#mm: nowhere to run

[undercoverpena]

i. fairy lights

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter one of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. “You should also know, Peña. I’m harder to sleep with than an informant.."

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, smut, angst. no use of y/n, mild use of a codename for story purposes. wordcount: 5k authors notes: this would have remained in my google drive if it wasn't for the sheer love, listening ears and heart of both @yeyinde and @guyfieriii - every bit of sass is written for you.

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Your eyes studied him. Peered through the half-open blinds, trying to assess at what stage you should go in—make your introductions. You’d hung back, not wanting to fawn like the others, needing to know if the man they placed on such a high shelf really deserved to be raised amongst the rest of you. 

Because you knew what he had done. You’d heard the whispers, the gossip—even if they tried to keep a lid on it. 

“Here.” 

Your eyes are pulled to a tall shadow, finding no smile—no smirk. Face entirely void of emotion. The coffee in his hand presented to you, your fingers obediently wrapping it, narrowing your eyes at the person in front of you. 

“From your favourite place.” 

The smirk falls easily over your lips. “What did you do, Van Ness?” 

It’s then he smiles—almost smirks. The two so closely woven together that you aren’t entirely sure where joy and torture truly begin. “I may or may not have fucked your filing system—but in my defence, I’m not the only one.” 

“I’m aware.”

“You met him yet?” he asked, nodding his head towards the office you’re stationed outside. “The new Attaché.”

“No, and do you not have work to be doing, Dan?” 

He shrugs, placing his cup down before leaning both palms on your desk, moving closer and closer. You watch as his smirk begins to cut into more of his features, almost being allowed to greet his eyes.

“This is for Fiestl’s sake—and the new pair of eyes studying us. The former thinks you’re seeing someone.” 

Mirroring him, you bring the coffee to your lips, leaning forward as then noted and the taste explodes across your tongue. “Lemme guess, you’re enjoying watching Chris squirm?” 

“Do you blame me?”

“No. Not really.”

You command him to look up when you walk through his office door. Your knock barely meets his ears before you’re there, stalking into his office with your hands full of files, papers and a single notebook.

He hears you murmur about not wanting to interrupt, but Javi doesn’t believe you.

Because of the sly smirk carved into your cheeks. The way you’re standing boldly in front of his desk, not giving him any indication that you’re not standing exactly where you want to be, at the time you wanted to. 

Your name falls from your tongue like it’s supposed to be blessing the air. As though you’re doing him a favour by informing him of it—not that it mattered.

He’d already learnt your name. That, and the name you’re so often called around the office—the one no one has yet explained to him. 

Now that you’re here, not restricted by half-open blinds and glass, he can look at you fully. He can run his eyes up and down your frame, not just admire your side profile. You’re pretty is what he thinks. Likely knows it from the way you don’t cower under his gaze, but rather thrive under it. He bets you act like you’re made of glass, when you’re in fact made of steel—that you’re used to making others feel better about their inadequacies than owning the fact you’re good.

You stand straight, not extending your hand out across his desk to him—telling him, without using your words, you’re not really here to make introductions. 

It almost pulls a smile from him. Your obvious indifference is welcomed after the sea of interviews he feels he’s had with the rest of the department.  It’s clear you’re not here to fawn, to interrogate him—you don’t even appear to be impressed he was half the reason Escobar was taken down.

Your eyes are still on him—piercing, digging themselves in as you continue to speak. They pierce, both your words and your sight, back remaining as diligently straight, words tumbling and falling from your lips into sentences he’s not even processing. 

Javi suspects you know he isn’t listening.

Holding yourself in a way that tells him this is a process, more than kindness. Your impassiveness growing, fermenting in the lack of interruption from him—and he welcomes it, almost craves it. So drained from shaking hands and listening to pester him for a scrap of information—an insight they’ve not read from a newspaper. 

You, without meaning to, provide a semblance of normality as you continue to talk. 

Shifting, he moves to lean on the sideboard behind him, keeping his eyes trained on you, noting how you’re American, but your vowels are tinged with the tone of someone who has been here too long. He hangs off of them, the inflictions, the oddities in the way you speak certain words. 

He shouldn’t. 

Javi has already woken up beside a colleague—an intern. Had already failed his promise to himself he made on the plane over, that this time would be different. 

And, here he is, dragging his eyes up and down your frame—noting things about you that are irrelevant, not listening. 

“--I’ve made notes, which I’ve tabbed for you. Just in case you decided to stop listening.”

You lift your eyes from your notes, and it’s different than when you’d first stalked in. They’re softer, their piercingness lost—vanished, as if you’d never tried to dig them into him—dousing him something akin to cool water on a stifling day. 

For the single, briefest second, he’s lost to the world around him. He’s falling, tumbling into them—losing his grip on morals and right from wrong as you just watch him. Not knowing how you’re basking him in light, sunshine and fucking serenity. 

A sight he’d never expected in his office, never mind in his presence. 

He clears his throat, Crosby’s words coming to him—rotating around and around. It’ll be different this time. By the book. Javi knows he has to make amends for what happened before. Even if it means having to follow orders, keep himself to himself—not fuck a subordinate again. Leave with his head held high, determination strong, impenetrable—

“Did you get all of that?” 

The air around you both tenses, constricting. 

It almost cracks, suddenly pulled to the point it’s making it hard to breathe. His mind is trying to latch to words, but just keeps replaying your entrance—how you stormed in like a hurricane, sweeping everything to the sides and leaving only you. The air shifts under the pressure, poisoned with patchouli and amber, a scent he cannot help but continue to inhale as it tries to stick to the walls—to the inside of him. 

