you’re not anymore, so it’s done.

Dead and buried.

And yet… there is the slightest bit of relief. An almost imperceptible shift in the unbearable weight that has taken root behind your ribcage. You might not even have noticed if you weren’t so used to the dull ache it leaves.

It’s just a coincidence surely, nothing to note. That you only noticed that slight relief, when you were looking into those deep brown eyes.

You roll over onto your stomach, letting out a frustrated sigh into your comforter.

Nothing has ever been that easy for you.

[indecisive-capricorn]

Headcanons to Yandere Shanks x Reader:

WARNINGS: MDNI, implied kidnapping, crazed shanks, selfish, hypocrite, desperate, situationship aka not really together, implied hookups, violence, mature language, shameless, manipulation, etc.

SUMMARY: You're the only one who truly understands Shanks for all his actions and support him on it. However, you think of him as a temporary, fleeting figure while he is already planning ways to get you to stay with him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The fact that this has been in my drafts for months.. I even made a copy of this post because there was like more than 900 posts in my drafts and it made me unable to access this. I had to do a clean up of my drafts, which is why I'm reposting a whole lot of things too, but I will be posting more fics as well this way! :)

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

Let's start with how it all began. Shanks is someone who values freedom, so him ending up in this situation is very hypocritical for him to do, especially with his background, but he supposed that it is in his nature and blood to be possessive of things or rather, people. Shanks never considered himself perfect and when it came to you, he knew he had done some fucked up shit, both for you and to you, but he did it out of love.

You were just an ordinary bartender living in the same island that you were born and raised on for so many years. You were never really interested in going out to sea. Sure, the island wasn't that interesting and you always adored hearing the stories of voyagers or even pirates who had experienced many adventures, but you never really thought about leaving for it. You were someone who sees and listen to things from a distance, not involve yourself in it. It wasn't your cup of tea.

That was until one day, you came across a peculiar red haired pirate and his crew. You didn't know much about them but according to the stories told to you beforehand from other pirates, they seemed to be a strong one. However, none of them possessed Devil Fruit powers, which made you curious. Nonetheless, you continued to serve them like a regular customer. They were drinking to their hearts' content and almost finished your whole stock of alcohol for two weeks, but you didn't mind their presence. In fact, their company had made your bar livelier and more fun, not to mention much more successful as well.

While you were working, you loved to listen to the captain of the crew's endless stories and talks, but it wasn't the only thing that made you stay close to Shanks. Oh, definitely not. The man has a way with people, always knowing what to say and do to charm them. He could be the definition of 'charm' and you would have believed it because not long after meeting him, you became one of the unlucky bastards to have a crush on him. He was an attractive and charming man, who could blame you?

Not only that, but even when you were busy with work or doing other things at that moment, Shanks would always be around you and starting up a conversation or even flirting with you. Your heart certainly isn't trying to move on any day with the way he acts towards you and you weren't even trying to move on either.

Shanks always made you laugh with his ridiculous jokes and antics, but you never noticed how he kept on staring at you each time you laugh. It was like a melody in his ears, even if you ended up snorting in laughter, he still couldn't help but be filled with pride that he managed to make someone as gorgeous as you laugh.

It wasn't long before a spark of romance began to appear between the two of you, and you noticed the subtle way Shanks always reached out for your hand during conversations or even the way you began to lean closer against him when talking to others. He wouldn't be saying anything and neither would you but he would make sure to be close enough to you to lean against him.

The closer you to him and the more frequent he came to you, the more he saw how you matched his freak and how insane you could be at times, though you kept that part of yourself hidden since no one ever got close enough to you for you to comfortably let down your mask until Shanks came in.

He loved how feisty and sassy you were to him sometimes, not at all fearful of one of the longest and most powerful Yonkos. You just treated him like a friend. Perhaps, a bit more than a friend with the way the two of you were continuously flirting with each other to the point that his crew mates would always ask when the two of you will get together.

You always brushed off their question with a laugh. After knowing who he truly was, you knew that Shanks had many people depending on him and many adventures to still go to than just be in the island with you. So, you expected your relationship with him to just be a small fling. Something that the two of you could look back to and laugh at when the two of you catch up again. After all, you had no interest going out to sea nor did you want to settle down yet. You had dreams of your own, even though it doesn't involve going on dangerous adventures like they do, those dreams are still precious to you.

However, Shanks didn't understand that. He was always puzzled whenever you brush off the crews' question. He actually did wanted to start a long term relationship with you, which is quite a surprise to many, including him, since he is usually not the type of person to settle down yet, especially with how excited he is to go on to his next adventures. He still plans on doing it but this time, he wanted to do it with you.

You're the only person to truly make attempts to understand him and still supports him, even though you don't understand some of the actions he had taken. You believed that he is a good man no matter what, even when there were doubts and rumours casting on him and his actions, you still stayed by his side and all he wanted to do was to protect you.

He understood you didn't want to leave your home and you might even be safer staying in your island, but his heart longs for you to stay with him. It was a selfish thing he desires but after everything he has done, all the sacrifices that he has made, it would only be right for him to just be this selfish for once. And it wasn't as if he would abandon you. No, he will be taking care of you and try his best to make your dreams come true. But you will be doing all of it while staying with him, okay? Why do you need to leave him when all he wants is to protect you?

That's why he got a little confused when you rejected his offer for an official relationship together, for you to join his crew. He could give you everything you want, even your dreams, and he did try to but you still wanted to stay in your island. Even worse, you told him that you think that he's a temporary presence in your life? Oh, it didn't sit right with him. He was quiet about it at first but he became determined to change, thinking that he wasn't showing enough of it to you, and he wanted to prove to you that life in your home island isn't good enough for a rare gem like you.

During one of your usually busiest seasons of the year, you became confused when no customers appeared for a whole week, except for Shanks' crew but even then, you had stocked enough food and drinks than just them. It was as if the visitors has had enough of the island or perhaps they were scared of someone something. This demotivated you since you love to interact with others but you also found it strange how you only saw the rest of Shanks' crew during breakfast, lunch or dinner but for the rest of it, Shanks was the only one with you.

When you asked him about it, he only told you that they had some work to do, including barter for the upcoming voyage since they will be at sea for a long time this time, so you didn't think much of it. Besides, you still had Shanks to be with and listened more to his story about how he had saved a kid from Foosha Village and gave him his beloved straw hat.

"I could take you there someday," Shanks offered with that charming smile of his. He would say a few times during each adventure from different islands.

As your business continued to drop, you were beginning to get tempted with Shanks' offer. You needed to find a way to get more money, maybe even live in another village for a while until you had enough and go back to your home island. However, you didn't want to bother Shanks with your request either since he's busy until one day, you found your bar completely wrecked.

A bunch of bandits decided to steal your boozes and wrecked the place for money as well. It was the last straw for you since you didn't make much to begin with from the past month and there was no way for you to be able to afford the repairs.

Shanks comforted you and even offered to help pay for the damages using his own treasure, but you declined and instead requested to board his ship and drop you off at the next village they were going to. You didn't really want to leave but for your own sake, you had to find a way of living. After all, you were left on your own to fend for yourself all this time.

Shanks made sure to ask you several times before the day him and his crew were going to depart and you confirmed it each time, already packing all of the belongings for it.

Benn Beckham, Shanks' right hand man, was there for it all as well and right before departure when Shanks was busy carrying your belongings to the ship because he refused to let you do a single work, he questioned you whether you truly wanted to go with them, to which you just nodded.

Shanks ended up moving your belongings to his room since your room wasn't ready yet and you didn't mind sleeping with Shanks either since you have been doing so for the last few weeks. A few more nights wouldn't hurt and Shanks can be warm during those cold times as well.

However, those few nights turned into weeks with some of the crew making up excuses that the room got dirtied and wrecked since some of the guys accidentally used it during drunk nights to sleep in. Not to mention how there would be fights a few times and most of them coincidentally always impacted your supposed room. It certainly was odd, but Shanks didn't mind sharing a room with you and sometimes left you alone during the night to give you privacy while he takes over watch for the night.

What puzzled you was that as weeks turned into months and your relationship with Shanks eventually evolved into something more intimate, you never managed to arrive to the next village. Something about most of the ones around you were either in terrible states or there were no villages to begin. You could have sworn that a few years back when seeing a map, there were a bunch of villages close to your island but Shanks told you that those villages were in rough conditions from lack of resources, so they have a tight amount for the season.

