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codfxrn-blog · 3 days ago

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INHALE; RHETT ABBOTT

I’m sorry, English is not my first language.

━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━

There was something very natural about having Rhett Abbott in her home. As natural as breathing. Like the smell of coffee in the morning or the sound of the blinds swaying when the wind sneaked through the window. His presence had become part of the place.

Over the years, their friendship had been cemented by stories, by comfortable silences, and glances held too long. And then, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, they had become… that. Lovers, intensely passionate.With all the messy order that implied.

He came whenever he wanted. Sometimes with ranch dust on his jeans, other times with his soul tied in knots after a fight with his father, or after failing to win the rodeo competition. And she, as always, opened the door without asking. Though lately, he didn’t even knock anymore. He knew the door would be open. It always was.

That afternoon, Rhett had finished work early at the ranch. He helped his father fence a new section of the land, and even though he was tired, his steps led him automatically to her house.As always, he didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open and walked in. The sound of the TV came from the living room, a soft, feminine voice speaking about conscious breathing and stretching.

As he walked down the hallway, he stopped at the wall—the space that connected the corridor to the living room—like a frame where she was the painting.And there she was.

She was in the middle of the room, the yoga mat stretched out, practicing. Her feet grounded, hips raised, her body forming a perfect inverted V. The tight athletic wear clung to her like a second skin, revealing every line, every curve. Every inch.Rhett leaned against the doorway, crooked smile on his lips, a wooden toothpick between his teeth. He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched her. Like she was his favorite show.

“Doing yoga to destress?” he asked suddenly, his voice rough, almost a growl.

She lost her balance.

Her foot slipped. Her hips lowered. Her arm trembled. She didn’t fall, but the jolt was obvious.

“Your mom recommended it,” she said with a sigh, trying to recover her posture.

Rhett laughed. A low, warm sound. He crossed his arms.

“How sweet—trying to win over your mother-in-law,” he teased, mischievously.

They had never put a name to what they were. They weren’t a couple, not officially. Just lovers who turned to each other when they needed it.She tensed. He noticed immediately.

So he upped the stakes.

“If you wanted to relax, you could’ve asked, darling. You know I’m available for you.”

She didn’t answer. She simply stretched her body forward, as if the pose could neutralize the fire rising in her neck. As if ignoring him would be enough.

Rhett walked over to the couch and dropped onto it with a sigh. But the view… God. The view in front of him seemed like a gift made only for his eyes. Her hips swayed with every movement. The tight clothes left nothing to the imagination.

The curve of her ass, firm and high, held him captive.Rhett bit his lip, hard. Tried to look away. Think about anything else.

It didn’t work.

He sighed. An involuntary, loaded breath. Uncomfortable.

She heard it. Didn’t look at him, but that sound tattooed itself on her skin. Like a note vibrating in her chest.

“Why don’t you come try it?” she said suddenly, without turning, voice neutral.

She could see him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her, not even trying to hide it.Rhett huffed, but stood up. Walked awkwardly to the mat. Stood behind her and, with very little grace, tried to mimic the movements.

But his body was unstable. He wobbled. It was like watching a colt try to dance ballet.

And then, it happened.Clumsy. Intentional. Perfect.

He lost his balance. Fell onto her. She lost hers too. The world spun for a second, and the next they were on the floor, tangled up. His back cushioned the fall, she on top, panting from the impact.

“I think I’ve got better poses to show you,” he said, voice broken by their closeness.

She settled into his lap, not pulling away. Moved subtly, slowly, provocatively.

A mischievous smile curved her lips.

Rhett groaned. Soft, restrained.

“Maybe I want you to show me,” she whispered, before leaning in for his lips.

The kiss was a jolt.Heat, humidity, and pent-up desire.

Their mouths sought each other slowly at first, as if trying to memorize every corner. But soon it turned urgent. Voracious.

Rhett’s hands slid up her back, tracing her spine like he was claiming territory. She arched, settling better into his lap. Her hips began to move, wordless, without instruction.

The heat between them was blistering.

“God…” he whispered, barely holding back. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

But she did. She felt it in every reaction of his body, in how his fingers dug into her waist, in how his legs trembled. She dropped kisses to his neck, gently biting. Rhett closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling, caught in a spasm of restrained desire.

She teased him with slow movements, syncing with the rhythm of her breath—the same calm she used for yoga. But this time, every movement left Rhett breathless.

Their bodies were so close they felt like one. Clothes became a nuisance. The floor, an ally.His hands explored her thighs, her ribs, the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric. She gasped, trembling beneath Rhett’s expert touch. His mouth moved down her clavicle, every kiss lighting a fire, deeper, rawer.

“Tell me this isn’t just a game,” she murmured, voice shaky, just as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Rhett looked at her. Serious. Intense.

“It never was.”

And there, on that mat, among whispers, breathless gasps, and eyes full of truth, all the rules disappeared.

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were fixed on his, and without needing to speak, something in her chest tightened—as if all the confidence she’d had straddling him vanished in an instant. Because “it never was” sounded too honest. Too final.

“Rhett…” she began, barely a whisper.

But he didn’t let her doubt.

One of his hands cupped her face tenderly, fingers tracing her jawline. His other hand remained firm on her back, anchoring her to him.

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, in that raspy voice made just for her.

Then he kissed her again.

But this time, it was different. No urgency. No wild desire. It was slow, deep—like he was asking her for something he didn’t know how to put into words.

And she gave it to him.

Because anything else would have been a lie.The room seemed to pause. Outside, the world went on—horses grazing, cars passing on the dusty road… but inside that house, on that mat, it was just them.Her breath was soft, warm, pressed against his neck. Rhett slid his hand beneath her sports bra, fingers slow, exploratory—like he was trying to memorize her with every touch. There was no rush. None. As if they both knew that this time… there was no turning back.When she arched and her chest met his hands, her body shivered in a new way. His fingers trembled on her skin. He touched her like he wasn’t sure he had the right—but couldn’t help it anyway. Every part of her responded to him with a mix of fire and vulnerability.

Then he whispered against her ear:

“I never wanted this to be just physical… but I told you with my hands, not my mouth.”

Those words landed heavy between them.

She pulled back slightly. Not to flee, but to see him. Really see him. His face. Those eyes that always seemed somewhere else but now were only on her.

“And what is it now, Rhett?”

He didn’t answer right away. Swallowed hard, like something huge was stuck in his chest.

“Now it’s everything,” he said. Low. Almost a confession.She nodded.And leaned down again, slowly, until she was on top of him once more.The movements returned—gentle, synchronized. This time, they weren’t bodies seeking relief. They were two people giving themselves to each other with overwhelming honesty. Every breath meant something. Every brush, every gasp, every held-back moan… was a declaration.

Rhett traced her waist with his lips, descending with slow kisses and a devotion that felt religious. She tangled her fingers in his hair, guiding, not demanding. He knew where to go. When to stop. When to rise again and kiss her sternum, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

The sound of their breathing filled the room.When she closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders, Rhett stilled. Watching her. As if that moment, that expression on her face, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re mine, do you know that?” he said with a hoarse voice, that blend of desire and tenderness impossible to resist. She opened her eyes.

Didn’t say *yes*. She didn’t have to. Because she already was.

And she showed it—with a slow roll of her hips, with a breath-stealing kiss, with a whisper against his lips:

“And you’re mine, Abbott.”

Later, when everything had calmed, when their sweaty bodies lay tangled on the mat, she nestled into his chest. Her fingers drew invisible shapes on his skin, like tracing something she couldn’t say out loud.

“You think your mom would recommend this for stress relief too?” she murmured with a teasing smile.

Rhett let out a low laugh, one that came from deep in his belly.

“I don’t know. But I’m not telling her it was her yoga that got me to pin you to the floor and—”

“Shhh…” she interrupted, laughing. “Leave it at that. The session worked.”

He glanced at her sideways and, without thinking, kissed her forehead.

“Guess I’ll have to come every day then.”

“As if you don’t already,” she teased.But this time, the joke held something more. A promise. An unspoken truth.

Rhett stayed silent, stroking her bare arm. The world could keep spinning, but for now, it was enough to stay there. With her. In that house that was no longer just hers, that had become intimately theirs.

The sunlight was what woke her.

The rays slipped unfiltered through the curtainless window, casting warm lines across the carpet, the bed, her face. She frowned, annoyed. She’d forgotten to close the drapes the night before. Instinctively, she moved her leg to get up, to stretch her arm and chase sleep back into the shadows.

But she couldn’t.

A warm, firm weight held her by the waist. An arm. Heavy. Strong. Trapping her with a gesture as intimate as it was unusual.It took her a few seconds to process it.

Rhett Abbott hadn’t left.It didn’t exactly surprise her… not really. But it did throw her off. Because he always left before dawn. Always.With the first light of day, he was already back at the ranch, buried in horses, dust, and his father’s voice. She had gotten used to that. To the silent emptiness in the bed. To the cold sheets beside her.

But this morning was different.

Rhett murmured something unintelligible against the curve of her neck, still asleep. Then, as if she were his favorite pillow, he curled closer, inhaling deeply, burying his face into her skin.She stayed still. Tense. Her heart pounding.

Why had he stayed?

She didn’t dare move, as if any motion might shatter that fragile moment—this small miracle of stolen intimacy.

Minutes passed. Long. Warm.And then he stirred.His breathing changed first. Deeper. More aware. Then his fingers. They traced her shoulder lazily, sliding down her bare arm with a reverent rhythm. Until his lips found her skin—a soft, warm kiss right in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

“Are you awake?” he asked with a raspy voice, still heavy with sleep and lingering desire.

She didn’t answer. Kept facing the window, pretending to sleep. But he knew.

He knew the moment his hand slid a bit lower. And when he touched her waist and pulled her closer, the reaction was instant. A faint moan escaped her lips. Just a whisper.

But he heard it.

“Sun’s barely up and you’re already this wet,” he murmured teasingly, pressing his body against hers.

His arousal had awakened. She felt it against her backside—hard, present. A wordless declaration. Her hips arched instinctively, and he took the opportunity to slide the sheets lower, slow and deliberate.

She still didn’t speak, but her body said everything.

Rhett kissed her neck, then her collarbone. His tongue traced a path toward the center of her chest, every caress sparking immediate reaction. She arched into him, still pretending to be asleep, but there was no doubt anymore.He moved lower, attentive to every inch, to every quiet moan she released as if it belonged to him. When his lips captured one of her breasts, she stopped pretending. Slowly, she turned to face him.Their eyes met. He looked at her like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“Good morning...” she said with a weak smile, already surrendered.

“The best one ever,” he replied, before kissing her softly.

And then he melted into her.With delicious slowness.

With the tenderness of someone who knows that body isn’t just about desire—it’s a sanctuary.

The movements were soft, rhythmic, intimate. There was no rush, only connection. Every sigh between them was like an unspoken word. Every gasp, a silent confession. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him closer, and he held her tight, as if he never wanted to let go again.

Pleasure came slowly, built with glances, touches, and staggered breaths. When they climaxed together, they did so in silence. Only the faint creak of the mattress and their racing heartbeats filled the air.

And afterward, the world seemed to stop.She traced her fingers through his hair. Rhett buried his face in her chest. They were tangled, naked, sweaty, and yet… it was the calmest she’d felt in a long time.

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asked after a while, her voice soft.

Rhett lifted his gaze. Rested his forehead against hers.

“Because for the first time… I didn’t want the sun to rise without you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was beautiful.

A silence that said everything.

She smiled.

And then she knew:

They weren’t what they used to be.

And maybe—just maybe…

Now they were ready to become what they never dared to name.

#lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x y/n #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #lewis pullman smut

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vaginalvr · 13 hours ago

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Hi love!!

I was wondering if you were able to a breeding!kink Spencer. Like say reader had their first baby 2yrs ago and Spencer wants another and reader wants another cause they both miss the part at the beginning when they’re a newborn and watching them go from crawling to walking and stuff like that. Basically, reader goes in to check on their little girl and she’s asleep then Spencer comes home from work and sees you watching her. He then fucks reader up against the hallway wall and then after he finishes inside her, their little one starts crying and Spencer tells reader to go put her legs up and he’ll take care of the little one.

Sorry I know that was a lot but I saw that you like specific things with requests so wanted to throw some ideas in there lol. Thank you!!

content warning: Breeding kink, wall sex, creampie, established relationship, parenthood, praise, soft dom!Spencer, emotional intimacy, slight overstimulation.

a/n: this almosttttttt makes me want kids!!!

word count ~ 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You barely had time to close the bedroom door behind you before Spencer caught your wrist.

"Where are you going?" he asked, voice low and edged with something darker than usual.

You blinked up at him. “Just putting the laundry in the hamper.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked down your body, the thin cotton of your sleep shirt clinging to your curves. He stepped into your space, his grip tightening on your wrist, and the soft exhale from his nose told you everything.

“You can't walk around like that,” he murmured. “Not when you look like… this.”

You smirked, but your breath caught as he backed you up against the hallway wall. He pressed a hand beside your head, his other already sliding beneath your shirt. His fingers dragged over your stomach, tracing the faint stretch marks left by the child you’d had two years ago—his daughter.

Spencer’s touch slowed there.

“You looked so beautiful when you were pregnant,” he whispered, voice husky now, heat rising with every word. “So full. So mine.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know his pupils were blown wide. That familiar, obsessive desire—the one that came out in rare flashes—was glowing behind his eyes.

“Spencer,” you warned, already breathless.

He pressed his lips to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. “You still want another.”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe.”

“You said maybe last time,” he muttered against your skin. “And then you let me come inside you for a week straight.”

Your knees wobbled. “We were ovulating.”

He huffed a laugh, dark and knowing. “Exactly.”

He kissed you hard then, hand sliding up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between long fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand yanked your panties down with practiced ease.

He wasn’t being gentle, not tonight.

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked when our daughter was holding that baby at JJ’s party?” he growled. “You were glowing.”

“Spencer—” you gasped, but it turned into a whimper when he ground his hips into yours. You could already feel the thick bulge straining in his sweatpants.

He shoved your leg up, holding it around his hip as he reached down to free himself. No teasing. No prep. Just raw, desperate hunger.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thump as he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out, hand slapping against the wall for balance. Spencer grunted, forehead falling against yours, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered into his mouth as he set a punishing pace, thrusting deep, his body pinning yours against the wall like you weighed nothing. The sheer force of it—the tension, the heat, the sound of skin on skin—made your head spin.