Perhaps you will have luck in the next island or two? Well, for the meantime, you should really get comfortable with the Red Haired pirates because it certainly didn't seem like you will leave anytime soon.

[tcoaal]

I know you like TCOAAR and stand up for mods in the fandom, so I wanted to ask, is that new Andrew and Julia mod good? Just curious if it's worth trying out.

alrighty i'm praying you saw my panicked posts while i was half asleep but also like. you know, normally i have a lot of respect for TCOAAL modmaking. i don't actually really play mods for TCOAAL really (i sometimes watch fropamine's walkthroughs of them), it's just TCOAAR has a really soft spot in my heart and even that one i've fallen out of love with (but i still wanna play chapter 2) but in general i will say i actually don't have a lot of opinions on TCOAAL mods. that being said, i do kind of respect (usually) even the most dogshit OOC mods and fanfics as products of fan love and fan labor, which is something i highly value.

so i cannot stress. the Coffin of Andy and July (lol) mod is like. actively malicious.

the TCOAAJ mod is written by a transphobe. they were permabanned from the subreddit for this. they are also an anti that rants on-and-on about how gravecest is disgusting and gross and Andrew/Julia is the TRUE healthy ship and reduces Julia to being incredibly OOC to serve as her mouthpiece. fun fact: that incident they said got them permabanned (which you see here, saying she's "not a real woman") involves a friend i've had long before TCOAAL so i'm especially. bitter lol

and the just being an anti shit (there's a lot more if you go through the page. this is just a quick skim if you search "incest"):

this post would be like 50 million miles long if i got screenshots of everything (and also shoutout to @woodchipp for liveblogging this disaster of a mod to me watching fropamine we had fun laughing at it and also got a lot of good screenshots from it, we didn't learn later until how vile the author was) but here's like a few key choice moments that really stand out to me

(the last retort is funny to me it's one of the closest moments Andrew has to being IC in this mess. saying something like this SPECIFICALLY to Julia to make Ashley look better and get under her skin)

like.

the mod has a pretty specific agenda. both Andrew and Julia are horribly OOC, but instead of that OOC just being the result of a fanfic author who just can't nail the characterization but is still writing their AU fanfic because they love it, TCOAAJ is pretty clearly born from a place of spite. it is born from the author's personal genuine hatred for the fandom at large and gravecest and it uses Julia as it's vehicle to be able to rant against the ship and fandom. the author is a bigot who rubs elbows with pro-life conservatives and even outright said to one of my friends in that screenshot that you'll "never be a woman," which may not exactly correlate to this mod, but proves her to be a fucking rancid human being in general even if this mod was better.

i cannot unrecommend it enough. only time a mod has made me like actually angry in hindsight. if you really want to experience the trainwreck where even people in the comments have called out the author, watch fropamine's walkthrough of it on youtube instead. if you are an Andrew/Julia shipper and want fan content please just go read some fanfics instead of playing this, it's not worth it.

[demie90s]

(You already know who I finna do it about😏. Flaujae. I’m doing it for Flaujae.)

Name-Dropper

Flau’jae Johnson x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your already known in the industry—rapper, influencer, and little sister to a hip-hop icon. But when I drop my debut album and name-drop Flau’jae the internet goes feral.

Warnings: Explicit lyrics, strong language, suggestive content, public tension, mutual obsession

Word count~ 0.3k

My name been in rooms I wasn’t even old enough to walk in.

People like to think I came outta nowhere, but they forget—I been around legends since I was in baby Phat. My debut wasn’t a SoundCloud freestyle or TikTok snippet. Nah. It was a feature. On a Lil Wayne track. And Nicki Minaj too. I was 16. Still in uniform. Spit a 12-bar verse in one take while Birdman watched from the booth. They said I had Lauren Hill in my tone, Foxy in my eyes, and Missy in my pen. But none of that meant anything to me. ‘Cause that was just a Tuesday. And Lauren? That’s Mama.

Yeah. That Lauryn Hill.

And no, I didn’t grow up easy because of it. She made me earn everything. Said talent wasn’t enough. Said this world eats girls like me for breakfast. I ain’t even get my first cosign from her until I sold out SOBs off a mixtape.

So when I dropped my first full album this year, it was a moment. No skips. All truth. I poured every version of me into those songs. The sweet, the rage, the divine, the down bad. And yeah, I talked about women. Real plain. Real casual. I always have. But one track? One track had a name.

“Flau’jae.”

Didn’t censor it. Didn’t hide it in a metaphor. I spelled it out in the second verse, clear as day.

“If I’m ever courtside, she better stretch right / ’Cause I’ve been plotting since her mixtape mic nights / Said she only do music, I’m tryna change types—”

Twitter exploded. Blogs ran wild. “Who’s the mystery rapper obsessed with Flau’jae Johnson?” “Are we witnessing the start of the gayest beef-turned-fling of the year?” Meanwhile, I was eating shrimp in Turks like it wasn’t my name trending in every bracket forum.

I waited weeks. No response. No shade. No bars. Silence. So I popped out.

LSU’s game was packed. Student section going feral. I pulled up like the stage was mine. High boots, trench dragging, lips glossy and outlined, camera-ready. I sat courtside. Dead in front of the bench.

She didn’t look at me first. She waited ‘til the second quarter. Fast break, finish at the rim, crowd goes wild. Then, just before the inbound—she glanced. A real look. The kind that makes your chest clench.

Game ends. LSU wins. I knew they would. Then the mic hits.

Unannounced performance. Special guest. I step onto the court with a live band, no background vocals, no dancers. Just me. Beat drops. Track seven. The crowd screams before I even open my mouth.

I walk the court like a runway. Rap her name right to her. Let the lyrics drip from my lips slow. I don’t wink. I don’t flirt. I tell the truth.

And Flau’jae? She don’t hide it. Don’t duck. She just smiles. Cool. Collected.

I finish the song and walk off to a standing ovation like I didn’t just confess on national television. Two days later, she posts a story. Black screen. White text.

“Type changed.🐯”

I just smiled.

’Cause mama didn’t raise no fool. She raised a legend.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[mxtxfanatic]

There aren’t a lot of changes between chapters 14-15, so I’m combining these. Chapt. 14 goes from the moment Xie Lian asks the youth about how Hua Cheng came to be known as “Crimson Rain Sought Flower” to the moment the youth sees Xie Lian’s curse collar on his neck for the first time, and Chapt. 15 goes from there to Xie Lian calling the youth “San-lang” for the first time. Both chapters are fully covered in Chapt. 6 of the 7seas edition. More (though less than usual) under the cut:

Chapt. 14 minor changes:

Xie Lian doesn’t say the part about how they’ll “never return” if they take the wrong path when he realizes that it’s Zhongyuan.

Xie Lian doesn’t turn around after knocking the old cart driver out because he sensed a “strange movement” behind him. He turns around to check on San-lang.

Chapt. 15 minor changes

Xie Lian now bows to the surrounding crowd of ghosts when he apologizes for “provoking them.”

Rather than the random ghost asking who else but a cultivator could have killed the slain ghosts, Xie Lian offers up the idea that the one who killed them may not have been a cultivator at all.

Xie Lian asks if San-lang is willing to do the palm reading after San-lang asks him if he wants to, now. The part about Xie Lian being careful not to touch San-lang’s hand during the palm reading is gone.

Xie Lian’s speculation about San-lang being a ghost king and his motives for riding the ox cart with him are gone. In the paragraph in the draft, everything after “clear palm prints…” has been deleted.

TGCF Draft vs. Final: Garment Redder than Maple, Skin As White As Snow

Back at it again with a new arc! Starting from Chapt. 12, we start at Xie Lian back in the heavens and end on the heavenly officials' stumped dialogue about why Hua Cheng would come help Xie Lian. In the 7seas edition, this is all content from Vol. 1, Chapt. 5: Red-Clad Ghost, the Burning of the Martial and Civil Temples, ending on the very first page of Chapt. 6, which shares the same title as this section in the revisions.

Major changes:

Rather than the section starting with a conversation with Ling Wen, it starts with how the fear of another Human Face Disease breakout was a "false alarm," wasting the time and efforts of the Middle Court which dispatched half of its gods to investigate, and Xie Lian immediately joins the communications array upon returning to the heavens.

Minor changes:

Xie Lian says that his reascension has been more tiring than when he was collecting trash.