His grip on your thigh was bruising. His free hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing tight circles over your clit, like he couldn’t stand to have you anywhere but completely undone beneath him.

“You want it again, don’t you?” he rasped. “Want me to fill you up, fuck another baby into you.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned deep in his chest.

“I’ll do it,” he growled. “I’ll make you mine all over again.”

“Spencer—fuck—don’t stop,” you begged.

“You’re gonna take it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Every drop.”

Your orgasm hit you like a wave crashing through your chest, legs shaking, a moan caught in your throat as he kept going, pounding into you harder, faster.

Then Spencer’s breath hitched, and he slammed into you with a strangled moan, burying himself deep as his hips jerked and stilled. You felt the hot flood of him inside you, and it sent a second tremor through your body.

He stayed there, panting, his hand still on your thigh, still buried inside you.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the hallway filled only with your uneven breaths and the faint creak of the floorboards under your shifting weight.

Spencer kissed you softly now, nothing like the way he’d fucked you. His hand slid down to your belly, palm flat.

“I hope it takes,” he whispered.

You smiled, dazed. “You’re insane.”

“I just know what I want,” he murmured. “And it’s you. Full of me. Again.”

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x you

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fisherld3 · 2 days ago

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could you write melissa x reader where melissa struggles with her dyslexia and is insecure about it?

Between the Lines

Word Count: 3,150 words

Genre List: Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship,Insecurity,Emotional Intimacy and Slice of Life

Between the Lines

It started with a pile of papers on the coffee table.

You walked into Melissa’s apartment after a long Friday, grocery bag in hand, only to find her hunched over a stack of worksheets and printouts. Her brow was furrowed, red pen clutched tightly in one hand, her knuckles white.

“Hey, Mel.” You set the bag down and leaned over to kiss her cheek, but she barely looked up, mumbling a distracted hello.

You gave her space, unpacking the groceries and putting water on for tea. After ten minutes, though, you noticed the tension in her shoulders wasn’t letting up. Her jaw clenched, her fingers tapping nervously against the table. Every few moments, she would rub her eyes or scowl down at the page as if it had personally offended her.

Curious, you wandered over and gently touched her shoulder.

“Everything okay?”

Melissa stiffened slightly, then forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just… grading.”

But when you glanced at the papers, your heart sank. Her red marks stopped midway through sentences, her handwriting uneven. Some words were circled, others underlined—then scratched out. The page next to it had a few entire sections crossed off.

“Want me to help?” you offered softly.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I got it.”

But you could hear the edge in her voice.

You sat beside her anyway, resting a hand on her knee. “You’ve been at this for a while, huh?”

Melissa let out a breath. “Two hours. I keep… reading it wrong.” Her voice was tight, frustrated. “It’s like the words keep movin’ on me. I read one sentence three times and still couldn’t tell if it made sense.”

There it was.

She rarely talked about it, but you knew Melissa struggled with dyslexia. She’d learned tricks over the years—colored overlays, audiobooks, voice-to-text apps on her phone—but every now and then, it got to her. Nights like this left her spiraling into old insecurities she usually kept buried under layers of confidence and dry wit.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said gently.

Melissa gave a bitter little laugh. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve been teaching for how long? And I still can’t grade a damn paragraph without messing it up.”

“That’s not true,” you said, rubbing her knee. “You’re one of the best teachers I know. You care more than half the staff combined.”

“That don’t matter if I can’t do the work,” she muttered. Her shoulders slumped. “What kinda example is that? Strugglin’ through basic sentences? It’s embarrassing.”

Your chest ached. You hated seeing her like this—so hard on herself over something out of her control.

You reached over, gently tugging the red pen from her hand. “Melissa. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she turned, eyes dark with frustration and shame.

“You are not less of a teacher because you struggle with this. You are not less of a person.” You cupped her cheek. “And it’s not embarrassing. You work harder than anyone I know, and you still show up every day for those kids. That takes strength.”

She swallowed, her jaw working. “You don’t get it,” she whispered. “It makes me feel stupid. Like… every time I open a book, it’s this fight just to keep up. And some days, I just—” Her voice broke. “I hate it.”

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. Melissa buried her face in your neck, the tension in her body slowly melting as you held her.

“It’s okay to hate it sometimes,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t define you. And you don’t have to fight alone, okay? We can do this together.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can help you grade. We can find more tools, if you want. Whatever you need.”

For a long moment, Melissa stayed quiet, her fingers curling into your shirt.

Finally, she whispered, “I love you.”

You kissed her temple. “I love you too.”

Later that night, with her head resting on your shoulder, Melissa finally let you read through the stack of papers with her. Slowly, patiently, the two of you worked side by side, your hand resting over hers when her nerves flared.

And if she leaned into you a little more than usual, you didn’t say a word—just held her close between the lines.

⸻

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti fluff #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader

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scannainscanrula · 2 days ago

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i'll settle for the ghost of you

paddy mayne x reader (mdni)

"You are not Eoin. He is not Eoin either. But together you are two people who loved him very much. Even with him missing, you still care for each other."

author's note: haigh tumblrinas. first fic on here. (not beta read, feel free to point out any mistakes) just been watching sas:rh and jack oconnell is so killer as paddy mayne. i do respect that the character is queer, hope this is a happy medium (happy pride month from a humble lesbian)

warnings: grief, hand stuff mostly, both reader and paddy have been drinking so the consent is blurry

grma for reading let me know if yous want more

You stumble into your tent. You feel flushed and foolish. Paddy follows behind you, trudging along like an old dog. He calls it “tucking you in”, which just means sitting by your bedside and reciting his poetry for you. Sometimes you read something to him, or tell him a story about home. You do this often, but tonight you feel different. You’re like a telegraph machine, your body sending electric morse code signals from your fingers to your toes.

Tonight, you flirted with Kershaw and Riley– they reciprocated– but your eyes were on Paddy. Tonight you can only remember the way Eoin used to blush and grin at your compliments.

“Come to tuck me in?”

“Oh, you’re drunk, girl.”

Paddy never calls you girl to be demeaning. It’s almost affectionate, the way he says it. You know the men of the SAS care for you, but you’ve known Paddy longer. It was something like an older brother at first, but now you two are something else. Eoin was a lighthouse, and you are two lost ships at sea, passing each other in the night.

Bound to crash.

“I had one beer,” you argue.

You love to argue, and it was true. You only drank one beer. Paddy had snatched the second one from your hands and drank it himself.

“Aye, and a sip of rum.”

Or three, but who was counting?

You bite your lip, staring at him with a strange look on your face.

“Have you got somethin’ to say?”

You touch his face, tilting your head.

“You’re so sad.”

You would never say this sober. You would never approach him with so much emotion. You know he’s not like that, that he keeps his feelings close to the chest. He tries to shrug your hand off but you step closer. There is a centimeter of space between you.

“I want you,” you tell him.

“You don’t want me,” he refutes, shaking his head.

He’s right.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you admit honestly. “I wanted Eoin.”

You give him a different look. A knowing one.

“Paddy,” you breathe softly.

You are not Eoin. He is not Eoin either. But together you are two people who loved him very much. Even with him missing, you still care for each other.

“This ain’t how it works.”

“Just close your eyes.”

Your hand trails down his chest and a finger hooks in his shorts.

“Close your eyes, Paddy,” you whisper in his ear, kissing his cheek.

He moves further into the tent and leads you to your cot, taking a seat at the edge. You sit by his side on your knees, legs tucked to the side. He feels you pressing kisses to his jaw as your fingers undo the button and zipper at his waist. He’s felt your hands a thousand times, stitching cuts or bandaging wounds. It’s usually accompanied by muttered foul language, which would make him laugh. Deft fingers slip under his waistband and pull him out. He isn’t hard yet, which makes him look away.

“I can handle that.”

You hold out your hand.

“Spit.”

He looks at you and you raise your brows.

He spits onto your hand, rolling his eyes.

The whole thing feels useless.

Then you grip him. Not too tight, but not daintily. With the aid of the spit, you slide your hand down to the base of him and twist it up as you reach the head, the soft pad of your thumb swiping over his tip and making him flinch.

“There we go.”

“Fuck,” he grunts.

He’s hard now, cock twitching in your hand.

“Do you ever clean yourself?” you joke lightly, your head tucked into the crook of his neck.

He chuckles and groans, feeling your grip tighten.

“I’ll put it in my mouth if you wash up next time.”

Next time. The words rattle around in his head.

He puts a hand on your thigh and your eyes flick up.

“I know your hands are dirty too, and I’d really rather not deal with an infection in the middle of the desert,” you tell him earnestly.

You remember the night the lads left for Kabrit.

You sat perched next to Eoin on his cot, your ankles crossed demurely. You admired him. You loved Eoin. You loved his gentleness and his kindness, and the sweet smile that stayed on his face as he cradled your hand in his own, tracing the lines on your palm. It was almost more intimate than anything you could have been doing with your clothes off. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you saw him tracing his name.

E-O-I-N

“Marking your territory?”

“I’ll miss you,” he admitted, meeting your eyes.

Eoin was like a kicked puppy, his big brown eyes looked through you, right into that ugly part of your soul.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“You’ll miss Paddy more.”

“Only because I’ll have lost my attack dog.”

“You can handle yourself.”

“I know what I can handle, Eoin,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Please be careful.”

“I trust Paddy, and Stirling.”

“When you boys set up, they’ll come and fetch me.”

You smirked against the shell of his ear.

“And perhaps you and I can break in a cot.”

You stood up and he watched you leave. You passed Paddy at the outside of the tent.

“Give him somethin’ to remember?”

“Do I detect jealousy, Paddy?”

Paddy took a long drag off his cigarette.

“You fuckin’ wish, girl,” he said, his voice clouded by smoke.

You giggled at that. It made your face hot and your knees weak.

“You’re somehow more charming when you’re abrasive.”

You patted his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll miss you too, you Irish dog.”

Paddy can be a good dog.

Not allowed to touch you, he leans forward to give you a soft kiss. You smile against his mouth and lean into the kiss.

He kisses your jaw and neck, gently tugging your forward to sit on top of him.

“Your beard is so scratchy,” you giggle, continuing to stroke him as you settle on his muscular thigh.

The pressure is delicious, something you’ve been seeking. Your last encounter was a brief and sweaty affair with a lad you knew from home, just before they shipped you out to North Africa. You were meat in Cairo, just like every boy sent to die in the sand.

You gasp, a pretty little sound Paddy likes. He can’t deny you’re an attractive girl. Your spit-slick lips and your eyes sparkle in the low gas light of your tent.

“You go ahead ‘n just… take what you need, girl,” he tells you in a low voice.

You nod, lifting yourself up to grind down on his leg, taking a shaky breath as you do. The friction is something you’ve been desperate for, something your fingers can’t provide. And Paddy is a man, a real man who cares about you. Your stomach is a boiling pot and you can’t think of anything but your own pleasure. Your grip on Paddy’s cock loosens as you chase your release.

“Feels good?”

His voice snaps you back.

“I-I haven’t… since I’ve been in Africa…”

Paddy can halfway believe that. As lovely as you are, you’re a terrible insubordinate to the officers and you talk to soldiers like they’re dogs. It’s what made him like you so much in the first place.

You whimper as he puts a hand on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

You bite your lip and he feels something on his thigh. He glances down to see the wet fabric clinging to your cunt and a darkened spot on his shorts.

“I think you’re staining my shorts,” he teases.

Your face heats.

“I-I’m sorry, sh-should I stop?” you stammer.

“Nah, keep goin’,” he encourages.

You could die of embarrassment, but you’re so wet and it’s helping you slide along Paddy’s flexed thigh. The friction is what’s sparking the fire in your belly, but that uncomfortable drag was torture on your sensitive bud of nerves. The angle your hips stay at is tiring, and you’re longing for Paddy to grab them and do it for you.

You tremble, though your hand stays steady. You try to time your strokes with the rocking of your hips. You see Eoin’s sweet face, the little blush on his cheeks when you kissed him after two whiskeys. When Eoin had fallen asleep in your cot as Paddy spent another night in jail– this time he had knocked the tooth out of a sergeant who had grabbed at your arse. You’d crawled in next to him and woken up alone, finding him on the floor, stiff as a board.

Paddy can see you falling apart. He can see the way your eyes are focused on nothing and that you’ve drawn blood from your lip by biting it so hard. He can feel the gush of your wetness through his shorts. He wonders if you’re thinking about Eoin. He can remember the nights where they would linger in your tent too long, and Eoin would toss and turn in his cot dreaming about you.

Paddy wonders what it would’ve looked like for a gentle man like Eoin to please you. To fill you up the way you need and press nicely on that button. How lovingly you’d look up at him while he coaxed a climax with his fingers. Would he kiss your soft thighs as you trembled? Would confessions of love spill from your lips while he took you apart with his mouth?

He briefly wonders how a cruel man would treat you. He knows you love to fight, love to put men in their place, but maybe you’d like a man to do it to you. To have a man bend you over and smack your arse and call you a bitch.

You are a bitch, but you’re his, just like he’s your dog.

He grips your wrist, making you wince.

“Ow, Paddy-”

“Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he growls.

You nod feverishly, stroking him hard and fast as you rock your hips quickly.

“Oh- fuck, Paddy,” you grit, tucking your face into his neck.

The cable inside of you snaps. It feels like riding a truck in the desert, shaking and being tossed around. Every part of you is flaming, and you feel like you could cry.

Your back arches and you gasp, twitching against his thigh. You are crying, you realise, hot tears stream down your face. He feels another wave of wetness soak the fabric and jolts, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts.

He spills onto your hand and his own, and his vision goes white.

“Fuck,” he snarls, shaking head as his eyes squeeze shut.

You both breath for a moment, stuck as you are.

“Paddy, th-that hurts,” you croak, pushing at his hand on your wrist.

He releases his grip and you sniff.

“I think you bruised me…”

He holds your wrist up and kisses the little marks in the pattern of his grip.

“Sorry.”

You stand up on wobbling legs and grimace when you see the large wet spot you left. You cover your face with your clean hand.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

He admires you for a moment, flush-faced and panting. You’re mortified, but it’s very charming.