Feng Xin no longer mentions sealing Xuan Ji. He just says that General Pei needs to come deal with her.

Qi Rong is still not named. He is only "The Green Ghost."

The questions that were previously posed by Xie Lian—what about the corpse forest and was the green ghost present—are now discussed without him asking. Mu Qing brings up the presence of the forest, and Ling Wen (rather than Feng Xin) responds that the Green Ghost wasn't present. Xie Lian speaks up to ask if Xuan Ji was the Green Ghost's underling.

When Xie Lian speaks in the communications array, it does not get quiet or awkward.

Xiao Pei doesn't chime in to defend General Pei. All explanation-heavy responses come from Ling Wen.

When Xie Lian asks about the child spirit, Mu Qing doesn't chime in and play dumb. Ling Wen, once again, responds and say they found no traces of it.

Xie Lian says out loud that he only knows of the "four great tales" rather than just thinking it, and when he asks what the "four great calamities" are, Mu Qing no longer chimes in with a snide comment. This means that Xie Lian's response about how difficult it is to be a mortal is gone.

Ling Wen's explanation of who the Green Ghost is now stops after she says that he's the only "calamity" not in isolation and is also not a calamity. Xie Lian then asks if he just emerged to be annoying rather than this being a part of Ling Wen's explanation.

Ling Wen now explicitly states that Jun Wu is the one who destroyed White No-Face.

There is an added sentence during the explanation of Hua Cheng burning down the temples and shrines of the 33 heavenly officials that Jun Wu "doesn't like conflict" and prefers to focus on maintaining the balance between the three realms, which is why he did not help them.

[roombagreyjoy]

I am now Healed (finally uninstalled TikTok)

[cosmicdreamgrl]

.

[tonycries]

We Don’t Have No Babies!

Synopsis. Well, it’s a bit difficult to have no babies when they’re well and fully intent on fúcking one into you.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, bréeding, mentions of kids, máting press, pússydrunk boys, manhandling, marking, spitting, degradation, praise, cúmplay, the elders ugh (Gojo’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. WHEWW take this as an apology gift for missing yesterday’s post date, I overslept eheheh.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - What’s another?

“Don’t hah- pass out on me yet, doll.” Toji hisses. Spreading your swollen folds further apart with his fingers, already stretched so obscenely around his swollen cock, and only trying to squeeze deeper. “What was it that brat said again?”

And you can only let out a broken whine in response - too high off the stretch and the utterly sinful pool of his cum spreading on the sheets below. It’s been like this for hours now, both of you barely lucid at this point. But you can’t bring yourself to be disgusted, not even a little bit. 

Because Toji’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, pressing down, down, down, till your knees were at your tits. Folded in half, and stuffed full beneath him. God, you weren’t going to make it out alive. 

“Oh, riiight.” he drags out, voice strained. Deceivingly innocent had it not been for that devilish grin. “He called you ‘mama’.”

And there it was - Megumi’s tiny, seemingly mindless slip-up that got you into this mess in the first place. One that had poked some raw, primal part of Toji so dangerously awake.

The one that had Toji splitting you in half with his aching cock, hips pressing so hard against yours that it almost hurts. Fucking into you in slow, languid motions of his hips, while he drinks in your sobbed out little, “Ah- Hngh- Toji, s’too much I-” 

Lazily, he thumbs open your folds even more, watching in awe at the way his seed dribbles and oozes down your thighs, seeping into the mattress. It takes him a while to form the words, too hazy from how warm and sloppy you were inside. 

“Too much?” he drawls, with the audacity to sound genuinely taken aback. “I don’t think it’s enough, ma.”

It’s the only warning you get - barely - before he laces his fingers on top of your head to take him deeper, snapping his hips harder. Sloppier. Sensitive cock stinging with sensitivity, balls squeezing painfully. It hurt, but it hurt so good. And Toji wasn’t even sure if he could cum again. But he was milking his cock on your pussy like he was gonna fill you up until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“B-but m’so full.” you babble, mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! as you look down at the way you were swallowing him up so well. “Dunno if I can’t hngh- t-take anymore.” 

Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck. Because Toji was chuckling in surprise, stuck on the way you could still form coherent sentences - he had to fix that, of course. 

“Shhh. Don’ worry about it. Jus’ need to fill you up- ah, fuck a baby into ya, ma.”  he gently kisses away those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “All you gotta do is sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” 

Hand snaking down to toy with your swollen clit - frenzied, barely-circular motions just to get you off. Because shit he can’t just stuff you full of his cock without getting the mother of his future kids off, right? And he let you know, of course. Maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till morning comes and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-m’gonna make ‘em breakfast. And you’ll dress ‘em up. We’ll read oh- them bedtime stories and-” he’s babbling so pathetically into the crook of your neck now. “-an’ tuck ‘em into bed- Oh, fuck fuck fuck.” Drunk off your pussy and the heavenly feeling of his heavy balls squeezing so dangerously, letting his hips go out of control now. “And then- hngh, and then-”

“T-then what?” you let out such cute sobs into his open mouth, seeing stars behind your eyes each time he ravages you.

“Ya really wanna know, ma?”

Somehow, his words have you squeezing around him so good. Enough that it’s almost difficult to move inside you. Enough that Toji doesn’t even realize that he’s cumming and cumming so hard that you’re bloated with his seed. Squelching out of your quivering pussy and soaking his cock as he doesn’t even think of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy, teeth latching onto your earlobe as he holds you still for him. 

“And then…” Toji’s hot breath fans your face, voice guttural and sounding like he was losing a little bit of his sanity with each thrust. Hips moving again and again to fuck his cum deeper into you. “And then m’gonna fuck another one into you.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lonely? No problem!

“Aww, m’sorry. Did I make you feel lonely, my love?” Kissing your lips softly, running his hands all over the pretty lil’ lace covering your body - just barely, of course. “Did I leave my pretty lil’ wife all alone in this big house?” 

You give him a pouty little nod, and oh does that do something to Nanami’s heart - and his achingly hard cock. And he can’t help but pull the drenched fabric of your panties further to the side, greedily honing in on the way you glisten and clench around him. 

“Well, we should fix that, right? So that my pretty baby is never alone in here.”

You would be reassured by his answer - had it not been for the way Nanami doesn’t even wait for your reply. Instead, looking straight into your eyes while he pushes his thick cock deeper inside you. Not even fucking preparing you as he usually would.

“Oh! Oh, mm fuck-” And it’s all you can do to buck into his touch and just fucking take it while he grunts at the slight resistance. For once in his life more concerned about trying to fuck desperately into your dripping cunt than whether or not your poor pussy would hurt herself trying to take him. 

That merciful, practical little part of his brain going slow to let you adjust to his massive cock - because, well, he couldn’t break the mother of his future children. Now, could he?

But oh how you’d beg to differ with the way Nanami fucks into you in languid , shallow grinds of his hips. No matter how many times Nanami stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint. Stretching you out, fingers swiping at your clit, expertly grazing against all the right spots he knew so maddeningly well. 

“Two or three?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s waiting for your answer - too delirious with the way your husband’s splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Leaving neat crescents of his nails on your hips as he holds your slutty pussy still. 

“W-what?”

“Two or three?” Nanami gives your pulsing clit a little smack! as if to get your attention, hips stuttering ever-so-slightly at the way you squeeze his thick cock in surprise. “How many babies am I fuckin’ into you, my love?” 

Oh. Oh, shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

But were you really complaining? No.

Swallowing thickly, “Ah! Fuck, Kento- wan’ two.”

And maybe you’re a mastermind, maybe you’re an idiot. Because nowhere is the gentleman that you married, Nanami’s spitting on your quivering cunt once. Twice. Watching like a predator stalking his prey at the way it misses - purposefully, splattering against your inner thigh.

Smearing it all over your pussy and your panties - which he was too impatient, too starved - to remove. Messy. 

It’s all Nanami needed to do before he’s bottoming out completely. Pressing his forehead against yours in such a sweet motion, even though his hips were so mean. Drinking in your delirious whines as his heavy balls smack your ass. Over and over-

The duality making your head spin as he fucks his cute lil’ wife dumb, part of his sanity dancing away with his restraint every time your slutty hole sucks him up so deliciously. 

“Shit. More?” he grunts, sounding absolutely wrecked. Moaning at the way you tug at his hair, legs wrapping around his toned waist as if to urge him to go faster. Deeper. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. More more more- 

And, of course, what his girl wants - she gets. Because Nanami’s dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds, all the way out till he’s collecting your sweet juices on his head. “Better take it like my good wife then.”

Then he’s pushing and pushing inside your tight pussy, but not like he was before. Jagged, desperate grinds of his hip - no adoration, no warmth. Just fucking you like his little slut, high off the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he’s all you could think of. “We’ll have such beautiful babies, my love.” 

“Shit shit shit, Kento- yer gonna ruin me-” you’re whining, body torn between arching into Nanami’s unforgiving cock and running away. 

As if you ever had a chance - he was holding you so bruisingly by the hips, gasping into your mouth. “Shhh, that’s the point.”  Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by his out-of-control hips, so harsh and unfocused with lust that those tufts of blond at his base scratch your sensitive nub. And the feeling is so fucking obscene that you barely hear the words that follow. “You jus’ focus on taking care of my babies, n’ m’gonna be the one to ruin this pretty cunt- The one to fill you up- fuck. ”

Nanami throws his head back as you squeeze the soul out of his throbbing cock, so pent-up and needy that you’re creaming all over his cock already. And of course, Nanami isn’t any better - because with a strangled groan of your name, he’s cumming. Hard. almost painfully so. 

“N’ you’ll never be lonely, cuz everyone’s gonna see you and see me. I did that.” 

Jolts of electricity going all the way from his heavy balls to the thick, hot ropes of cumming filling your dripping pussy. Painting it all a desperate, desperate white.

And shit was Nanami an entirely different man tonight. Pulling out ever-so-slightly, only to admire his seed gushing out of you - so lewd and his. 

“Y’know what, my love, I don’t think two will be enough after all.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty (and his)

“Awww, pretty baby.” Geto purrs, in such a dangerously low voice, smacking his tip - so red, and angry - all across your swollen folds. He bites his lip at the way his cum spills down your legs, pooling onto the hardwood floor with a deafening tap! tap! tap! “Y’want it so badly, huh?”

“Shit- hngh- please!”

You don’t know what you’re begging for - maybe release. Maybe mercy. Maybe to be anywhere but here - shoved against the wall right beside the front door, dress hiked up, almost your way to go clubbing with your friends before your beloved boyfriend had caught you. And stuffed you full of his cum, at least.

Whatever it is, Geto only gets messier, teasing your sloppy hole by slamming in - just barely grazing that one spot. And pulling out completely, watching you clench and glisten in the dim lighting. In. And out. In and out in and-

“Sugu!” you squeal, tired of the way he was having way too much making such a mess of your pussy. Swiping at your slick, and shoving his seed back into you - smirking at the obscene mess. 

“Mhm?” he nods absent-mindedly. Eyes flitting between your ravaged pussy and that absolutely adorable pout on your lips. Chuckling, “What~? If I cum in this cute pussy one more time, you’re sure to get pregnant, y’know.” 

Scoffing, “Shoulda thought of that when you came inside me the first time.”

Geto rolls his thumb over your sore clit - just as a little punishment - breath hot against your ear as he whispers raggedly.  “And are you complaining, gorgeous?”

“N-no…” 

“Then?”

He’s licking little circles at the crook of your neck now, in time with the maddening, frenzied patterns on your cunt. Enough friction to keep those pretty lil’ whines spilling from your swollen lips, but still teasing you just enough to have you bucking and keening onto his aching cock for more more more-

“Please! I jus’ want your cock, Sugu-”

All it takes is your broken little whimper, and it’s like something snapped - because Geto’s plunging into your plushy walls completely. Finally giving you an ounce of that friction you’ve been craving for so long. Only half the man he was once before while fucks into you deliriously. 

“F-fuck. Love it when you’re so messy f’me.” he’s hissing lowly, as if you could be anything but messy. As if he’s not pulling you back by the hair to bounce you like some slut, hips snapping mercilessly. As if he isn’t absolutely ruining you.

And maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have said something about the pure disrespect in his cock. Fucking you nothing like the sweet sweet whispers he was muttering in your ear, ragged and hoarse with desire.

“Gonna fill you up, huh? Give me some cute lil’ babies?” he groans,nibbling on your earlobe, fingers pressing down around your throat so the only response he gets are wet gurgles. Ones that go straight to his twitching balls, as Geto keeps running his mouth pussydrunk. “They better have your personality, don’ wanna share my pretty girl. Isn’t that right?”

So mean. Just babbling like you rarely get to see him - usually the ever-graceful Geto Suguru. Now, drunk on your tight pussy and the image of you with a little baby with black hair and him - there for it all. His perfect little family. 

“Gonna be the perfect momma, huh?” 

Geto only gets a broken little whimper in response - one that almost makes him want to go easy on you. Almost, instead, he settles for breathing out a ragged, “Fuck fuck fuck, yeah, gorgeous. Squeeze me s’tight like that - jus’ like that jus’ like that-” 

Trailing such a delicate finger up your legs, Geto pools that sinful mixture of your slick and his cum on his fingertips - before shoving them unforgivingly in your mouth. The slightly salty taste was so addictive on your tongue - and, hell, you aren’t even mad that you’re running late to meet your friends.

Smirking as you gag and mewl around him, he only gets sloppier. Faster. Licking a long, languid stripe up your neck, just knowing that he’s gonna cum inside your cute pussy harder than he has his whole life. Have your poor pussy bloated with him him him- “Now, yer gonna go to that lil’ party of yours jus’ like this. And everyone’s gonna know who you belong to.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Can’t help himself

“N-no, swear-” Choso lets out a broken little whimper into the crook of your neck. Feet flat on the bed, hips bucking up mindlessly over and over to where you were splayed out so prettily on top of him. So messy and dripping all over his glistening cock. “Gonna ngh- be the last one- I s-swear.”

You’ve heard this broken little mantra before - and you knew it wouldn’t end well for your poor pussy. Especially not with Choso bullying his weeping cock back into your snug cunt. “But, Cho!” you gasp, “We’re out of-”

He knows you’re out of condoms. But, really, does it matter?

Because shit were you like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. And, well, here he was - completely pussydrunk, two rounds and a still rock-hard cock later. The only thing on his mind from then on was to not paint your pretty pussy white with his seed, no matter how much he wanted do. 

“Last time, baby. Promise I won’t cum inside.” And then he’s batting this long lashes so unfairly up at you. So fucking beautiful with his dark hair untied, lips swollen, eyes-half-hooded and miles away. And, well, how could you say no to that?

And you’ve barely gotten out your delirious little nod before Choso’s wrapping two strong arms around your waist, pulling you so intimately closer like he worshipped you - while he fucks your hot cunt like anything but. So hard that you knew it would leave marks - your nails on his chest, his balls on your ass, fingers on your waist. 

God, you were squeezing so desperately around him and he just thinks he might just cum right then and there. So fucking perfect that Choso knows he’s never buying another box of condoms ever again. 

“F-fuck, feels s’good. Love having you so deep n’ messy inside me.”

You were going to be the death of him.

“Hngh- fuck fuck fuck, yeah? You like that, baby?” he groans lowly. Abs burning and flexing each time he rams his cock into your tight pussy, absolutely loving the way you were leaking his cum all over the sheets. 

“Shit- I-” 

“Yes, Cho~?”

Face burning in embarrassment, choking pathetically on his words, Choso instead lets his hips do the talking. Strained whimpers of your name leaving him each time he bullies his painfully twitching cock through your plushy walls.

Voice cracking almost-embarrassingly at the end as he rambles, “Oh my god- y’feel so fucking good wrapped around me, baby. Wanna- hngh-” Trying his very best to sound like every cute lil’ whimper didn’t make his thoughts steer into the dangerous territory of how pretty you’d be with his kid. Of a little girl with dark hair and your eyes and-

You. His hips speeding up now, so sloppy with now rhyme or rhythm. How round and glowing you’d be with his kid. You, how everyone would know that he was that ruined your pretty pussy n’ got you this way. You, you, you-

“Wanna cum in this cute pussy, baby.” He finally confesses. Hips getting so messy - mindless, quick little jabs that have you keening on top of him, balls squeezing painfully. “Wanna fill y’up until you can’t take it anymore, fuck you so full until we have a pretty baby. Can I, baby? Please don’t say no please please-”

And at this point all you can do is whine and buck your hips to meet his merciless cadence, letting Choso crane his neck and kiss you senseless. “Fuck yeah. Thought you’d never ask-” you mutter, muffled around where he was sucking on your lips, like they were his favorite candy. “Want you to cum inside me, Cho.”