“I’m sure everyone heard that,” you lament, cleaning your hands in the water basin.

“They all think we’re fuckin’ anyway.”

You laugh at that, a low raspy sound. He cleans off too, adjusting himself in his shorts.

“Thank you,” you sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

“Better it’s me than any of the dumb cunts out there,” he jokes lightly.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

He kisses your head, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“Anytime, girl.”

“If you’d… like to do it again. You know where to find me,” you offer.

You sound too eager. He smiles at you anyway.

“I just might, Nurse. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Paddy.”

He gives your shoulder a squeeze before leaving your tent. You stumble back to your cot and lay back on it, sighing. You are utterly exhausted, embarrassed, fulfilled, and any other thing a girl in the middle of the desert in North Africa could be.

But you do feel loved, and Paddy's touch on your shoulder lingers a little longer than you think it will.

“Did you fuck our nurse, you Irish bastard?!” Stirling’s voice sounds from across the camp, muffled by the night wind.

You snicker to yourself and pull the blanket over your head.

#paddy mayne x reader #paddy mayne #jack o'connell #jack o'connell x reader #sas:rh #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes #rogue heroes #eoin mcgonigal #dónal finn #sas rh #sas rh fic

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velvetghoul · 18 hours ago

Text

Control Issue

✦ One-Shot

Reader x Toji Fushiguro x Shiu Kong | 18+ MDNI

cw: threesome (F/M/M), explicit sexual content, dominance, power-play, dirty talk, roughness, some slight jealousy/bratty tension between Shiu and Toji, possessiveness, mutual pleasure, really filthy

⸻

The room smelled like sweat, desire, and something far more dangerous—testosterone-laced tension thick enough to taste. Toji’s broad frame leaned against the headboard, legs spread like he owned the damn bed. His scarred chest glistened with a sheen of sweat, dark eyes lazily tracking the movements of the man beside him.

Shiu was clearly irritated—but it only made him prettier. His pale hair was a mess, his open dress shirt slipping off one shoulder, his lips shiny from your mouth and his tie looped around your wrist like a leash.

“You’re way too close to me,” Shiu snapped at Toji, scooting an inch away. “Personal space, ever heard of it?“

Toji gave a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled from deep in his chest. “Aw, what’s wrong? Worried I’ll bite?”

“You do bite.” Shiu sniffed, pouting. “And I’m not into gorillas getting grabby when I’m trying to focus.”

You, still straddling Shiu’s lap, ground your hips deliberately down. He choked on his words.

“You’re both pathetic,” you said smoothly, voice like a knife dipped in honey. “Two grown men arguing like kids while I’m the one doing all the work.”

Toji’s lip curled into a smirk. “Then shut us up, sweetheart. Make us behave.”

You tugged Shiu’s tie tighter around your wrist, yanking his face closer until his breath hit your lips.

“Don’t tempt me,” you murmured, and kissed him hard.

Shiu moaned into your mouth, his bratty tension instantly melting into need. His hands found your thighs, squeezing like he was desperate to hold on. He was always mouthy until you had him under you—until he was dizzy, breathless, and begging.

Toji, still watching, reached out without asking. One hand on your hip, the other slid between Shiu’s legs, gripping the base of his cock through his slacks.

Shiu flinched. “Hey—! Touch me again like that and—”

“What?” Toji rumbled, voice low and sharp. “You’ll whine louder?”

He squeezed harder.

You ground down between the both of them, your body pressing into Shiu’s chest while Toji pulled your hips back just enough to feel the friction. Heat bloomed in your belly, the air around you practically crackling.

“You both want to fuck me,” you said coolly, voice thick with control, “but I’m the one calling the shots tonight. If either of you gets needy, I’ll edge you into next week. Understand?”

Toji’s laugh was low and approving. Shiu looked up at you like you’d just stepped on his pride and he liked it.

“Then move,” you said, getting off Shiu and pushing his shoulders down so he lay back on the bed, eyes dazed. His open shirt framed his torso beautifully, and you dragged your nails down the center of it, marking his skin just to hear him hiss.

Toji came up behind you, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to face him. His eyes were hooded, half-lidded with arousal.

“You sure you can handle both of us, princess?” he growled against your mouth, biting your lower lip just enough to sting.

“Don’t doubt me,” you hissed back, biting him right back, harder.

Toji’s grin spread. “Good girl.”

Then his hands were on you—spreading you open, lifting you onto Shiu’s cock, pushing him deep into you while you moaned sharply at the stretch. Shiu groaned like he’d just touched heaven.

“Shit—fuck—” he gasped, hands immediately gripping your waist. “God, you’re tight. I—”

“You talk too much,” you muttered, grabbing his chin and making him look at you. “Be useful.”

Toji didn’t wait. He was behind you instantly, hot skin pressed to your back, cock grinding between your thighs as he watched you ride Shiu like you owned him. His hand slid around to your throat, gently holding, just enough to make your head fall back against him.

“She’s fucking you so good, huh?” Toji murmured against your ear, voice heavy and dark. “Already trembling and she hasn’t even started moving.”

Shiu tried to sass him back, but your hips dropped down with force, taking him fully, and he choked on his own breath. You bounced again, harder, building rhythm and punishing him for every complaint.

“You still gonna complain, Kong?” you asked, biting into his shoulder. “Still mad he’s too close?”

Shiu whimpered. “I-I didn’t say I didn’t like it—fuck—”

Toji licked a stripe up your neck, cock now fully hard against your ass. “Bet he loves it. Little brat likes pretending he’s not needy.“

You rolled your hips again, gasping as you felt Shiu’s cock drag inside you just right. He was long, smooth, and now twitching inside you with every moan you forced out of him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging it back, watching his pupils dilate.

Behind you, Toji wasn’t patient anymore. He spat into his hand, lined himself up, and with one deep push, he sank into your ass.

The breath punched out of you. Shiu moaned under you at the feeling of being pressed tighter, sandwiched between both men.

“Fuuuck,” Toji growled. “So damn tight. You take us both like a fuckin’ dream, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your body felt like it was going to split apart with how full you were—one cock deep inside your pussy, another stretching you open behind, both men groaning in chorus at the feel of you.

But you weren’t done being in control.

You started to move. Slow at first, then faster, grinding your hips in tight, brutal circles that made both men curse.

“Ride us,” Toji growled, his hands on your hips, slamming you back down with every thrust.

You did.

You fucked them like you had something to prove—like it was war, and the only weapon was your body.

Shiu was gasping, legs trembling under you. “I-I’m not gonna last—fuck, don’t stop, please—”

Toji bent you lower, his hand tangling in your hair as he pounded into you from behind, unrelenting. “Yeah, beg for it, pretty boy.”

You bit Shiu’s throat. “Come if you want—but you’re still gonna eat me out after. Got it?”

Shiu nearly sobbed. “Yes—fuck—yes—”

His cock pulsed inside you, and with one more brutal grind, you milked him through his orgasm, felt his hot release spill deep inside you as his hands clawed at your thighs, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

Toji wasn’t done.

He grabbed your hips and started fucking into you harder—animalistic now, loud, wet sounds echoing in the room as your breath hitched and your eyes rolled back.

“You gonna break on me now?” he snarled in your ear, biting your shoulder. “You gave all your attitude earlier—where’s that mouth now?”

You turned your head, bit his lip, and growled, “I’m gonna come all over you, sir.”

He snapped.

One hard thrust—then another—and you detonated.

Your whole body shuddered with the force of your orgasm, white-hot pleasure ricocheting through you like electricity, your moans messy and unfiltered. You clenched around both men like you were trying to keep them inside forever.

Toji came with a growl, hips jerking, teeth gritted as he emptied himself inside you, possessive and raw. His hands held you so tight you knew you’d bruise.

And when it was over, you all collapsed.

You slid off Shiu, still trembling, your legs like jelly. Toji caught you before you fell, pulling you against his chest like it was instinct.

Shiu flopped back on the sheets, shirt fully off now, hair wild, lips swollen.

“You both… are insane,” he muttered, chest heaving. “Also… that was the best sex I’ve had in years.”

You crawled over to him, straddled his chest, and looked down at his flushed face.

“You still mad Toji touched you?” you asked sweetly.

Shiu gave a dramatic sigh. “Only a little.”

Toji smirked. “Wanna go again?”

Shiu groaned. “God. Fine. But I get to be in the middle this time.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

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nanamis-bigtie · 2 days ago

Text

sandwich served hot

↬ kusakabe & nanami x gn afab!reader ↬ masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, reader has a vagina (no excessive body descriptions), open relationship, workplace situationship, threesome, alcohol consumption, oral sex, rimming, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, reader has pubes, reader is a bottom, everyone involved is bi because i said so ❤ summary: with over ten years of married experience, you thought your experiments with open relationship aren't needed anymore for maintaining your meticulously built balance. but one night a hot coworker sneaks himself in between your gears word count: 2.4k a/n: repost from the old account. divider by saradika

Your over ten years long marriage with Atsuya could only be described as a winning streak. Successful business you've been running together for almost as long as you've worn your rings, comfortable and modern apartment with enough space for you both and your hobbies, wide acquaintanceship and circle of friends, supporting families, trips abroad every year, and no crumb of complications as far as your eyes could reach. It required some sacrifices at the beginning, but your hard work has paid off. You're like inextricable puzzles, soulmates, perfect halves of one heart, so welded that you're sharing everything and even more—from your goals and ideals, through your kinks and fantasies, to the flings you've picked up along the way.

The core of your relationship is its flexibility. Leading busy lives and often apart for weeks, you had decided to open it long before you decided to tie the knot. Both of you had your hesitations but the experience only proved your idea right. It filled the cracks and pulled you together where the ties seemed to loosen, your love only grew stronger and lust for each other bloomed like crazy. Neither of your side quests remained solo for long, your lovers of all genders eventually found their way to your shared bedroom and stayed, some for one night only, some for years.

No one stayed forever, though. Maybe the fire of love between you two was too strong and burnt anyone who tried to approach. Maybe in the end you weren't as open as you thought, unintentionally pushing your other lovers aside. Maybe you just never loved either of them and your shared relationships were filled only with lust. Eventually, even if neither of you declared your union closed again, you stopped looking and opening the doors for guests. There were only the two of you again, loving each other as strong as ever, and happy in your tight embrace.

Well, until Kento Nanami happened and slipped between the cracks you didn't bother to cover on the way.

He's your accountant, the best your company has had thus far. He's smart and handsome, professional to a fault and maybe a little too stiff and formal—or so you thought before you learnt it's a meticulously built mask, protecting a little awkward and shy self. And he's one hundred percent in your type, for both you and Atsuya, driving you crazy at any given opportunity, even if most likely unawares.

That’s what you thought, until he finally accepted the invitation to join you and a few of your other employees for an official trip. Closeness has scraped the guise off, liquor has loosened scruples, and on your free day, the last night before you return, Kento is all over you in your shared bedroom, eagerly sucking your tongue as Atsuya locks the door behind your backs.

You're not drunk, just a little tipsy, the tangy aftertaste of wine barely palpable between heated kisses. It's a nice balance between oblivion and controlled madness, a perfect state to shed your clothes and succumb to what your bodies have been craving for weeks, if not months. Kento's arms wrap around you just right , a bit protective, a bit possessive, almost as strong as Atsuya's and no less ravenous. His lips are still a little clumsy, still seeking and discovering, but attentive, and by the time he finally herds you to the bed, he's already stealing your breath properly—not like a fling but a lover with history.

As soon as you sit on the edge of the mattress, Kento kneels between your legs, leaving you no doubt he's interested the most in quite different kisses. Leaning back, you let him peel your pants and undergarments out of the way. He presses his open, hungry mouth to your calves and thighs, leaving a wet trail leading straight to the simmering heat between them. He's worked hard for it with his lips and tongue, with his hands groping your sensitive spots just as Atsuya guided him, and doesn't intend to let it die too soon. He wastes only as little time as needed to take a look at your wide-spread cunt and slide his glasses off before he dives for it, deep and voraciously, so contrastive to his usually collected demeanor.

Meanwhile, Atsuya joins you on the bed, sneaks behind your back and guides you to lean against him. He helps you peel off your top of what Kento missed on his way and peppers your neck with kisses and loving nibbles. Your eyes half closed in pleasure, you can't see his expression, but you know he watches intently , he always does, the only pleasure greater for him than eating you out himself.

One hand groping and playing with your nipples, he guides you to sink fingers into Kento's soft locks. You follow without demur, your other hand reaching to thread through your husband's hair, encouraging them both to let the brakes go. Kento groans into your cunt, tongue lapping your juices and teasing your clit, as if asking for permission to suck it, while impatiently rubbing his whole face against your folds.

"Look at him, so eager." Atsuya chuckles under your ear, then latches on the well-known spot to suck a hickey. It's harsh, a bit too rough even, deliciously contrasting with still uncertain attention given to your pussy.

Your moans encourage him though, and soon the man between your legs is not as docile. He forces your legs more open, resting them against his broad shoulders, and sucks as if his life depended on it. His face is engulfed by your sex and pubes, eyes half closed in pleasure, yet relentlessly looking for contact with yours.

You grant it to him as your hands give more attention to your husband. You feel and paw his length through his pants, pulsing and begging for your touch. You're not freeing him yet, enjoying its rapid growth despite the tight confinement and Atsuya's guttural groans slipping between one and the other hickey. There's frustration in his pleasure, you pick its gentle timbre with ease—and you know it's not the lack of your attention that's at fault.

You nudge Kento's back with your foot, forcing him to pull away. His face is almost scarlet red, smeared with your juices; he looks at you puzzled and displeased for being torn away from his treat so abruptly.

"A little position change," you motion him to climb the mattress as well.

Three pairs of hands strip him of clothes, both you and Atsuya stare shamelessly at his cock, fat and throbbing, leaking precum just from tasting your sex. You move towards the head of the bed, leaving more place for both men to fit their tall bodies snug. No word is exchanged but Kento learns fast; he lies on side, cheek against one of your open thighs, exposing his cock to your husband. He doesn't wait any longer though, back to his treat in no time, almost ignoring Atsuya until he's stripped too and fits between the two of you, lips soon wrapped around Kento's cock.

Kento groans but his lips don't lose momentum, just the soft rumble of his voice resonates with your body, having you mewl in pleasure too. You thread fingers through his hair again, the other hand lazily stroking your husband. His dick looks delicious in its throbbing, veiny glory, but you want the both of them to hear you and your pleasure without any restriction. You're not shying away from your voice, with little care for not so thick hotel room walls, appreciating both the work of Kento's tongue and the delicious views. You can't peel your eyes away from Atsuya, of his lips wrapped tight around Kento's cock, of his head bobbing steadily as he sucks him off, off drool dropping down his chin. You're itching to lean close and lick it clean, but you would only disturb the configuration, so you're patient and selfish instead, leaving all the work to your hand and letting the warmth radiating from your core to swallow you.

"Wanna have a taste?" It's Atsuya who ruins the status quo first, speaking to you with his lips still connected to cock with a thick string of saliva. You sit straight, for a moment forgetting about the other lover lost in sauce between your thighs, ignoring his displeased groan for the sake of your husband's tongue slipping into your mouth. It's bitter, you easily distinct a different flavor and suck it in until it's melting and mixing with drool shared between the two of you.

Kento doesn't intend to lose the fight for your attention, soon pressing flush against your side and nipping at your neck. He follows the trail of hickeys Atsuya left, his hands groping with great impatience and almost sadistic precision. Meticulous at work, meticulous in bed, he doesn't shy away even for a moment, until he's successfully stolen you from Atsuya's embrace straight into his.

You're pulled on top of him, your lips busy again as he's wrapping his arms tight around you in a moment of selfishness. Not the first lover who tries to dominate the field in the heat of the moment, the first stubborn enough to react to Atsuya's touch with a growl at first, before he thinks better of it and lets him do his job, even helps him to guide your hips higher.

"You want..." Kento's voice is low, husky, ragged with breath. He needs to take a break between every word, fighting against the urge to mewl as you stroke his cock, using the gap in his attack on your behalf. "You want both of us?"

"That's the goal here."

You're grateful for Kento's little possessive strike prompting him to hold you so hard. You don't have to fight against pleasure for the sake of your legs holding the right angle. He keeps it for you as Atsuya spits on your asshole, slowly pushing his drool in with a thumb before he leans close and replaces it with his thick and warm tongue. Kento was hasty and hungry, but it can't compare to the way your husband eats you out. He's as aggressive as adoring, licking and sucking your rim with the same eagerness and tenderness he's showing to your lips when making out with you. No wonder you're soon melting, the familiar knot in your core tightening just from the tongue lapping its way into your ass and Atsuya's thick fingers slowly stretching your pussy open.

Another hand joins him soon, Kento focuses on your clit and kisses your moans straight from your lips. He's good at reading the right rhythm, having no other guide than your sounds and Atsuya's limited moves. You've expected them to bump into each other more but they're cooperating better than with any other of your shared lovers before, and it pays off faster than any before too.

You usually need more than that to climb your high. But together, they don't just take you there; you're soaring on the wave of pleasure as if you were thrown in the air with great force. Even Kento's hold is not enough to keep you still, you spasm and melt, and collapse—all with a moan so loud you're sure half of the hotel has heard you.

"You're still with us?" Atsuya kisses your nape. You can feel him smiling through the milk-white haze that's overpowered you after intense orgasm.

"Barely." You're not exaggerating. When you try to lift yourself and regain lost angle, your thighs tremble and you're soon lying flat on top of your lover.

"Do you want to continue?"

"God, yes ."

"You're doing so well..." Kento mutters into your ear, stealing the praise that should be granted to him and his excellent job during his first threesome ever. You're almost scolding him for that, too, but your throat is hoarse after the scream and soon you have to push your reserves somewhere else as Atsuya's tongue returns to its task.

"Shit—" You sink your nails into Kento's chest, a bit too harshly, but you can't find words to apologize. He doesn't mind it, cradling you close through each of your spasms and further, when Atsuya has finally satisfied his appetite and filled you with his cock instead, so thick and filling you to the brim.

He's moving slowly, both of them are, as Kento follows suit and finds place for himself in your cunt. It's impossibly tight for all three of you, each fighting their own battle in this maze of pleasure and struggling to keep the reins of control. It's hard to keep the right rhythm in this hell of a knot of bodies and sensations, but both men work hard for them despite the pulling need to have you crushed and squeezed between them.

It's been a long while since you've been taken like that and even longer since you've had another cock as thick as your husband's—and you're paying a great price for your bravery. But for now, you're pushing the fading voice of your reason to the back of your head. You'll worry about consequences later, now there's only the union of three bodies and pleasure so intense you feel like you're getting blind just from the intensity of their thrusts.

Kento mutters sweet and dirty nothings into the crook of your neck, Atsuya bites at it from behind, his groans guttural and losing the humane timbre. Their voices mix and melt into one, their rhythms finally find a common ground and fill you up all at the same time. In no time, you're dragged into another orgasm, somehow even stronger, almost killing with the way it clenches your throat and turns your body into one big mass of spasms and trembling.

Atsuya taps Kento's shoulder, they both hold still until you're back to your senses, gently cradled by two pairs of arms, comforted by two different soft voices, from behind and front alike.

"Are you still with us?" Your husband breathes into your neck, the same question, asked earlier with a teasing tone to it, now as serious as it can in the sweat-drenched knot of your bodies.

You would want to know it yourself.

Both men gently pull out of you and place you by their sides, nestled comfy with pillows under your head. They make sure you have a good view—and soon you learn why, watching with eyes wide open, as their bodies move in unison again, their chests flush and Atsuya's hand wrapped tight around their leaking cocks.

"Enjoy the show," your husband smirks and thrusts harsher, dragging a lewd moan out of Kento. "You've worked hard for it."

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retireddaddyric · 4 hours ago

Text

RUINED CANVAS

(PAINTING PALETTE part II)

Synopsis: (part 2 of 4) Fem reader discovers a heartbreaking truth about Daniel and she grows cold. Reader’s brother starts suspecting, the breaking point hits.

Warnings: overhearing, cold behavior, rage, heartbreak, pain, pride.

Notes: this is all fiction. english is not my first language, there will be more parts, share thoughts and comments, even in private if you’re shy!

The second the front door clicks open, my heart drops.

Not metaphorically, like, I feel it. Like gravity just remembered it owed me something and came back to collect.

Daniel’s still tangled to me.

We’re still in my brother’s sheets.

And I can hear the keys hit the ceramic bowl by the door like this is just a regular night.

It isn’t.

“Shit,” I whisper, breath catching in my throat. “Daniel—get off—”

“I know, I know—fuck—” He get out of bed fast, too fast, and I almost whimper from the loss. He looks around wildly, grabs his boxers from the floor. “Where’s my—your sweater—god, where the fuck—”

I don’t answer. I’m already crawling out from under him, legs wobbling. I spot my underwear halfway across the room, curse under my breath, and settle for grabbing Mick’s hoodie from the chair instead. It swallows me whole.

We look at each other, half-dressed, breathless, like idiots caught doing something we never should’ve started.

Then we hear him.

“Dan man? That you?”

Of course it is.

Daniel’s the first out of the bedroom. He walks into the hallway trying to look casual, voice thick but calm. “Yeah, man. Just me.”

“Oh shit,” Mick calls from the kitchen. “Didn’t know you were still here. I thought you went out.”

I stand in the hallway like a ghost. Not sure if I should follow or disappear through the drywall. My thighs are still sticky. My heart’s still racing. I can smell Daniel on my skin.

“Didn’t end up going,” Daniel says. “Got a little sidetracked.”

He looks over at me briefly, just once, and I know exactly what he’s remembering.

I pull the hoodie tighter around my body and walk into the kitchen like I didn’t just have the best sex of my life with my brother’s best friend in my brother’s bed.

“Hey,” I say, voice tight.

Mick looks up from the fridge and frowns slightly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah. I—uh. Crashed. Got in late.” I clear my throat. “Hope that’s okay.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got enough space.”

There’s a beat of silence. Daniel opens the cabinet too hard and pretends to be interested in the tea selection.

“Actually,” Mick says, “I was gonna grab ramen with Lisa tonight, but she bailed, so I’m just gonna crash here. You cool with that?”

Crash here.

He means his apartment.

With both of us.

At the same time.

“Totally,” I lie. “I’ve got some work to finish anyway.”

I feel Daniel’s eyes on me. I don’t look back.

It’s awkward. Of course it is.

We all sit on the couch, way too sober, with a random movie playing in the background that none of us are actually watching. Mick is halfway through some shitty noodle cup and Daniel is trying not to look like he wants to touch me again. I want him to. I want to pretend it’s just us again. But that window closed the moment the door opened.

The next morning, I’m alone in the kitchen when Mick walks in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, yawning like it’s any normal day. He grabs the coffee pot, pours, and leans on the counter next to me. “You and Daniel catch up last night?”

My hand tightens around the mug. “Yeah. A bit.”

“Haven’t seen him this chill in a while,” he says. “Kinda surprised he’s even around. Last time we talked, he said he was flying in to maybe meet up with Emilia.”

The name hits me like a slap. I blink. “Emilia?”

He nods, completely unaware of the way my chest cracks wide open. “His ex. They’ve been talking again, I think. Old flame or whatever.”

I nod slowly. Swallow. “Oh,” I say, like it means nothing.

Like I didn’t let him inside me just hours ago.

Like I didn’t think, even for a second, that this might’ve meant something more.

“Guess he’s still figuring things out,” Mick adds with a shrug. “You know how he is.”

I do. God, I do.

But what I don’t know, what I suddenly can’t breathe around, is why he touched me like that if someone else is still in his head.

If maybe I was just a warm body, a comfort, a one-night detour before the real thing he came for.

I stare into my coffee until it goes cold.

And for the first time in a long time, I wish I’d kept the door closed last night.

And so I out on my steel armor: the key is to act unbothered. Unbothered girls don’t flinch when they hear footsteps behind them.They don’t turn when deep voices say their name like it means something.

They definitely don’t think about the fact that he was supposed to meet someone else.

I sip my coffee and dip the brush in ochre.

“Morning,” I say, without looking up.

I know exactly how I look right now.

Long shirt, technically a nightgown, if anyone cares about labels. Sheer. Loose. Bare underneath.One strap falling off my shoulder like an accident I didn’t fix.

I don’t care if it’s obvious. I’m not playing subtle anymore. I’m painting in the living room, legs folded on the floor, tits barely covered, and acting like it’s a normal Tuesday.

Because pretending is easier than asking questions I don’t want answers to.

After a bit Daniel stands in the doorway.

I can feel it. That silence that weighs more than words.

Like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or just go back to bed.

“Didn’t think you were up,” he finally says.

I drag the brush across the canvas. Slow. Fluid. Not looking at him.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

He doesn’t reply. Good.

The painting isn’t even that good.

But I make it look effortless. Colors bleeding into skin tones, curves implied, the sweep of a spine against sunlight.

It’s nothing, but it’s honest. Which is more than I can say for whatever the hell last night was.

He walks past me to the kitchen. Doesn’t touch me, doesn’t ask.

I keep painting. Mick comes in a few minutes later, shirtless and still drying his hair. He stops when he sees me, eyes flicking down. Then he glances at Daniel.

“Didn’t realize we were doing naked painting mornings now,” he says dryly.

I smile. “Just needed some light. The bedroom’s too dark.”

Mick narrows his eyes slightly.

Not angry, just… thoughtful, like he’s starting to see something he shouldn’t.

Daniel keeps his back to us, pretending to read the cereal box like it holds national secrets.

No one talks. No one breathes.

Later that afternoon, I hear them talking in the kitchen.

I’m not trying to eavesdrop, not really, but I catch it anyway.

A low voice. Daniel’s. “…not seeing her. I canceled.”

My breath hitches.

“You sure?” Mick asks, careful. “Thought you were flying in for that.”

“I thought so too. Changed my mind.”

A beat.

“She here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I close my sketchbook before I hear the rest.

That night, Daniel knocks on my door. Quiet. Barely there. I don’t answer. I’m not ready to be looked at like that again, like I’m everything and nothing all at once. So I crawl under Mick’s hoodie, turn off the light, and pretend I’m asleep.

And let him wonder.

The apartment shrinks with each day that passes. We don’t talk about that night.

We don’t talk at all.

Daniel goes out most evenings now. Never says where. Never asks if I’m coming.

He leaves behind cologne and silence, and I pretend I don’t watch the door after it closes.

I paint in the living room when he’s gone. Nothing full. Just pieces. A curve of a shoulder. A hand without a body. A neck turned away.

I don’t name them. I don’t have to.

Sometimes I find him watching me, when he thinks I don’t see. His eyes linger on my brush strokes, on my bare thighs folded under oversized shirts, on the pink smudge of paint on my jaw. But he never says anything, never comes closer. Just tension. Like lightning that never strikes.

Mick notices, of course he does.

One morning he pushes a cup of coffee toward me without looking up from his phone and says, too casually:

“So… you and Daniel. Did something happen?”

I lift the mug. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re weird. He’s weird. The air feels like a bad group chat no one wants to leave.”

I snort. “We just haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “But people don’t just get quiet like that unless they’re trying not to feel something.”

I take a long sip and change the subject.

I don’t know how to answer.

Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to say it out loud.

By day four, the silence is unbearable.

By day six, I want to scream.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

I’ve started leaving my paintings around the apartment.

Not for show. Not for anyone.

It’s just… I don’t finish them lately.

They hang half-dry on chairs and windowsills, edges curling, shadows waiting for color that never comes.

There’s one leaning against the bookshelf: a close-up of someone’s jaw, the sweep of a beard I pretended wasn’t inspired by him.

Another one on the table: hands gripping fabric, knuckles white.

I think Daniel knows they’re about him.

I think Mick is starting to suspect it too.

It happens over something stupid.

Mick’s trying to cook. Daniel’s teasing him about the way he cuts onions. I’m rinsing brushes in the sink, already tense from the way Daniel looked at one of the drying canvases that morning, long, lingering, and unreadable.

“You know, not every brush in this place needs to be in the sink,” Daniel says suddenly, glancing over at me. “There’s, like… no water pressure left.”

I don’t look up. “Didn’t know you were the brush police now.”