Well, you didn’t need to tell Choso twice because no sooner have the words left your lips before he’s giving you one harsh thrust. Veins throbbing against your gummy walls, again and again. 

Tears pricking his eyes as he cums with such a guttural grunt of your name. “Gonna have a pretty lil’ girl.” Both white-white pleasure and the image of you and him and his daughter flashing behind his eyes. “She’ll look just as beautiful as you, baby. N’ have your cute smile.”

Your own orgasm is nothing more than a few tingles, overstimulated and limp on top of Choso as stuffs you full of his seed. Thick, white ropes that gushing all the way out of your snug pussy, smearing all over his twitching balls. 

You could get used to this.

And it’s such a heavenly feeling that Choso barely registers his hips moving again, as if on instinct. Fucking mindlessly into you again. Again and again. Gasping, breath hot against your ear. 

“Only one more, baby. Promise.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A reward

“F-fuck, woman” Sukuna grunts, fingers so bruising on your hips as you slide down his throbbing erection. Inch by fucking inch, keening at the delicious burn. “Y’act so innocent but you’ve got such a slutty lil’ pussy, huh?”

As expected, the only response he gets is an incoherent babble of agreement. Your eyes watering, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth as you struggle to take him. And his sharp eyes narrow in amusement at the sight of his painfully inexperienced consort’s pretty cunt sucking him up so eagerly. Hips stuttering and leaking your sweet, sweet so sloppily juices all over his thighs.

Humans were always such interesting little creatures.

“Tch.”

Slow ones, too, apparently.

Because immediately, Sukuna’s stuffing himself into your sloppy pussy as far as it would go. Groaning at the resitance, a large hand pumping his cock slowly - enticingly - as he fucks his hips in quick, shallow little thrusts, just to fit himself inside your snug cunt. 

And you needed to breathe in and out maybe, relax your plushy walls, but Sukuna wasn’t going to wait. Why would he? He had his favorite woman - not that he’d ever let you know - sat on his lap, legs spread so shamefully and bouncing on his thick cock.

“F-fuck.” his jaw falls slack ever so slightly, groaning at the feeble resistance against his massive cock. Still only half-inside you but still pushing relentlessly. “S’like your pussy was made f’me, brat. Milking me so well.”

“Shit shit shit- hah- ‘Kuna, feel s’good-” you gasp, thighs quivering with the pressure to meet his rough cadence. And Sukuna huffs out a low laugh at your audacity to call his name, feeling charitable enough today to forgive this transgression. 

Instead toying with your pretty clit, pinching and rolling between his thick fingers, loving the way you buck and squeal his name. 

“Hmm, feels good?” he hums dangerously, amused at your barely-lucid little nod. Fucking into you like his personal fucktoy - his favorite one. “Good ‘nough to give me an heir?”

At this your eyes snap open - but not for long because you just have to screw them shut again with Sukuna finally bottoming out in a quick, harsh thrust. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock, veins throbbing a maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

You barely have the time to breathe out a sigh of relief before he’s fucking into you. Unforgivingly. Like the monster he claims to be. All the blood draining into his achingly dick at the idea of fucking his cum into you until you couldn’t walk. 

And he tells you - chuckling at the cute lil’ ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. “Y’want that, my little slut? To be my cute plaything to breed? Help m’make the next king of curses?”

Fuck, you don’t know if you’re reeling more from the way he was ramming his cock into you or the way he was talking to you in that mean little tone. 

“Mmm- yes! Yes yes yes!”

“Use your words.”

“Wan’-” you hiccup, batting your lashes at him so tearily, in a way that makes Sukuna’s heart thump so strangely. An uneven little beat matching the led rhythm of his hips. “Wan’ your cum- gonna give you a kid.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way he wrestles your arms behind your back, using it like leverage to bounce you harder and harder on his cock. Only looking up at him with such cute lil’ heart eyes as Sukuna uses you as he pleases. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck yeah?‘ he gasps into your open mouth. Teeth latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Dangerous. “Gonna make me an heir so powerful. Have him treat you like a queen n’ kill everyone that doesn’t? Ya like that, my lil’ slut?”

“Shit- ah- I want that s’bad, ‘Kuna.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And oh how pretty you look, cunt clenching and all surprised at the knock on the door - some lowly human here to beg for their life, maybe. But it doesn’t matter, because Sukuna’s only licks away the big, fat tears streaming down your cheek, hips burning while he breeds you like some animal. Hard, and almost violent.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same, breathless and shaking on Sukuna’s lap while he fill you with his hot seed. Thick and intoxicating. Hips unstopping, just animalistic little movements from such a carnal part of himself. Over and over-

And you’re so fucking drunk off of your lord’s cock that you barely even realize when he’s thumbing your ravaged cunt open. Letting his cum drip all the way down to his gaudy throne, on full display for whoever was about to-

“Come in.”

It’s adorable how you try to scramble off his lap, trying - and failing - to cover yourself up as the door cracks open. 

“Not yet, woman.” Sukuna grasps you in an iron-hold grip, dangerously sharp nails tethering right at your throat and your hips. Starting to drag you up and down on his swollen cock once more with no concern or care for whoever was about to enter. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

It was filthy. 

Completely debauched. And exactly where you wanted to be. You and your lord - and maybe your future heir, too.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Give ‘em what they want!

“Hah- f-fuck imagine- Imagine I fucked the next s-strongest into you right now.”

Oh. 

You knew by the look in his eyes that something was off - that something hadn’t gone well in that meeting with the elders. Really, it was a miracle he attended in the first place, but somehow you had an inkling that this was the type of something that would have you needing a miracle.

That was three hours ago.

And fuck did you need a miracle - because Gojo had you splayed out on top your office desk, his cum spreading in a pool beneath, you throbbing cock stuffing in and out of your snug cunt while you try not to alert the entirety of Jujutsu High about how needy the great Gojo Satoru was being right now.

Gojo’s ramming his swollen dick into your poor, overstimulated pussy like he was drunk off the sight of you all cockdrunk and in a tight mating press. Moaning at the sting of painfully hard erection twitching inside you, and your nails running down his back. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and-

You think it’s a bit unfair, really. Because who were you against the strongest? Well, the pretty lil’ wife who’s going to give him his successor, apparently. 

“Shit- wouldn’t that be funny?” he lets out a humorless laugh, wrestling your legs further and further apart. Eyeing the way you suck him up lewdly, “If I made my kid the strongest n’ just wiped these old fossils out?”

“T-Toru- we’ll get ca-”

“Caught? Who fuckin’ cares, they want a Gojo successor n’ they’re gonna get one.”

He’s letting out his frustration in the way he chases both your highs for the - well, you lost count which orgasm it was at this point. Letting you stain all over the expensive desk as he yells out little curses into your mouth.

And oh how you want to kiss that little furrow in his brow, to whisper away his stress - but, no, the only thing getting Gojo out of this bad mood was to fully and thoroughly ruin his girl’s cute lil’ cunt. 

But Toru-” you sob into his open mouth, hips bucking wildly for more. “What if I can’t give you the strongest…” You know you’re babbling deliriously, little insecurities you didn’t even know you had coming to the surface as it really hits you that shit this is your Gojo. And he’s here. And he’s fucking you until he’s sure you’re pregnant.

“Who gives a shit?” he licks away the big, fat tears streaking down your face. Salty on his tongue while he plays with your pretty clit, rubbing quick, tight little circles on it. 

As if to emphasize his point, Gojo brings his fingertips to his mouth with a lewd pop! So blissfully wrapping his lips around them. Darkened blue eyes rolling to the back of his head at the taste - it only spurs him on more. 

Fingers immediately back down on your clit. Frenzied - like he couldn’t wait any longer, like it killed him to not see you cum again. Body bowing into yours, hand digging and bruising on your hips as he holds your filthy pussy still on his cock, 

“Fuck, gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. M’gonna train them to be the strongest n’ protect their pretty mommy.” 

Sloppy, he was so fucking sloppy - such a mess of teeth and spit and pure desire to paint your walls white. 

“Gonna have my eyes, huh? N’ your hair. Fuck they’re gonna regret bringing this up.” Babbling little nonsenses that drove you mad. He sounded so fucking pathetic, crazed with lust. “Ooooh they’re gonna regret it.” Overstimulated enough that it hurt.