Mick snorts. “Oh no. Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Daniel presses, a little too hard. “If you’re gonna paint half-naked in every room, maybe don’t leave turpentine in the damn coffee mugs.”

I freeze.

That lands wrong.

It lands like judgment. Like bitterness.

I turn to him, voice clipped. “Sorry. Didn’t realize the artist lifestyle offended your delicate sensibilities.”

Mick looks between us, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t offend me,” Daniel says, arms crossing. “It’s just… chaotic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not tidy enough for you. Or maybe you’d prefer if I cleaned up and kept quiet, like I used to.”

Daniel’s mouth tightens. “Don’t do that.”

“What, talk?” I spit. “Or remind you that you only care when no one else is watching?”

Mick stops stirring. The room goes dead quiet.

Daniel steps forward. Just slightly. But the tension pulls like wire between us.

“This isn’t about brushes,” Mick says slowly.

“No shit,” I mutter, turning back to the sink.

Daniel exhales sharply, jaw clenched. “You always do this—”

“Do what?” I snap. “Speak?”

“No, deflect. You act like you don’t care and then throw a fit when someone tries to say something real.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is real what you were doing last night before your date with Emilia?”

Mick says my name. Quiet, warning. But I don’t stop.

“Or is this just your thing? You flirt, you fuck, and then you pretend it didn’t mean anything when someone else calls?”

Daniel’s face hardens. “I canceled that. You think I would’ve.. after you—”

“After me what?” I challenge. “Tell me, Daniel. What am I to you?”

Mick drops the spoon in the pot with a loud clang. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s enough.”

But neither of us look at him. Daniel’s eyes are burning into me, and for once, I don’t look away. Daniel looks at me, jaw tight, mouth open like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Or can’t. And that’s worse.

That silence. That hesitation.

That’s the answer I didn’t want.

I feel the rage before I feel the hurt.

It starts in my chest, then floods my limbs, hot and wild and impossible to cage.

I look around the apartment and all I can see is him.

His stubble in a half-drawn profile.

His fingers, painted in shadow and blue oil.

His mouth, unfinished on a canvas that never dried.

They’re all him. Every last one of them.

I grab the closest one, the one with his hands tangled in sheets, and slam it face-down on the floor. The frame cracks.

Daniel flinches. “Don’t—”

But I’m already reaching for another. A half-finished portrait of just his back, shoulders bare, light hitting the curve of his spine like I memorized it. Rip. Paint splits like skin.

Mick steps forward. “Hey—hey. What are you—”

But I’m not listening. I can’t. I grab one off the windowsill, toss it into the sink, smear it with my palm, water and turpentine ruining every careful stroke.

The one with his lips — I punch straight through the middle of the canvas.

The one with his eyes — I don’t even look at.

I tear them. I gut them.

If I could burn them with my bare hands, I would.

Because they were stupid.

Because I was stupid.

Because loving him, seeing him, putting him into every line — it didn’t make him stay.

It never would.

When it’s done, I’m breathing like I ran a marathon. My hands are covered in paint. My face is wet — I don’t remember crying.

Daniel is frozen in place. Eyes wide. Pain everywhere on his face.

Mick doesn’t say a word. Just looks between us like something finally clicked.

I walk to the door, pull it open.

“I’m done,” I say, voice hollow. “Don’t follow me.”

And I leave.

(Part three to be published)

#daniel ricciardo #smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oneshot #f1 x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #carlos sainz #lando norris #charles leclerc #max verstappen #oscar piastri #george russell #franco colapinto #Spotify

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tragicvictoriantears · 1 day ago

Note

So if you don’t read this fic I will

Let me start praising this amazing writer for doing such an amazing job in making this realistic and relatable. She always makes it relatable, and it’s not just me cuz I saw a lot of people commenting about how she gets the things right despite not having experience in that era. She is well documented and I live for everything she writes. I love you @stargirlygirl .

Now let me get straight to it, this fic is simply wonderful because for me and probably for those of you who also struggle w it, it’s not a smut from a men perspective. I feel like a lot of smuts are written in the men perspective of how sex is done. For example the whole thing of wanting a huge-HUGE dick: I’m glad for all the women, men or non-binary people that are able to enjoy one and have the space to do that but mostly a big dick is painful and it’s just aesthetically pleasing at least from my point. Even the medium sized ones are difficult especially when you have a small space, a strong himen or just difficulty in relaxing your body. Or there is this thing of being “tight”, it’s a lie made by men, because men rarely care about you during sex so they take it like “they don’t want me to stop hehehe” but no. When you like sex you usually (USUALLY because everyone is different) dilate. If you like it, you are gonna make “space” for him. If it’s too tight, it means the vagina wants YOU OUT. I always heard how tight I am how hard I’m tighting that I should stop groaning in pain cuz I like it but no, I was tight because I hated it and I felt invaded instead of loved or at least respected. Men will describe the sex as big dicks, dirty degrading words, tons of objectifying cuz “everyone wants that”, rough treatment and being tight (which again if u can ejoy it, I’m glad for u, truly, wish that was me). But it’s not. It’s not like that, that does not mean pleasure (in most cases) for the person that has a vagina. There is a whole process of dilation that is not taken seriously, a whole process of getting to know ur partner that is not taken seriously and for me smut fics are more of a: My fantasy to be able to live in a men fantasy and enjoy it but I can’t cuz there is something wrong with me.

For anyone that can relate, nothing is wrong w u. Just because your body was not made for this way of having sex it does not mean that you were made wrong and you CAN’T HAVE pleasure. It took a lot of time for me to make peace w my body and realise that maybe if my partners cared about me I would have enjoyed it, I wouodn’t just be the girl laying in bed and having to take every inch and rough treatment until he cums just to earn a 5 minute cuddle time and then be tossed aside.

If you are a virgin and even if you are not and sex is confusing for you: get a partner that cares about you and is interested in knowing how ur body works. Even if it’s not your lover, just a fwb or a one night stand, that person can CARE about ur pleasure and that’s who you need to aim for. It’s not impossible, I like to believe that. And if it’s gonna be your first time be careful of who u give it to because that’s unforgettable. I’m sadly living w the idea that sex is supposed to make me bleed a lot even through the next day, that I’m supposed to cry from pain and even scream from pain and hearing a “shut up you are exaggerating”, to just give sex because at least I gave pleasure to my partner and it’s my fault for being built in a way. Please, PLEASE, inform yourself, get to know your body, go to a gynaecologist, pick your partners right and always stay protected. Do not let a person that just makes u and object of satisfaction invade the most intimate part in yourself and take you for granted. All of you are deserving for a good first time and all of you are deserving of improving this side of your life. Nothing is wrong w u, you are completely fine. Don’t blame urself for somebody’s lack of care and respect.

Not trying to say that all smuts on this platform are bad and blah blah. I read them, I enjoy them (w the back of my mind telling me I will never get there lmao) and I believe the writers put their effort and they are good as they are. This is not me coming for everyone’s fics, just stating that most of them are not realistic or relatable for a certain category of people and they are based on this “fun facts” that mostly come from men. Again, it’s not wrong or bad but sadly not everyone’s vagina is gonna enjoy the events that are written. I repeat, not judging, not pointing any finger I like to read them and imagine myself able to get pleasure out of that as a form of comfort.

But this fic hits so close to home. It’s the first time for me where I can say: I think I can get there. And I love it so much, @stargirlygirl I will always be your fan.

Hey, how you doin baby girl?😏

Soooo, since you are the master of writing realistic smut fics, I’m gonna leave this request queen.

Like u know how every vagina is different and stuff. I think people who struggle w having sex don’t get much representation (crying rn). I’m obviously not a virgin anymore but honestly my himen is so strong and my space inside is pretty small that even when I did it several times I still don’t feel much pleasure and it annoys me a lot, like I feel invaded and so annoyed (or it’s the men I slept with, idk). It also doesn’t help that I can’t feel relaxed.

So Caleb, Sylus, both, or which one you want (ik both of them are probably packed down there). With a reader that struggles w being relaxed and her body not helping either. The reader insisted they are not a virgin and they can get to the good part but oopps. So they/ he are/is already inside but it’s clear as day that reader feels more discomfort than pleasure and idk, either stopping and getting to a pretty good aftercare or just continuing w some good old oral and dope aftercare. Your choice.

Or not do this ask. I don’t mind. Just wanting to tell you that you are wonderful and beautiful 😽🫶 may you wake up w Caleb next to you, amen.

star girl's initial words: thank you so much, girlie for requesting!! i hope you like this one. i went with your idea as the context and then built on it (i hope that's okay).

you're not alone in your experience, and i can relate to how frustrating it must be that penetrative sex hasn't been an enjoyable experience for you. because we expect p-in-v to feel amazing, right? it's made out to be THE most sexually pleasurable experience, the ultimate end game, if you will. media (cough porn in any format cough) and a lack of awareness for women around penetration plays a big role in this.

from personal experiences (sorry if this is tmi just skip if it is), it's pretty ridiculous to expect penetrative sex to feel great when you've had no practise. i'm still a virgin (literally 19; i'm still baby) but like... yo ain't nothing of that size is going in there without weeks of coaxing.

AND, often when you (as a woman) don't enjoy penetrative sex, i feel like others make it out to be a problem. like there's something wrong with you, when there's nothing wrong at all. we're all different, and some of our bodies need to be accommodated for differently.

however, how much of this do i actually capture in the fic? it's debatable. but i hope i've captured enough so you feel some comfort when reading this.

you find sex painful

sylus x fem!reader

summary: based on nat's req, you're mid-sex with sylus when he finds out that penetration is painful for you. so, he tries his best to help with your pain.

contains: nsfw, smut, sexual touching (f!receiving), squirting (first time), swearing, fluff, sy buys dilators for you, 3.4k words

note: i've shifted the focus to sylus helping you, rather than how penetration is painful. this post is not meant to be prescriptive.

“Just put it in, Sy,” you whine, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Kitten.” He’s been trying to pump you with a second finger for the past ten minutes, but every time he slips it in, you squirm in pain. And now, you’re insisting that he just shove his huge cock in.

“Please, Sy. It’ll be fine, I promise,” you try to persuade him. Your hips are propped up on a pillow, dripping pussy glinting in the warm candlelight. He’s sitting on his haunches, tip leaking at the sight of you. Spreading your legs a little wider, you notice Sylus’s crimson eyes dropping to your cunt.

Battling himself, he counters, “And what if I hurt you, sweetie?”

“You won’t!” You exclaim in your desperation. “You won’t, baby, so please, just fuck me already,” you plead. His jaw tenses as he considers your eagerness.

At last, he agrees, “Alright. But if it hurts, we stop, darling.” You nod fervently, your heart rate spiking as he shifts over you and grabs a condom from his bedside table.

Sliding it on, your boyfriend positions himself between your legs. With a final few rubs to your clit, he slides his covered tip up and down your folds. You moan, back arching slightly at how good it feels. But once he’s dipping into your hole, all of that pleasure dissipates.

It’s like you’re being split open; he’s so thick. You bite down on your lip, stifling your screams as your fists clench the black sheets.

“It’s too much, isn’t it, kitten?” Sylus stops, barely inside, and stares at you. You shake your head energetically.

“No, no, it’s fine, baby! I’m fine, really,” you insist, but he can see right through you. Pulling the head out, it slaps against your clit, making you whimper.

“Syyyy—”

“No. I refuse to hurt you, sweetie,” he murmurs, yanking off the condom and tossing it into a nearby bin. Leaning over you, he places his large hands on either side of your head.

Your boyfriend kisses your forehead and mumbles against it, “We can do anything else you want, but not this.” You know you should just accept his words and move on, but something drives you to retaliate.

“I’ve done this before, Sy. It’s fine, like,” you shrug. He shakes his head, silver locks tickling your skin. His nose brushes yours, hot breath dousing your lips.

Sylus’s voice is a deep rumble as he asks sternly, “You’re telling me that your previous partners have… gone ahead when you’re clearly in pain?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Sy—”

“It is,” he grumbles. “It’s a very big deal, sweetie.” Drawing back, he lowers himself onto one elbow while his other hand cups your cheek.

Stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he says firmly, “Your pleasure comes first, is that clear? I won’t hurt you, even if you’re used to the pain.” Your resolve immediately falters.

“Sy…” you whisper, a loving warmth spreading throughout your body.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him into you. His cock is sticky against your inner thigh, and he’s so heavy, but you don’t care. His rare sincerity is what you live for, especially when he’s so sweet during moments like these.

“I love you,” you confess quietly, rubbing your cheek against his. Those muscular arms hold you tightly, reassuring you that not even death can pry him away from you.

“I love you, kitten,” he says low, peppering featherlight kisses on the shell of your ear, and down to your lobe before nipping at it affectionately.

You spend the night being pampered by Sylus. He showers with you: cleaning you up, drying you off, and moisturising your skin before you can do the same for him. You sleep in his meaty arms, your cheek squished against his broad chest, so you can listen to his soothing heartbeat.

The next morning, you wake up to empty bed sheets, which smell like leather and oud.

Sighing, you roll out of bed and freshen up. By the time you make it to the kitchen, there’s a note on the countertop. You pick it up with curious fingers and read your name in Sylus’s handwriting. Flipping it open, the note reads:

Good morning, sweetie.

Breakfast is in the oven. Text me when you’re ready. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

Yours truly, Sylus.

Giggling to yourself, you set the note down and crouch to the oven’s level. The light is on, a golden pastry glittering beyond the glass.

You pull the door open by the handle, sugary heat rushing out. Slipping on an oven mitt, you pull out the baked goodie and shake it onto a plate.

“Awww,” you pout. He got you a croissant from your favourite bakery and kept it warm. You almost tear up from the tender gesture while making yourself your morning non-negotiable beverage (for me, it’s peppermint tea, but I know y’all might like coffee).

Setting your mug down on the island bench, you haul your croissant over to you and take a bite. The puff pastry is crunchy and deliciously sweet. It melts on your tongue; the butter is rich. Your tastebuds relish in the delicate flavour, a low moan falling from your now sticky lips.

Humming fondly, you finish your croissant and enjoy your drink before texting Sylus that you’re awake. He responds immediately with Come to my office, kitten.