Kissing the side of your ankle beside his head, lacing his fingers together to pull you further and further down his rock-hard cock. Sloppy and moving with no rhyme or reason. “Because they fucking hate me. All of ‘em will look at our kid n’ you - so round and pretty and see me. All me.” 

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere - ones that have you convulsing and gripping onto Gojo - the desk, his shoulders, his hair. And this was no different. “Ah! Hngh, Toru m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Delirious, white-hot pleasure cracking behind his eyes, Gojo’s pumping hot thick, hopes ropes of cum into your poor, overfilled pussy. And shit no thrill of taking out the elders could compare to watching the way his seed drips down the side. Slow, and thick, pooling at his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, sweetheart, y’think if I cum in you again, they’ll come out twice as strong?”

“...”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - lost oasis

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot, porn with feelings, angst

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘lost oasis’ (sylus’s misty invasion card), slight predator and prey, dom!sylus for the most part (though he shows vulnerability), use of Y/N, sub!reader but she teases doe, unprotected sex, cumming in coochie, against the wall sex, shower sex, hand play/kink, belly bulge, finger sucking, fingering, biting, slight angst, lots of hickeys (m! And f!receiving), allusions and predictions to sylus’s lore 

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | twitter art | xav's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hiii second part of the misty invasion series is here <3 this time our very own birb – sylus! Next will be Xavier but I don't have a timeline for it! Could be 3 days could be a week :’) will try and keep you guys updated

Small Sylus rant, feel free to skip this and read the fic!

I have huge problems with the hypersexualization of Sylus, from the devs not from fans. I feel like the devs sometimes use him as fan service. I felt that was especially true in this card, the shower scene felt out of place and didn’t feel intimate because they’ve done far too little mc/sylus building and sylus lore. I wished the ending scene in the hammock was the cut scene, even if there was no spice. For that reason, I’ve SLIGHTLY altered the dialogue and memory, especially at the end. I added in some of my own angst, heavily influenced by predictions to Sylus’s lore I’ve seen on Twitter, especially the twitter art i linked above.

Don’t get me wrong I love Sylus. I just wish we got to see MORE of his lore and backstory, because you just KNOW it's tragic. His myth cards were nothing like the other 3 boys, and I feel like they have a lot of opportunities to help Sylus “catch up” to the other 3 LIs (could’ve done a event similar to Rafayel’s bday event, waited until they could release more main story, etc), but they haven’t utilized it well. I’m sure there’s a reason why (rushed timeline, leak threats. End of the day I understand it’s a business), but as a reader/user/fan it kinda sucks. And again, I KNOW it’s coming and it will be great. But because we haven’t seen enough yet, it makes his spicy scenes seem less intimate and more fan service-y. So I wanted to add just a sprinkle of Sylus angst and story here <3 It made me cry, I hope you guys love it as much as I loved writing it. 

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ .

There are moments in life where it really hits you.

That you’re in danger. 

Where your hair stands up on its ends and your legs itch with the need to bolt away. This felt like one of those moments. The way Sylus’s voice, throaty and deep, growled with evident hunger, his eyes watching you like a predator eyeing its prey. 

Only…this time, the goosebumps that painted your skin were from excitement, and the throbbing in your thighs was from desire and not fear. This time, the tight grip on your thighs, the imposing body against yours, holding you so possessively, only leaves you wanting more. 

Sylus’s arm is pushed against the wall behind your head, caging you in with his hard soapy body. His skin shines with water and the leftover suds of his shower, before the water had run out, leaving you with a wet and mischievous Sylus.

Your fingers languidly follow soapy suds that trail down his chest, not really actually wiping anything away. Sylus remains self-assured, smirking down at your shaking body as you touch him. You can feel goosebumps form where you touch him and it’s the only indication that the silver-haired man is close to losing it. 

His voice comes out deep and breathy, “Aren’t you going to do something about my hair?”

His smile is maddening, taunting you to touch him more. So you wrap your hands behind his shoulders, yanking him down to you. 

For a brief second, Sylus is taken aback, his lips parting with a surprised breath. But as quickly as it had come, Sylus composes himself. He lets himself be pulled to you, chuckling breathily. 

“Is that it, sweetheart?” 

Before you can respond, his arm releases the wall behind you. In an instant, his large hand is gripping the underside of your thighs, hoisting you up with one arm so that both your legs dangle off his strong arm, pressed against his hip. 

You yelp at the feeling of his large hands holding you against his wet and hard body, “What are you doing?! My clothes!” You can feel your deep red satin nightdress soaking up the sudsy water on his skin.

Sylus only laughs, sarcastic and deep, “Oh no. They’re wet. Now what?” 

You try to push him away, “Well you need to let me down first.” 

But Sylus doesn’t budge, shifting you so he can lean his free arm against the wall behind you, caging you in once more. Like a lost bird. 

“Doesn’t this mean you also need to learn how to humble yourself?” His cerise eyes are frustratingly playful, his eyebrows crinkled in amusement. 

You don’t respond, instead trailing your hand down his bare chest again. Your feather-like touch ghosts his collarbone, down to his thick pecs, that tremble deliciously under your fingers. From the strain of holding you up with one arm, or your touch alone, you’re unsure. 

You speak softly, trying to tease him into losing control, “I did, and this is what I see…” 

Your touch and suggestive words have Sylus breathing heavier. His pants come out raspily, sounding vaguely close to a moan. He nearly shivers at your touch, so absolutely enamored by the way your fingers claim him, barely able to withstand his primal urges to claim you.

His reaction fuels you with confidence, and you grin cheekily, “Oh? I guess I’ll have to be more gentle.” You let your hands explore more, stroking his down his marbled chest. 

Sylus grunts, his face turning away from you, contorted in tortured pleasure. His breath comes out in rapid desperate gasps. It’s so utterly rare for you to see Sylus in such a needy state, and you can’t help but tease him further. 

Your fingers touch his neck, enjoying the way Sylus is crumbling under your fingertips when normally it’s you coming undone for him, “How cute.” 

When your fingernail grazes his nipple, Sylus tenses up, a growl ripping from his throat.

He turns to you, squirming under your fleeting touch. “Hey,” he croaks. His voice is uncharacteristically hoarse, tense with desire.

“The soundproofing for this shower isn’t great. People might get the wrong idea if they hear us. At this rate, we could end up in a lose-lose situation.” 

But you continue, pinching his ear softly, grinning, “Tell me, who pinned you down and hit you?” 

Sylus’s smile falters. He knows you’re referring to the little boy from earlier, whom you’d been teaching how to fight against Wanderers, but he can’t help but think about the first time he’d been here at the desert oasis. Only that time, he was powerless. That time, he couldn’t protect you.

He quickly masks his brief moment of melancholy, smirking at you once more, “Oh, so class isn’t over yet.” You want to prod at his sudden shift in demeanor, but you can tell now's not the time. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Sylus holds your wrist gently, bringing your fist to his lips. His mouth pressing fleeting kisses to your knuckles, “Then can I trouble you some more…Miss?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, hoisting you back up onto his forearm, forcing you to wrap your arms around the back of his neck for balance. He carries you in one arm to the bathroom door, before he falters, hearing the patter of footsteps outside.

“On second thought, I’ll take my lesson in here.” He walks you back to the shower, shifting your legs so that they wrap around his hips. Your back is pressed against the wet wall, Sylus’s strong arms holding you in place. 

“What should you do…if a wanderer has you pinned down like this?” His voice is sultry and suggestive, darkened eyes daring you to teach him. 

You lift your chin proudly at his taunting challenge. Your fingers trace inexplicable shapes into his chest, your nails gently and purposefully grazing his nipples. At his sharp inhale you make your next move.

“I would…go for the neck, since that’s where they’re most vulnerable.”

Sylus’s adam’s apple bobs with the anticipation of your double-edged words, “Is that so, little bird?”

You nod with confidence, “Let me show you…” You kiss up his collarbone until you read his pulsing neck, brushing chaste kisses along his jugular. Sylus’s chest heaves, and you smile against his neck in satisfaction. 

“I can’t imagine this would be…effective against wanderers,” Sylus masks the unsteadiness of his wavering voice with a layer of arrogant amusement. 

Sylus’s chest heaves, and you smile against his neck in satisfaction. Enjoying having the upperhand, “No…just you.” You softly sink your teeth into the thick muscles of his neck.