After rinsing your plate and mug, you scamper off to your room and throw on a decent outfit before heading to Sylus’s office. There’s no sight of the twins as you navigate the halls, nor as you stop outside the door. Rapping on it a few times, you hear your boyfriend’s muffled voice permitting you entry.

Pushing the door open, you’re greeted by the sight of your handsome lover. Fitting black button-up, tousled silver locks, and rimless glasses perched on his sharp nose. He beckons you to come closer. Once at his side, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Morning, babe. Thanks for the croissant,” You chirp. He hums low, pecking your jaw and encircling your waist with his arm.

Pulling you onto his lap, you squeal gleefully, “Sy!” He shifts you so that you’re facing his monitor, your legs dangling over his. It makes him chuckle, seeing how cute his girl is.

Grabbing his mouse with one hand, he starts clicking away on the screen while explaining, “I’ve been thinking about last night, sweetie.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, your heart rate accelerating a little. Typing away on his keyboard, those arms encase your frame. You barely have time to register his search before he hits ‘Enter’.

“Dildos?!” You exclaim.

He smirks, “Don’t act so innocent, sweetie. I know you’ve used one of these before.” Twisting your back, you slap his chest playfully, earning an uproar of laughter from him. His chest vibrates against your back, making it difficult to frown as he clicks on a sex toy website.

“I’d like you to pick a few,” he grins cockily.

“Sy,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

He drawls, “Let’s start with a small size, and then you can work up to my size. How does that sound, kitten?” His tone is gentler than usual as he heads to the filters tab and adjusts the results. You know he’s trying to help, and you appreciate it… But it’s just so embarrassing. Covering your face with your hands, you groan into them wordless frustrations.

“How about this one?” You hear the click of his mouse, your face heating up with the knowledge that there’s a dildo being enlarged right now for your inspection. Dropping your hands in your lap, they hit your thighs with a faint slap. You stare at a clear dildo.

“Look,” your boyfriend says. He expands the specifications and reads them aloud to you, “Great for beginners. Glass. Five inches—”

“Five inches?! They don’t have anything smaller?” You ask anxiously.

Five inches might not seem like a lot in today’s climate of booktok romance and fanfiction misinformation (myself included to an extent), but for you, who struggles with painful penetration, five inches with a good girth is not feasible for you just yet.

Sylus says gently, “Let’s have a look.” Hitting the back button, you watch red-faced as he scrolls through numerous dildos. Some are realistic, others transparent and streamlined. Six inches, eight inches, nine inches.

“Anal training kit. What about this, sweetie?” He hovers his cursor over the image, zooming in on three dildos ranging in size.

“Can you click it?” You ask, hand reaching for his covering the mouse. Your boyfriend releases it and allows you to control the mouse. You click on the product and read through the specs.

“Four inches. Made from PVC,” you recite.

Sylus remarks, “PVC isn’t body-safe, dear. Why don’t we browse another store?” Regaining control of the mouse, he closes the tab and searches for small dildos this time.

You two spend who knows how long going through several stores’ dildo selections. Finally, you settle on a set of dilators made from certified medical-grade silicone.

Your boyfriend happily pays the exorbitant price with a sincere smile and a promise: “You’re not alone in this, alright? I’ll be right here, kitten. If you have any issues, you know where to find me, yes?” Shifting in his lap, you nod and lean in, kissing him lovingly.

“Thanks, Sy. Thanks for supporting me,” you murmur. He nods slightly before returning to typing in his black card’s information.

Ever the accommodating partner, he lets you sit on his lap as he goes back to arranging shipments and taking business calls. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his Adam’s apple as it bobs, completely relaxed and content to stay like this for hours. He holds you tight when possible, but there’s no need with how securely you’re clinging to him.

“Something wrong, sweetie? You’re clutching me like a baby sloth does to its mother,” he teases.

You giggle into his neck, “Mommy Sylus.”

“Tch.”

“You were asking for it,” you grin, defending yourself. He rubs your back soothingly, his dark office silent. Until his ringtone blares.

Sylus reflects, “I suppose I was,” before answering the line.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

“Your fingers are like—mhmm— this size, right?” You breathe out, clutching his wrist. You’re on your back, your boyfriend on his haunches as he eases a medium-sized dilator in and out of your cunt.

You’ve been using the dilators Sylus bought you most days of the week. It’s become a habit for you two to shower together and then insert a dilator before bed. Usually, you spend around 15 minutes adjusting to the size. But since you’ve been progressing quickly, your boyfriend wanted to try something different tonight (with your permission, of course).

He smirks down at you, “Curious, kitten?” You nod, your lip drawn between your teeth harshly.

Slowly, he pulls the dripping dilator out and sets it on a nearby towel. Climbing over you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss. The way he presses against you, the emotion in the rhythm, he’s asking for consent.

Drawing back, Sylus hovers close as you give your answer, “I want to try it, Sy. I think-I think it’ll feel good this time.” He hums, the sound reverberating deep in his throat.

Stealing a peck, he shifts and grabs the water-based lube that goes with the silicone dilators. Squeezing a decent amount on his rough palm, your partner smears the cool gel all over your pussy. His fingers slip up your folds, causing you to buck your hips. You moan quietly, heat rising to your cheeks like it did the first time he helped you insert a dilator. He chuckles low, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it in like lotion.

“Alright, darling. Shall we start slow?” He teases, his silver brow arched. You hum in agreement, shimmying your hips closer to his lubed-up hand. Those slender fingers make contact with your aching cunt again. His fingertips roll over your clit; your breathing shallows.

“Sy,” you pant, encircling his wrist with your fingers once more. You slide his hand down to where you need it most.

With his signature grin, your boyfriend prods at your entrance. His other hand brushes your hair back, your eyes finding his in the disarray of anticipation. He slips his middle finger in slowly, whispering sweet encouragement as he does so.

“My, my, look at how well you’re taking me, kitten. Does this feel good?” You don’t respond as he pushes in knuckle deep. Already, you feel so full of him, but his lack of movement is torturous.

Gazing up with lustful eyes, you whine, “Sy, please.”

Leaning down, his nose ghosts yours as he repeats himself, “Tell me, darling. Does this feel good?” Arguing for the affirmative, Sylus curls his finger up, the tip pressing against your ridged walls in the most delectable way possible.

“Sy!” You squeak. “Feels really good. Please—” You rock your hips on his finger, desperate for more.

He chastely kisses your nose before steadying himself on his elbow to keep close to you. Sliding his fingertip down, your lover repeats the come-hither motion, shrewd eyes trained on your face. He observes every single detail, from your frequent lip biting to your eyes clamping shut from ecstasy.

The pressure in your tummy builds. But it’s not just in your tummy, it’s a little lower, too.

Drawing his now-drenched finger out of you, you mewl at the loss, “Sy, baby. Why-why’d you—”

“Quiet, sweetie, or you’ll miss the best part,” he murmurs. You open your mouth, about to ask him what he’s referring to, when you feel it. Two fingertips poking at your fluttering hole.

“Relax, dear,” Sylus instructs. A small whimper escapes your teeth-marked lips as he manages the tops of his two fingers inside. He remains there for a moment, letting you clench and unclench until you’re ready for more.

Pushing them in at a leisurely pace, he reminds you, “Now’s not the time to act all tough. If it hurts, kitten, you need to let me know.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes on the lewd sight of his fingers sinking deep into your pussy.

A couple of months ago, you were in this position. Sylus’s fingers buried in your cunt, stretching you out. Then, he had been preparing you for his dragon dick what’s to come. But now, he was focusing on your reactions to ensure your pleasure.

Pulling his fingers out halfway, he eases them back in.

“This alright?” He asks lovingly. You nod, a quiet whine tumbling out of your lips.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Say it, darling,” while kissing the corner of your mouth. His fingers curl, making you gasp and moan. You gaze at him like you’re etching every angular feature into your memory (you already have).

“Feel really full, babe,” you manage out, pleasure wracking through your system as his fingertips hit your g-spot again.

Sylus clarifies, “How so? A good kind of full? Or is it overwhelming?” Your lips press together, muffling a sweet moan as he continues fingering you oh-so-deliciously.

“Good. ‘S good, Sy,” you whimper.

Turning your head, you nuzzle his neck with your nose. Sylus has never cared for when you hide from him, especially at a time like this. When he needs to see you, to pick up on all of the little things you tell him with your eyes and incessant lip bites.

Kissing your hair, he mumbles into your scalp, “Won’t you look at me, kitten?” Whatever you hum into his skin is lost as a guttural moan tears through you.

One good thing about you being so close to his ear is that your boyfriend gets to hear your pornographic sounds like they were amplified by state-of-the-art speakers.

He groans, cheeks rubbing the side of your head affectionately while slipping his free arm beneath and around you.

Rolling you onto your side, Sylus whispers, “Throw your leg over my hips.” You obey, doing exactly that as he pulls you flush against his chest. His scent alone makes you moan, and his body is so warm it makes your insides all gooey. Or maybe that’s from his fingers. Probably both.

The squelching of your sopping cunt fills the dark bedroom. Through the window, the stars gaze upon your intimacy. Perhaps they cheer for you, rejoicing in the pleasure you’ve been able to find in something so daunting months prior.

“Sy— fuck! I—” Your moan cuts you off, arms tightening around his neck.

You hold onto Sylus like you’re stuck in the middle of the ocean, fighting for your life, so you don’t drown in the depths. But your ocean isn’t filled with water. Abundant are the sensations rippling throughout your body. Every movement of his fingers sends more and more arousal gushing from you.

Pressure accumulates in the pit of your stomach once more. It feels like he’s pushing down on your lower tummy, but you know he’s not. Drawing closer, you feel like you’re gonna wet yourself.

“Sy, wait! Wait, fuck, feel like I’m gonna pee,” you exclaim. But your boyfriend doesn’t heed your warning. If anything, it spurs him on.

“Do you now, sweetie?” He murmurs all seductively, his breath fanning your ear. You try to respond, but all that pours forth are broken whimpers and breathy moans.

He chuckles, “Don’t be afraid, darling.” You cry out into his chest, one of your hands flying to his working forearm, and he presses into your walls harder.

“Sy! I’m serious, Sy! I swear ‘m gonna—”

“You won’t. Now, let go,” he commands, his voice all gravelly.

It only takes a few more pumps until you’re diving headfirst into oblivion. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You can feel the mess you’re making, but you can’t seem to care as moans rip through you and your body convulses like you’ve been possessed.

“Fuck,” Sylus groans, watching as you squirt all over his hand and arm. It sprays onto his clothed thigh and drips onto the inky sheets. He’s never been more proud.

Your boyfriend praises you, “Look at how good you’ve done for me, kitten.” He kisses your sweaty hairline, your thighs clamped tightly around his still hand. Slowly, he slides his fingers out and draws them up through your folds. You whimper as he rubs a few lazy circles on your cilt, making your body jolt.

“Sy, please,” you rasp out. You’re exhausted, your limbs as mushy and pliant as he chuckles. Sylus gently maneuvers you onto your back and kisses your lips reassuringly.

He says low, “Stay here, sweetie, while I grab another towel.” You nod feebly, too weak to protest. Like you’d want to, anyway. The last thing you want to do is move right now, let alone follow your long-legged boyfriend off to the linen cupboard. And good thing you don’t, or you would have seen the wet patch at the front of his sweatpants.

Listening to the rustling of the bedsheets and thudding of his footsteps, your breathing grows steadier. Your eyelids feel heavy, as does your body. Next thing you know, Sylus’s callused hands are caressing your thighs, pulling them apart before he wipes you up with a damp towel. The soft, cool cotton is refreshing.

You sigh as you feel your partner’s warmth shift, his body hovering over yours. Plush lips place longing kisses on your brows, then your eyelids, cheeks, and finally, your lips.

He mumbles against them, “Was that your first time squirting, my love?”

“Mhmm, maybe,” you grin tiredly.

“Maybe?” He repeats before pecking your lips.

You giggle, “Yes.” Slowly, Sylus bundles you up in his arms and pulls you on top of him after lying down. His now-dry fingers stroke your hair, and his short nails occasionally scratch your scalp.

In his embrace, you release all your fears and doubts about this entire process. Never did you think this could happen. That you could 1) enjoy penetration and 2) squirt from it. But Sylus has shown you that through his love that anything is possible. Even though you’re not where you want to be, the improvements along the way have been nothing short of magical.

embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments m.list

star's final words: oh the vaginas ahem hymens i looked at in prep for this. not that i didn’t know what they were beforehand, but i def know a lot more now.

helpful links for your education:

cleveland clinic ⟶ what is the hymen? healthline ⟶ does it hurt when your hymen breaks? bien australia (these are the dilators i was talking about; i haven't used this product and i'm not promoting this product; i cannot attest to how effective they are) ⟶ vaginal dilators

#★’s works #love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin smut #qin che x reader #love and deepsace sylus

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evcrmoresworld · 2 months ago

Text

Mechanic!Rafe Cameron x Innocent!Reader

nsfw [18+] warnings! corruption kink, slight age gap, power play, dubcon, dirty talk, rough but caring sex

want more?

summary, When your car breaks down, you head to your dad’s auto shop expecting him—but find Rafe Cameron there alone instead. He’s your dad’s newest hire: covered in grease, a bad attitude, and worse intentions. You’ve always been the good girl, untouched and innocent… but Rafe sees right through you. And he’s got a thing for ruining pretty things.

You shouldn't have gone there alone. Not with the way he looked at you.

Your dad’s garage smelled like oil and rubber, the air thick with heat and grease, the kind that clung to your skin. You only needed a ride home; your car was still in the shop, and he promised to take you. But the office was empty, the lights off, and your father’s truck was nowhere in sight.

Only he was there. Rafe Cameron.

He looked up from under the hood of a ‘69 Charger, wiping his hands on a rag already stained black. His jaw flexed as he watched you walk in, all sundress and lipgloss, a little too sweet for a place like this. A slow, crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Daddy's not here,” he said, voice low and rough. “He left about ten minutes ago.” He glanced down at his hands, then back up at you. “Told me to lock up. Guess he forgot you were comin’.”

“Oh,” you breathed, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap. “I just—I needed a ride.”

He set the rag aside and leaned back against the car, eyes dragging down your body. You weren’t dumb. You knew he was trouble. Your dad warned you about him more than once.

Too many fights. Too many girls. Too much attitude.

And yet here you were.

Rafe cocked his head. “You trust me to take you home, sweetheart?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I guess I don’t have a choice?”

That grin deepened, dangerous now like he knew something you didn’t. He walked slowly toward you, each step echoing in the cavernous space until he was standing right before you, tall and broad and still smelling like motor oil and cigarettes.

“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Someone like me might take it the wrong way.”

Your breath caught.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you did.” His fingers trailed down to your neck, then paused at your collarbone, eyes locked on yours. “You think your daddy would still let me work here if he knew the things I wanted to do to his little girl?”

You swallowed hard. “Rafe…”

“You ever been touched, baby?” he whispered, voice like smoke. “Or are you still all sweet and tight and untouched?”

Your cheeks burned, and that silence was all he needed.

“Oh, fuck. You are, aren’t you?”

He groaned, low and filthy, his hand slipping to your waist. “You got no idea what that does to me.”

“Rafe, I don’t think—”

He kissed you before you could finish, mouth hot and urgent against yours. You should’ve pushed him away. You should’ve. But instead you melted into him, fingers clinging to his grease-streaked shirt as he kissed you like he was starving.

“I’ll be good,” he rasped against your lips. “I’ll teach you nice. Make it feel so fuckin’ good you’ll forget your own name.”

He backed you into the tool bench, hands lifting your skirt, his breath hot against your neck. And when he finally sank to his knees in front of you, looking up like you were the only thing worth worshipping, you realized that you weren’t walking out of that shop the same girl who walked in.

You gripped the edge of the workbench behind you like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Rafe’s hands, big and calloused, pushed your thighs apart, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across your soft skin. He looked like he belonged down there, kneeling between your legs, grease-smudged and hungry.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, eyes dark, locked on your core like a predator. “You scared, baby?”

You nodded, breath catching.

“Good.” His smirk was cruel and fond all at once. “You should be. You’ve been daddy’s little angel all your life, huh? Never done anything bad.”

His hands slid up under your skirt, fingertips brushing over the cotton of your underwear. “But here you are. Soaking through these just from me talking to you.”

You whimpered when he pressed his thumb against the damp spot. “Don’t worry,” he crooned. “I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

He pulled your panties aside and didn’t waste time. His tongue was on you in seconds, hot and wet, licking you like he’d been waiting forever for a taste. You gasped, hands flying to his hair, thighs trying to close around his head, but he held you open, mouth working you like a fucking meal.

“Rafe—oh my god—”

He growled into you, dragging the flat of his tongue up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. It was filthy. Messy. Nothing like the sweet first time you’d imagined, but it felt good. Too good. Your head tipped back, chest heaving as he devoured you like he owned you.

“This what you wanted?” he asked, voice muffled between your thighs. “You wanted someone to ruin you, didn’t you? Someone to show you what that tight little pussy’s for.”

Your moan was all the answer he needed.

“Yeah,” he grunted, sucking harder. “That’s it. Be a good girl and come on my fuckin’ face.”

You didn’t stand a chance. It slammed into you, hot and intense, your thighs trembling as he held you through it, still licking, still sucking, until you were panting and boneless.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked with you. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood, towering over you again.

“Look at you,” he said, dragging a thumb across your swollen bottom lip. “All fucked out and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

Your knees buckled, and he caught you with a laugh, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and setting you down on the workbench.

“You want more, baby?” he whispered, unbuckling his belt. “’Cause I’m not done showing you just how bad you really are.”

Your legs were shaking as he laid you back on the workbench, the chill of the metal biting at your spine but all you could focus on was him.

Rafe stood between your thighs, jeans pushed low, cock in hand, thick, heavy, and flushed with need. You stared, lips parted, overwhelmed by his size and sheer presence.

“You sure about this, baby?” he asked, voice lower than a growl. “You let me in now, I’m not gonna be gentle. Not the first time, not the tenth. You let me fuck you once and you’ll never be able to stop.”

You whimpered, but nodded.

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “Then be a good girl and open up f’me.”

The stretch burned at first, hot and sharp and too much. You gasped, hands clutching at the edge of the bench, body tight around him as he pushed in, slow but unrelenting. Inch after inch, filling you more than anything ever had.

“Fuck,” Rafe breathed, head falling forward. “You’re so damn tight… like your cunt’s never been touched.”

“It hasn’t,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You’re the first…”

His groan was downright sinful. “Fuckin’ knew it. I knew it. Bet your daddy doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue what his little girl’s doing in the back of his shop right now.”

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed, but so full, so deep.

Then Rafe started to move, slow at first, then harder, faster, as your slick built up and your moans got louder. The bench squeaked beneath you, metal tools clinking with every thrust, your hands desperately clawing at his shoulders.

“You like that?” he grunted. “Like being split open on my cock like a fuckin’ toy?”

You couldn’t even speak, just nodded, tears at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. From how much you loved it.

Then...

BZZZ. BZZZ.

Your phone lit up next to you on the workbench.

Daddy Calling…

Your stomach dropped.

Rafe saw it. Smirked. And never stopped thrusting.

“Ohhh, fuck yes,” he laughed under his breath. “Answer it.”

“I—I can’t—”

He grabbed the phone, hit accept, and held it to your ear with a dark glint in his eyes.

“Say hi, baby,” he murmured. “Let him hear that sweet voice while I’m buried in your fuckin’ guts.”

You struggled to keep your voice steady. “H-Hi, Daddy…”

His voice on the other end was casual. “Hey, sweetheart. Just checkin’ in, you get to the shop okay? Rafe still around?”

Rafe’s hand gripped your throat lightly, eyes burning into yours.

You swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah. He’s here. Just—finishing up…”

He thrust deep. You whimpered.

“You alright, honey? You sound… outta breath.”

Rafe mouthed, Lie to him.

“I’m good,” you managed, voice tight. “It’s just… hot back here.”

You heard your dad laugh. “Alright, well, tell Rafe I’ll see him Monday. You need a ride home or he takin’ you?”

Rafe mouthed it again, hips snapping up into yours: Say I’m taking you.

“He’s—he’s taking me,” you said, blinking through tears.

You hung up quick. The second the line dropped, Rafe slammed into you, hard enough to make the whole bench shift.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, his rhythm going brutal now. “Lying to Daddy while I fuck you full, what would he think if he saw you right now?”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. You were already falling apart. Reaching a high for the second time. This time, it felt like fire spreading through your veins, every muscle in your body tensing.

“You gonna let me cum in you?” he growled. “Let me stuff this tight little pussy and walk you out like nothin’ happened?”

“Please,” you cried, arching under him. “I want it—I want all of it—”

That was it.

He groaned, deep and rough, grinding into you as he came, hot and thick, spilling inside you. His hips jerked once, twice more before he collapsed over you, panting, still buried deep.

When he pulled out, his cum spilled down your thighs, warm and messy.

He stared at it for a second. Then looked at you, eyes hungry and possessive.

“You’re not a Daddy’s girl anymore,” he whispered. “You’re mine now.”

The garage was quiet again. The only sound was the faint hum of the old fan in the corner and your unsteady breathing as you lay back on the bench, legs still trembling.

Rafe hadn’t pulled out yet. His cock was softening inside you, but he didn’t move. Just leaned over you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tracing lazy patterns along your thigh.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, almost tender.

You nodded, blinking up at him, the edges of your innocence frayed and unraveling. “Yeah.”

“Hurts?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But not in a bad way.”

He smiled, the cocky edge of his grin softened by something warm. He brushed his lips over your forehead and murmured, “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

He finally pulled out, and you gasped at the warm spill of him leaking down your thighs. His eyes darkened as he watched it, his fingers tracing your inner thigh, dragging through the mess he made.

“Gonna be dripping all the way home,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Bet you’ll still be wet when you sit down for dinner.”

You shoved at his chest, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “Stop!”

He grinned but handed you a clean rag, helping you clean up gently even though his fingers lingered too long, like he couldn’t not touch you.

Once you were decent again, he pulled you close, settling between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist, head resting on your chest.

“You know he’s gonna find out,” he said eventually.

Your stomach dropped.

“W-What?”

Rafe looked up at you with a slow, lazy smirk. “He’s not dumb. You think he won’t notice the way you walk? Or the way you can’t even look him in the eye after being filled with my cum.”

You slapped his shoulder with a gasp, mortified, but he caught your wrist, pulled your hand to his mouth, and kissed your knuckles.

“You’re mine now.” His voice was gravel and heat. “You think I’m gonna let someone else touch what I just ruined? No fuckin’ chance.”

Your heart twisted at his words, possessive, raw, and real. This wasn’t just a one-time thing to him. And despite every reason to say no, to pull away, to run home and pretend nothing happened…

You didn’t want to.

Not when he looked at you like that. Like you were the only good thing he’d ever laid hands on. Like he wanted to dirty you up again and again just to keep a piece of you under his skin.

You kissed him again, slow and sweet.

"I'm yours."

#rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe au

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lacyblades · 2 months ago

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౨�� baby daddy!satoru who wants needs you back.

in fact, you should've known he was playing a game the instant that text blinked onto your screen: pick your daughter up from his place, not school. a casual oops, totally forgot it was your day! that sent a shiver of unease down your spine.

what choice did you really have? the entire drive to that too-familiar house, your nerves were a tangled mess. pulling into the driveway, parking crookedly in your haste, the only thing screaming in your head was this used to be ours.

this small, unassuming house, a world away from the sterile grandeur of his old penthouse. the first grand gesture of your marriage had been this new place.

"the bigger the house," satoru had murmured against your bare skin that first night, "the further i'd have to be from you." so, your mornings had begun with tangled limbs and hurried kisses, and your evenings had ended in the same breathless way.

it had been the kind of dizzying happiness you foolishly thought would last forever. but then the cracks had started to show – the endless work trips, the hollow promises of things changing. he had gotten better, ironically, after the papers were signed.

satoru stood in the doorway, that infuriatingly charming, utterly knowing smirk plastered across his face. your gaze darted around the living room, a quick, almost desperate search. "where's she?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

his reply was a casual flick of his wrist. "oh, she's at a friend's."

a harsh scoff escaped you. arms crossed tight against your chest, you scoffed, "what? why? i drove all the way out here!"

"you were coming anyway," he purred, those soft puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours. "i can bring her back later. thought we could, you know… catch up."

"catch up?" you repeated, incredulous. "are you serious right now? we're not catching up, satoru. we're divorced."

but those eyes. they always had been your undoing. and somehow, against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to this ridiculous "catch-up." you'd pictured awkward small talk over lukewarm tea, maybe a stale cookie.

not this. not being bent in a cruel mating-press, his body a brutal, insistent press against yours, fucking you with a desperate hunger that stole your breath and any semblance of rational thought.

"god, it's been so fucking lo- long since i felt this," he grunted, his hips slamming into you with a possessive force that made you cry out. "this tight little cunt clenching - shit - around me like that."

"ah, 'toru," you gasped, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back, clinging on for dear life.

"been even longer si- since i heard you say my name like that." his sweaty bangs were plastered to his forehead, a flush creeping up his neck. his pace was relentless, each thrust deeper, harder, a raw, primal need driving him. he hadn't touched anyone since you, didn't want to.

tears streamed down your face, a messy mix of pain and something dangerously close to pleasure. and that bastard, your soon-to-be-not-ex-husband-anymore, thought you looked beautiful. his thick cock stretched you, filled you completely, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"did you miss this, huh?" he muttered, his voice thick with lust. "because i fucking did. bet- bet no one else makes you feel like this."

a choked whine escaped you as his teeth sank into your shoulder, a stinging sensation hitting. you can't think of a response, literally. you can't even think of your own name - you can't remember.

all that mattered was the way he was making you feel, the dizzying spiral of sensation. and in the name of "catching up," he makes you come, at least half a dozen shattering orgasms ripping through you before he finally relented, burying his face in the space between your tits.

he looked up at you, panting, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. "so… about moving back in?"

fuck those puppy-dog eyes.

#jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #3k bash !

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avaredava · 3 months ago

Text

Pervydoctor!sukuna who was tall with a bunch of tattoos, he had a menacing look that looked like he should be doing illegal stuff and not have a medical degree.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who thought it was absolutely adorable how you came in because your boobs were sore.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who enjoyed your blushing teary face that was embarrassed and in a bit of pain as he prodded at your sore tit.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who realized your nipples started to perk as he massaged your boobs trying to make them feel better. He didn't want a sweet girl in pain!

Pervydoctor!sukuna who feels upset when you go when you say the massage surprisingly made it better.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who needed some excuse to get you to come back to the doctors, and it just rolled at his feet.

You had some sex problems...

Pervydoctor!sukuna who was happy to get called in late at night when you requested just for him.

He practically ran inside the clinic. The nurses were surprised when he asked for the patient (you) and what room you were him. He never cares about work.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who went into room 3 and saw you sitting there with a flushed face and clenched fists.

"what's wrong?" He asked trying to be nonchalant but that look in your eyes... Embarrassment?

Pervydoctor!sukuna who almost laughed when you said you can't "orgasm". He obviously asked why and you said you had a one night stand and nothing happened.

His fists clenched and his heart started beating faster when you told him about another man. You've been coming in for months and he's grown fond of you.

He kept a cold face and told you to take off your clothes. You did so and your little pussy and your perky tits just made his heart flutter. He gave you a gown to cover the top of your body but he's already seen it so it doesn't help the fact that his dick is getting hard.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who makes you lay on the hospital bed and puts a cool metal leg spreader between your legs to keep them apart.

He flipped the gown up to see your pretty pussy and it made his mouth salivate.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who tells you he has to do and external and internal exam. He prods at your opening rubbing his gloved fingers up to your clit making you jolt and a bit of wetness drizzle out of your hole.

"So the natural lubricant still produces..." He says in that doctory yet slutty tone that made you wanna clench your thighs together but you couldn't so you let out a huff.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who starts his internal exam.

He starts by taking off his gloves it made your eyes widen since you were sitting up. "Why are you taking your gloves off?" You ask with a small stutter to your voice.

"Well my fingers won't move properly." He says flatly as that was the most normal thing to say in the world.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who shoves his fingers inside you moving them around the tight space feeling the ridges. You made an uncomfortable huff. "Lay down fully, it makes it feel better." He says in a more breathy tone.