Sylus lets out a string of harsh expletives, slamming you further into the wall, his grip on the underside of your thighs digging in harshly. You shiver at the feeling of the cold wet wall tiles pressing into your satin nightdress.

Sylus lets you have your way a little while longer, enjoying the way your rapid heartbeat pounds against his wet chest, your tongue lapping circles where your teeth had sunken in. His hands shift to grope your rear under your crimson red nightdress, squeezing the plush skin there as if you were his personal stress ball. His demanding fingers find their way to your bare pussy, spreading them apart with his index finger and thumb.

“What a bold hunter you are…taunting the enemy with no…protection.” 

His words are vaguely threatening and it makes you squirm. As his fingers toy with you, you sink your teeth deeper into him to hide your pathetically lewd whimpers. Sylus hisses at your teeth nearly breaking skin, a mix of pain and pleasure he is all-too familiar with.

“You’d better watch yourself, my little hunter,” Sylus coos in your ear, fingers finding your clit and pressing down harshly, “You never know what a beast stranded in the desert might do to you.”

His words remind you of the reason he’d invited you out to this desert oasis to begin with, the woman who’d found him, and why he was returning now. Before you can ask him, Sylus is bullying his index finger into you, sliding in so embarrassingly  effortlessly.

“What now, little dove? What would you do now?” Sylus nips at the crook of your neck, where your shoulder and throat meet. His words are hot and dangerous at the shell of your ear, his finger curling inside you to reach the spongy corners of your g-spot.

You force your words out with all the strength you have, not wanting to give Sylus the satisfaction of rendering you speechless, “I w-would never – nnghh – be in this s-situation.” 

Sylus chuckles, inserting another finger, “And yet…here you are. About to be devoured.”

The imminent threat in his words makes you clench, hard. How it was possible for the tables to turn this quickly, you’d never understand. Sylus grins when he feels your gummy walls pressing down on just two of his fingers, the quivers typically indicative of how close you are. 

He pushes you harder into the wall, lips finding your earlobes as he huffs out his words, “Look at you, my dear little hunter. So beautiful when you’re helpless.”

You whine indignantly at his condescending words, wanting to retaliate. With his lips at your ear, his neck is exposed before you and you take full advantage of his vulnerability. You sink your teeth back into his pulsing neck, knowing just how much pressure is enough to have him writhing for you. 

Sylus jolts, his fingers slipping out of you and his knee buckling slightly. His grip on your thighs tightening as he hisses out in surprise. He composes himself just as quickly, straightening up and bouncing you up to readjust his possessive grip on you. 

He pushes you back against the wall, his hard abdomen pressing into your pussy. You groan when you feel your wet lips spreading against his chiseled muscles, his body pressing so forcefully into yours, your arousal smearing against him.

His thumb and index finger take your chin into his grip, still wet with your slick, pulling your face towards his. His arrogant grin is as alluring as it is infuriating, his ruby eyes swirling with a dark amusement. 

“No more mercy, little bird.”

Sylus presses his lips to yours, his fingers tightening around your chin. His kiss is demanding, nearly suffocating, in a way that makes you reel with excitement and anticipation. It’s so torrid and feverish that you almost don’t notice his Evol unraveling your arms from around his neck, bringing them to his chest. He holds you steady with his one arm, and with the other he releases your chin, taking the two of your wrists into his single free hand. His hands are so large that even just one of his hands can envelope both your wrists. 

As his tongue probes the parting of your lips, he holds your wrists, bringing them up above your head and pinning them against the wall. His fingers play with your trembling ones, tracing the lines in your palm and grazing all the way up to your fingertips. 

You feel a brief shuffle and hear the faint thud of Sylus’s towel dropping to the floor, the scorching head of his cock prodding at your entrance. You gasp into his mouth when you feel him taking the base of his erection, stroking it against your clit. You screw your eyes shut at the deliriously delicious friction, moaning into Sylus’s mouth, his tongue claiming every corner of yours. 

Sylus pulls away, his breath coming out in short rapid gasps. He leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still enclosing yours, binding your wrists together against the cold shower wall. His proximity makes it so his warm breath fans across your swollen lips, the taste of him still on your tongue. 

He looks down at you, his crimson eyes smoldering against the heat he’s so desperately trying to keep at bay for you. If it were up to him, he’d have you splayed across his lap, screaming until the whole small town in the oasis could hear you. Unfortunately, pressed up against the wall whimpering for more would have to do.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

You stare at him, arms restrained above your head, chest heaving in anticipation, lips swollen and parted. Sylus smiles at you. It’s that signature Sylus smirk, heart-stoppingly tender and predatory all at once. But when his glowing cerise eyes meet yours, that’s what has your breath catching in your throat. 

The tumultuous sea of red conveyed every ounce of emotion that his words couldn’t. What it meant to have you here in the desert with him, a place that once reminded him of hell. What it meant to have you here, wrapped up in his embrace, ready to do anything to make him happy, whole. With you here, it truly did feel like an oasis. 

So you murmur boldly, cheeks warming, “M’yours, Sy. Of course I’m ready.” 

Sylus’s smile falters for a second, before he growls, slamming you back into the wall, palm cupping the back of your head with one hand, and your lower back with the other, to protect you against the impact. 

“That’s my girl.” 

With those words, his swollen cock head at your entrance finally surges forward, nudging its way into your tight embrace. You cry out as Sylus curses, the both of you never getting used to how impossibly snug the fit was, almost to the point of not fitting at all. 

Sylus takes it surprisingly slow, watching your face carefully as he sinks into you inch by inch. His hand strokes your cheek, in an overwhelming show of tender affection. Something about this desert oasis had him unusually vulnerable and it was intoxicating. 

You squirm as he bottoms out, his cockhead nestled sinfully against your cervix, practically demanding entrance into your womb. His fist is pressed into the tiled wall behind your head, his knuckles white with desperation. His entire body twitches, his breath coming out in short desperate pants. You hold his face with your hands, forcing him to level with you, stroking his sharp jaw with your fingertips.

“Sylus?”

His carmine eyes dart to yours, the vast storm of his irises looking faraway and distant. But when he looks at you, his eyes soften, the sight of you grounding him to the moment, pulling him away from the agony he once endured here. 

You kiss his furrowed eyebrow, “I’m here, Sy.” 

Sylus groans, his facial features softening at your touch, your raw words making him heave with desire. 

“You are. And you’re mine,” he growls, finally moving inside you, pulling out until just his leaking tip is nestled in your warm waiting cunt. Giving you just a second to adjust, your pussy pulsing with the need to be filled once more, he slams back into you. The impact of his thrust knocks the air from your lungs, your body sliding up the wet walls of the shower.

“Sylus!” you squeal, trying to control  your voice. Sylus grunts, reveling in the sound of your pleasure, pulling out of you and rutting back into your poor quivering cunt at a rabid vigor. 

Your bodies are pressed so tightly together, that every minute movement Sylus makes causes your clit to brush against the trail of silver hair that paints his pelvis. His hot breath is in your ear, whispering the filthiest things to you.

“You like it rough, don’t you sweetheart?” he nips your neck, savoring the taste of your clean showered skin against his insistent tongue. Your bare shoulders are already littered in his claiming marks, beautiful red bruises forming where his lips raze like wildfire. Sylus’s eyes glimmer with satisfaction at the sight of it. 

“C-can’t take it,” you whine, fingernails digging into his shoulders. His passionate thrusts are demanding, almost mean, as they try to pull moan after moan out from your lips. Your pussy quivers, already shivering from the amount of pleasure Sylus is able to force on you, so much that it spills over. 

“Yes you can, hm?”

He hisses when your nails dig further into his skin, leaving beautiful little red crescents on his muscled shoulders. Sylus always thought it was utterly insane how you knew just how much pain to mix with his pleasure to have him unhinged, just enough to want to devour you. 

You find your wrists being bound above your head again, his hand pushing them against the wall. His forehead pushes against yours as his lips desperately seek yours, capturing you in a breathtaking and fiery kiss of unspoken feelings. A torrid storm of the way he’d missed you desperately on his trip away, so much so that he had to use the little boy wanting to learn to fight wanderers as an excuse to fly you out to him. 

He pulls away, leaving you both panting for air. As he continues his feverish ruts into you, he huffs into your ear, “You can take it. You’re my good little dove, right?”