Just like that you instantly lay down. He was right, it did make it feel better. Maybe too better.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who wasn't very surprised when you let out a breathy moan. As his wandering fingers found your g-spot.

He began to rub it, then doing quick thrusts into it, making you squeeze around his fingers making him let out a deep, throaty, sexy laugh.

He quickly made you come to an orgasm he took his fingers out and you heard a slurp... he licked his fingers... you weren't 100% since you were laying down but that's probably the case.

Pervydoctor!sukuna who diagnosed you with "finding guys with short dicks"

Master list's

#avasfics #jujutsu kaisen #jjk drabble #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut

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dmitriene · 5 months ago

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cw: nasty simon.

accompanying your bluecollar mechanic boyfriend simon riley to his work, you do it more often than not, dragged with him to just sit prettily in the corner of the room while he works, staining himself in machine oil while changing it to some poor bloke that barely knows how things work, getting his shirt all soiled with black, absorbing stains, his gloved hands greasy, sinewy muscles pumped with the strain of working day and webbed over with swelling veins, as you glance curiously over every inch of him.

all these things make him messy, checking the fluid levels, rotating tires, repairing or replacing some obsolete parts in people's cars, doing a lot of long talk by explaining some of the curious ones what exactly he did right now, leaving simon's short hair damp with sweat that drips down his forehead, trailing over his angled neck and dipping below his exposed collarbones, shirt outstretched and worn, hanging low enough to expose his chest, right where it's dappled with darkening hairs and layer of softness.

flushed cheeks decorated with patchy stubble and smudges of soot that often mixes with oil simon gets on his gloves, leaving fat smears on his skin as he tries to wipe off the annoying sweat, and it's less for his own comfort than yours, because he leaves his working place here and there to indulge in your uninterrupted attention, walking in closer with his mouth clashing over yours, sloppy with sharp bites and insistent licking of his tongue inside, filthy with loud, lewd sucks that escape from between you, and he moans unabashedly, cock already strained hard.

simon get's you drunk off the taste and smell of him, smoky, sweaty and leaving a tang of metal in it's wake, something to savor when he gets back to work, hearing the distant rumble of another approaching car, leaving you yet again to watch and nibble down at your kiss swollen, spit moisten lips, bothered by the slick that now oozes out of your pulsing pussy to soak in your panties, and he sees it in the way your thighs cross together, lip tucked beneath your teeth, eyes getting that dazed, sweet look he loves to see.

he get's a handful of your perky ass after asking you to give him a screwdriver from a box laying on the floor, making you all but bent down and present your ass in the air for him to smack, small, stinging slap ringing out along with a squeaky shriek you get out, batting his groping, roughened hands away, but the guy simon talked with walked away for a short smoke, so you lean into the teasing touch, whimpering when his fingers catch at your clothed mound, circling, purring at you to wait just a bit more till his shift ends.

folding your body at the back seat of his truck should he close the service shop, your legs dangling in the cramped space, spread open wide and held tight with simon's calloused, digging fingers coiling beneath your bent knees, his body bowed forward, trapping you against the leathery seat and a closed door as his engorged cock rams into the hot, gripping clutch of your drippy cunt, shaking the vehicle from the force of his thrusts, your delightful sobs and mewls answering his molten groans of your name, splitting your hole beyond repair.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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eufezco · 2 months ago

Text

A PLACE FOR YELENA 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

bucky x pregnant!fem!reader

synopsis — after disappearing for weeks, consumed by her own darkness, yelena shows up in your house unexpectedly and decides to reach out to you and bucky, her best friends, just to find out that you're pregnant and you wanted her in your baby's life.

fluff. angst

marvel masterlist

you wiped your hands on a towel, the sweet scent of the coffee and cocoa still on your fingers. the kitchen smelled amazing, garlic and tomato from the bubbling lasagna in the oven mixing with the tiramisu you'd just finished layering. you'd been home all day, but not alone. the gentle kicks and soft stirring inside you reminded you that your tiny companion was always there with you. a little smile appeared in your lips as your hands moved to your bump.

bucky left early this morning, pressing a kiss to your forehead and another to your belly, promising he'd be back in time for dinner. so you'd spent all day doing this and that around the house, folding the tiny clothes, each one making you pause and imagine the little body that would soon fill it, playing bucky's old records and napping on the couch, a blanket over your legs and a hand resting protectively on your belly.

the timer on the oven beeped and you opened the door. a wave of the heat and the rich cheesy scent hit you all at one. you closed your eyes and hummed. the baby also seemed to loved because a soft kick nudged at your side. you pulled the lasagna out to take it to the living room table, but when you turned around, you froze.

—oh my god!—you exclaimed, eyes wide as your breath caught in your throat. your heart pounded so hard against your chest, —yelena... hi.

she quickly stood up from the chair, her usual confidence slipping as her blue eyes stared onto your belly. you didn't give her enough time to analyze you because once you placed the lasagna right in the center of the table, you wrapped your arms around her in a tight sudden hug. she hesitated before she hugged you back, like you were made of glass. her arms circled around you but she didn't dare to press her body against yours, like the roundness of your belly was sacred.

—you're pregnant, —she said when you broke away from the hug. her voice was soft, almost in disbelief.

you smiled, —yeah, i am. surprise, —the delicious smell of the food filled the space but yelena's eyes never left your bump.

—but like, so pregnant, oh my god.

you giggled, —that's usually how it works, yeah.

—no, seriously, how far along are you? you're glowing. it's weird. you're glowing and soft and... —she swallowed and waved her hands vaguely in front of your bump, —so pregnant, shit.

you let out a laugh. —i'm eight months but i'm still me. just... slower, rounder and slightly more emotional.

—more emotional? so crying over commercials and talking to plants?

—try crying over baby socks and talking to lasagna.

she nodded, pressing her lips together, trying to keep a straight face. you shifted your weight slightly as the pressure in your lower back appeared again. you put one of your hands behind you, trying to relieve the ache but yelena was quick to notice and without a word, she placed the chair she was previously sitting in behind you.

—thanks, —you said with a sigh as you sat. —what are you doing here? did you talk to bucky? he said he's been trying to reach you, —asking how'd she got into your house felt pointless. if yelena wanted in, no locked doors were going to stop her, yet you didn't mind, she wasn't a threat, not to you at least.

yelena shook her head. —haven't talk to your man in months. i was... just in my apartment and decided to drop by. i don't know, —she muttered, shrugging like it could erase the weight of her words. —i thought about you. about both of you. and i guess i just... showed up.

there was a pause. a real one. you knew what being in her apartment meant for her, especially at this time of the night. she was probably alone, thinking of getting drunk, staring at nothing and trying to hold it together until she couldn't anymore. you slowly nodded but didn't say anything about it. —well, it's your lucky day, there's lasagna for the four of us, —you rubbed your belly, —and the tiramisu is in the fridge.

she blinked, —oh, no. i was just... i just came to see you. i don't want to be a bother.

you tilted your head, —you broke into my house, sat at my table, and commented on my belly. you're already bothering me, you might as well stay for dinner.

you managed to get a laugh from her. in that moment, the front door opened and bucky stepped inside. —babe? i'm h... —but he froze mid-sentence when he saw yelena at the table. it was surprise in his face but there was something warmer too, like he'd just walked into something unexpected but not unwelcome. —either this food smells good enough to summon ghosts or i've officially lost track of who has a spare key.

—yelena's here! —you announced as if he hadn't just noticed her.

—and i bet she didn't come in through the door like a normal person.

yelena just pressed her lips into a guilty smile.

bucky approached you after hanging up his jacket and dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. he leaned in, supporting the weight of his body with a hand behind you on the chair and he kissed your lips. you hummed when he leaned in further and kissed your belly over your pajama shirt.

—you know? you should answer my calls or texts sometime, —he said to yelena. —missed you today, baby. this smells amazing, —he said to you as he kissed your lips one more time.

—i've been busy, —yelena said as she bit the inside of her cheeks.

bucky tilted his head slightly and looked at her, narrowing his eyes. he'd been there, done all of it before he met you. the quiet disappearing with empty explanations, not answering to sam's messages, letting voicemails pile up, just ignoring everything that reminded him that he existed outside the limits of his own perception. so yeah, bucky knew yelena was lying.

—right, —he just said. —just don't disappear.

—i didn't disappear. i just needed a minute.

—a minute's fine, —bucky said. he made his way into the kitchen and pulled out another plate, a glass, a fork and a knife. he returned and set them in front of the empty seat beside yelena. —but you vanish and we worry. she worries.

you nodded, assuring her that you did worry about her.

—i didn't mean to worry anyone.

—you don't have to mean it for it to happen.

yelena finally gave a small nod in return to bucky's words. he met her eyes and slowly nodded back. they were never much of words, the two of them. you had taught bucky how to open up overtime, he used to struggle with it but he got better with your help. but his bond with yelena grew from a very different space, his relationship wasn't shaped by long talks or heartfelt confessions. a strange brother-sister dynamic that was built in the shared silences, exchanged glances, sarcastic jokes and the unspoken comfort of just being there.

bucky stepped back into the kitchen.

—but the important thing, —you gently nudged her chair out, inviting her to sit at the table. —is that you are here now with us.

she finally sat down, her hands resting in her lap as she looked around the table. bucky came back from the kitchen, casually placing a bottle beside yelena's plate. it was her favorite spicy sauce, the one brand she always reached for. she stared at the bottle and then she looked up at you, then at bucky. this and your words you just said did something to her. it wasn't just the sauce, it was the fact that you'd thought of her and left space for her. no one had ever waited for her before, not like that.

—okay, let's eat, —you said, grabbing the big serving spoon. you grabbed yelena's plate, guests first, and served her a generous portion of lasagna. then you turned to bucky's plate and yours last.

yelena grabbed the sauce almost immediately, twisting off the cap and pouring it over her food. she hummed as she took another bite, eyes closing for a second. bucky slid his hand across the table and laced his metal fingers through yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

—how did that happen? —she pointed at your belly with her fork.

—you wanna know while we're having dinner? —bucky asked as he raised his eyebrows.

you kicked him softly under the table and yelena rolled her eyes, —no, not that. i mean, how? why now? you guys have been solid for years.

you glanced at bucky, who met your eyes with a little knowing smile, the kind that said, we've been through hell but made it out together. —well, it didn't feel terrifying to think about the future anymore.

bucky gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his metal thumb drawing circles over your skin. yelena didn't say anything right away, she just looked at the two of you for a long moment, like she was trying to decide whether to make a joke or actually feel something. —i was not prepared for all this emotions with my lasagna, —she finally said.

—sorry. hormones, —you let out a breathy laugh.

—she cried over baby socks last week, —bucky said looking at yelena.

—they were so tiny, —you added defensively. —and pink.

yelena's eyes widened as she turned to bucky. she leaned back after finishing her food, folding her arms as if she needed to process that. —pink? bucky barnes... a girl dad?

—terrifying, right?

—ugh, don't listen to him. he's gonna be the best dad. he already is, —you said. bucky smiled as he got up from the table and stacked his, yelena's and your plate to take them to the kitchen. —she's got him wrapped around her little finger already.

—that's the most terrifying part, —he made his way back with the tiramisu, carrying it like it was a treasure. he slid another plate in front of each of you.

during the dessert, you told yelena how bucky spent in the baby aisle what felt like an eternity, trying to choose between two tiny overalls, one with strawberries and the other one with ducks, just to end up buying both. you told her how he talked to your belly in a high pitched voice and how he had somehow ended up in a forum for modern girl dads which he checked every morning over coffee.

—you had gone soft, bucky, —yelena teased him.

—she's gonna need a tough aunt, —you said giggling, your voice casual, like the words had just slipped out without weight. but they hit yelena hard. you wanted her there? in your daughter's life? as her... aunt? she swallowed as she finished her tiramisu. it wasn't a title yelena had ever imagined for herself, not in the kind of life she had, not with everything she carried.

but there you were, offering it to her so easily like it was already decided and across the table, there was bucky, the very picture of someone who had dragged himself through the same kind of darkness she still found herself tangled in. his presence alone was a reminder that things could get better.

yelena shifted slightly in her seat. maybe, after all, she could be someone's aunt.

—this was delicious. did she like it? —bucky moved his hand to your belly, rubbing it gently with his thumb. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. you placed your hand over his.

you placed your hand over his, —i think she did. she's been kicking all night, so i'd say it was a success.

yelena looked at your belly with wide, curious eyes and you noticed the moment her gaze softened, —come here, —you said to her, offering her your hand. she stood up and moved toward you, her steps uncertain. when she reached your side, she knelt beside you. bucky removed his hand to give yelena the space she needed. you placed her hand in the middle of your belly. for a moment, she was even scared to breath in case she hurt you or the baby, but then, a quick shy smile appeared on her lips.

—i can feel her, —her eyes brightened as she looked up at you. you nodded.

she stayed there for a bit, her fingers pressed against your belly, feeling the kicks against the palm of her hand as bucky took care of everything from the table and moved it to the kitchen. when the room quieted, yelena seemed to come back to herself. she hesitated but then she stood up. it was late, you and the baby needed to sleep.

—you staying for the night?

bucky irrupted in her thoughts and you sighed in relief he did. you and him knew that if she went back to her apartment, she'd be swallowed by the darkness that always seemed to follow her. her lips parted but bucky didn't give her the chance to pull away. —if the couch is okay with you... we've changed the guest room to the baby's room, so that's all we've got but it's all yours for the night.

yelena hesitated again, her eyes moving to the door almost like she was ready to leave, but something held her in place. maybe it was the comfort of not being alone, or the warmth that you two, now three of you, radiated to her. her shoulders relaxed, she thought she could let herself breath for one night. she nodded.

—the couch is fine, thank you.

—great! —you said, relieved that you've managed to keep her with you for a little longer and that fell like a small victory. —do you wanna listen to buck read the baby some bedtime stories? she goes crazy with his voice.

yelena looked at her friend with raised eyebrows, so a couple of months apart and now he was the kind of guy to read bedtime stories. bucky closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly realizing what was coming. —oh, i'd love that, yeah, —she finally said, knowing that bucky would die of embarrassment.

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daryltwdixon · 29 days ago

Note

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted.

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation.

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again.

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him.

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–”

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you.

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight.

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,”

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you.

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you.

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

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