The look of complete and utter desperation in his eyes makes you want to give into every wish and whim of the silver-haired man before you. So you nod obediently, closing your eyes in satisfaction when his fingers rub soothing circling into your palms. It’s a jarring contrast, the way his hand caresses you affectionately while his cock ravages you relentlessly. It makes you delirious with ecstasy, and your body is no different.

Your cunt throbs with the need to come undone, the coil tightening so tightly that your abdomen threatens to burst. From the pleasure of his touch or from his massive cock seemingly trying to find its way into your throat, you’re unsure. 

“S-so deep,” you cry, digging your nails into his hand as it holds yours in place. Your back slides up the wall at every one of his deliberate pointed thrusts, a mere ragdoll to his ravenous hunger against the cold dripping wall.

Sylus, groans. You feel a slight shift in energy, and Sylus moving beneath you. But your position against the wall doesn’t change. Sylus’s Evol gently grips your thighs, keeping you suspended as his arm that held you up is now free to press down on your tummy. 

“I know, doll. Can you feel me all the way here?” he draws his words out seductively, pressing down on where your walls bulge against your pulsing naval. 

You squeal at the overstimulation of him physically pressing your cunt down onto his cock that still spears in and out of you wildly. Sylus removes his hand to press it against your lips, his index and middle fingers slipping into your lips that are still parted mid-scream. 

His digits press down on your tongue, faintly tasting like his expensive body wash, “Shhh, Y/N. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear, hm?”

You whine. Truth be told, the imminent danger behind his words only gets you more and more excited, closer to the edge. His forceful fingers toying with your tongue only fueled your filthy desires more, and your body reacts just as eagerly. 

Sylus bits the inside of his cheek, swearing as your tight walls convulse tightly onto him. Your pussy unknowingly constricts the thick throbbing veins that press of his erection, pressed snugly into your sweetest spots. 

“Ah, my sweet girl is so filthy. Did you like that? Like the idea of someone watching me fuck you dumb?”

His condescending words have you shaking your head, still hanging on to your slim shred of dignity. Sylus chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.

“You can’t lie to me, little bird. I can feel the truth.”

“F-feels s-ooo good,” you admit, throwing all embarrassment to the wind. Sylus swears at how adorably muffled your words are against his fingers, how your eyes are hooded with pleasure as they watch him dreamily. The adoration in your stare was so palpable, hearts nearly reflected in your eyes. His knees buckle as he admires your beautiful face, so angelically fucked out that it ruined him. 

Sylus shifts you into his single arm once more. He could easily keep you secured in the air with his Evol for hours yet, but at this moment he wants nothing more than to be as close to you as possible. He wraps one of your arms around his neck, intertwining his fingers with your other hand.

“Hold on tight, my love,” he rasps against your collar, bringing your intertwined fingers above your hand and against the wall for leverage. His thrusts take on an unprecedented intensity, the globes of your ass slapping against the wall in loud, filthy, and wet paps. His vigor makes it easy for him to hammer into your g-spot at every thrust, having you reaching the summit of your orgasm all too quickly. 

“Sy-Sylus! I-I’m so close,” you wail, fingers desperately clutching his, other hand digging into the back of his neck.

Sylus is close too, weeks of pent up emotion and need brimming to the point of boiling over. The only thing keeping him sane is the grip he has on your hand.

“Need to cum in you,” he hisses, driving into you harder as he nears his peak, “Need to breed you so full of my cum, hm?” 

You nod eagerly at his filthy words, clutching onto him for dear life, “I’m c-cum—“ 

Sylus cuts you off, smashing his lips into yours. It must’ve been a sight to behold, the way Sylus had you locked in a passionate kiss, his hand holding yours above your head, his body pushing you up against the wall, pelvis wet from your arousal as his silver hair brushes repeatedly against your clit.

It was all enough to have you finally releasing all over his defined abdomen. You squirt against his stomach, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue claims your very breath. Your climax is powerful, mind-numbing, and utterly explosive. 

Sylus huffs in pleasure as he feels your dripping thighs slapping against him, his own orgasm imminent. Your cunt continues to throb in the afterglow of your climax, wringing tightly against his violent ruts.

Finally, he climaxes inside you, moaning wildly into your mouth as he continues to devour you,  thrusting through the intense waves of pleasure. His abdomen trembles, involuntary quivers wracking his body as rope after rope of his thick seed pours into you.  

His lips pull away and he leans his forehead against yours, his entire body still quivering with waves of the intense overstimulation. His chest heaves violently with the pounding of his rapid heartbeat, his fingers still tied to yours, tracing gentle shapes in your tingling skin. 

Sylus chuckles, the sound gentle and warm and the vibrations reverberating onto your own body as he clings to you still. 

His eyes glimmer with amusement, his fingers capturing your chin again and pulling it downward to where your bodies remain connected. His voice is tender and mischievous, “It’s just like you to make such a mess when you’ve already used up all the water.”

You blush furiously when met with the image of your bodies, fit against each other together like puzzle pieces, glimmering with a wet sheen that was definitely not water. Your red satin nightdress had ridden up, the lace embroidering of the hem soaked. The argent dusting of hair on Sylus’s pelvis was matted in both your arousals. It was an absolutely sinful sight. 

“P-put me down!” you hiss, tapping his chest, “We have to find a way to clean this up.” 

Sylus raises his eyebrow at you, “Sweetheart, the only thing keeping the mess inside is my co–” 

Your hands come together to cover his mouth, “Don’t say another word.”

Sylus chuckles into your hand, his breath warm and tickling You feel a sharp, but gentle, nip.

“Hey! Don’t bite m–OW!”

—--

The night air is brisk, sounds of ancient handbells ringing out softly as the dark sky twinkles with distant stars. A nearby bonfire rages, the sound of crackling of wood mixing with the distant chime of bells. And yet, it’s Sylus’s large body holding yours that keeps you warm against the gentle night breeze of the desert. 

The hammock the two of you cuddle in swings lazily, Sylus’s fingers languidly stroking your hair as he tells you myths of the Gods and humans that once resided in this very valley. 

“What about your world? What was your life like as a kid?”

Sylus is still as his body cradles your own, his fingers crushing the blossoms that had fallen into his palm. He hesitates for a second before saying, “Nothing special. I struggled to survive.”

Your heart clenches painfully at his words. His voice is nonchalant, yet something about his words is melancholic. Eerily wistful. 

“I never imagined that one day, we’d be sitting in a place like this. Having discussions about the world,” you whisper.

You look up to catch Sylus staring at you. For a brief second, you catch the emotions in his eyes. They’re desperate, pleading with yours. For what, you’re unsure. He quickly blinks, the cerise orbs returning to their natural state.

“Do you think we’re talking about the same world?” His voice is unbearably gentle, his words confusingly cryptic, as if edged with a double meaning that you can’t quite grasp.

“I’m not sure,” you confess softly.

There’s a brief moment of silence. You continue, “Today is when people give flowers to each other in Linkon, but…”  Your voice trails off. You gently dust off the fallen petals that’d landed on his shoulder, hand reaching to brush over his heart as you pick up a branch of the delicate flowers off his abdomen.. 

“Could those flowers bloom in this kind of soil?” You ponder aloud, holding the cluster of fallen and wilting blossoms, so different from the vibrant and thriving ones you’re familiar with in Linkon.

You glance up at Sylus again. The shadows of the palm trees above you obscure one side of his face, the other half haloed by the soft glow of the moonlight. He looks threateningly ethereal. The pools of carmine in his eyes glow as they search yours. Like earlier, they glimmer with inexplicable emotions that seem to plead with yours. Begging you for…something.

But he doesn’t speak, instead taking the cluster of wilted blossoms from your fingers. He twirls them in his fingertips, inspecting them carefully. He strokes the browning petals, a strange look of nostalgia flickering across his face. 

You don’t understand, but you reach out for his hand, squeezing his fingers in yours. He squeezes you back, still looking mournfully at the flowers in his fingertips, almost as if remembering a painful memory. 

Finally, Sylus turns to you. His smile is devastatingly beautiful and tragic all at once, his finger moving to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ear.  His piercing red eyes bore straight into your soul, the faint luminosity of his Aether core beating behind them.

“I’ve seen far more beautiful flowers bloom in this desert.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part one!

FEEL SO CLOSE

[next chapter]

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

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You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, “No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He sits on the front steps and glances over his shoulder when the door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he���d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacriliege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you ever last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]