Your eyes change again, sharpening—pitchforks at the ready as though you’ve already built him a stake to burn him on. Them trying to needle into him, undoing the carefully stitched threads that are working hard to keep him together. He equally tries to carve something out of you, work behind the layers, walls and forced aloofness. 

That’s when he finds it—hidden under carefully placed truths and hidden lies: hope. 

His heart descends, spluttering in annoyance. Because people pin that to him more than anything else. They assume he’s the answer—the centre of something big, important. A beacon they’ve all been waiting for, the one who can slay the biggest monsters and undo the greatest of crimes.

He feels it. 

How they say they wrap him in armour, but actually weigh him down in expectations. 

He moves his index and middle finger in the same pattern against his thumb. A slow rotation once, before moving it the other way twice. The pain in his head continued to throb, to pulse—his free hand rubbing that spot on his forehead. 

“I can repeat the basics, if that would be easier?” 

Your voice is like syrup—dripping into his ears, yet they’re not sticking. They’re clumping, forming somewhere between his ears and not filing themselves where they’re supposed to be. 

He can’t find the word no, or thank you. Unsure as he looks at you, how to explain this isn’t your words, but everything else. That there’s something sitting on his chest—has been since Escobar. That it lies there, dormant, waiting. 

“Sir…” 

He snorts, both at the way you say his title and that you’re the billionth person to call it him. Suddenly realising, knowing that the reason he cannot find the word no or thank you, is because they’re not the words he truly wants to say. Javi wants to say that he can’t take in your words because the floor is slipping away, his blood is bubbling nervously in his ears, heart and throat. 

Swallowing, he meets your eyes, wondering if you know that he feels like he’s drowning and yet he’s on land. While the ground feels and appears tough, firm and solid, it’s sliding under it—back to the flames he baptised himself in last time. The licks of fire singeing the edges of his skin.

Mainly, Javi wants to tell you that your to-do list that’s bigger than even you… he’s not sure what to do with any of it. 

You step closer, heels echoing in the small space as you slam the files on his desk—a piece of ripped paper capturing his attention. Your handwriting, all swirls and legible letters—not the writing of a man or another idiot in this place. Not able to pull himself away from it until he feels your fingers on his bicep, tight but soft in nature. 

“Breathe.”

You whisper it, let it greet the air with more kindness than you’ve shown since you burst into his office. Your thumb draws a triangle shape against his jacket, as you repeat the one word again. 

“What?”

Javi doesn’t mean to spit it—to let it hit the air harshly and questioningly. He doesn’t mean to be blunt or direct, shattering your softness and mellow tone. 

You pull your hand back all the same, but your face doesn’t shift—doesn’t change—and you also don't move. 

“Take a breath,” you say, in a tone devoid of any emotion. “You… look like you need it. And, I know I reeled off a lot there, but we’ll find ways.” 

Eyes full of something he can’t place—like knowing, experience and grief. Your unspoken words slide into his mind without needing to speak them. 

“We because you and I, we’re going to find ways around problems. I’m not Stoddard, and I’m not one of the idiots out there, Agent Peña.”

His pulse quickens, especially when you take a step back, pulling a piece of paper from the top of the pile before placing it more firmly in front of his chair. More in view, if he were to lean forward.

“I cannot put a vest on and leave these walls to do your bidding, but I can do a fucking lot inside these walls. With sheer will and a sharp tongue. This is what I’ll do for you. I’m the one who does your grunt work, so you can make the difference; I’m the one who’ll take the mountain of shit first, so you can make that difference. I’ll hold up the goddamn walls, Peña. You just have to tell me what street and what number. Whatever you need me for, I am here. So, breathe.” 

Your words almost make him crack—make him believe for a second that what you said was true. 

But, Javi knows better—has seen so much.

He’s played the game, seen the deceit wrapped in kindness, and been spat out because of it. 

“Alright…”

You nod, shifting your weight, watching you be lulled into a false sense of security—wondering if your walls are down enough for him to see a real answer on your face as he asks:

“Answer me this, Agent. What did they give you?”

It’s instant—the way you flinch. Small, likely not visible to most. 

Truthfully, it catches him by surprise, not expecting it. Having spent a large chunk of time around people who hold secrets, he’s not seen that one happen before. Not so quickly, not so naturally it flitters and is removed before he can truly take notice of it. 

Regret bathes him. Falls in heavy buckets from the ceiling down onto him, and he stuffs the feeling down under his suit and faultily-thrown-up ego. 

Even if the words to take it back are so easily there, readily available to be spoken—

“Not a glass prison,” you reply, words as sharp as knives.

Your back straightens again, face unreadable as you snatch your notebook from the files, the soles of your shoes making their exit before you pause, giving him one last look. 

“I’ll be at my desk, Sir.”

You don’t slam the door back into place, but rather cautiously slide it until he’s alone, lifting your chin, eyes holding his. 

Fuck.

Blanketed in low light and the soft twinkles of the bar’s fairy lights, Javi spots you immediately. 

Your jacket is removed, hanging limply from the barstool you’re sitting on, swirling the crystal glass, sloshing the liquid and ice inside of it. 

It’s instant—the twist of guilt in his stomach. 

He’s tried to speak to you. Tries to find ways to apologise without as much as saying it. But, you’re good. If he tries to ask you about work, you are nothing short of professional. Calling him sir, fetching what he needs and handing him notes—needling yourself further into his guilt. 

Outside of those moments, when he’d offered you coffee, you’d simply lifted your full mug without as much as meeting his eye. He had even tried to beat you into work, only to find you already there, your desk lamp being all that illuminated the office as you tore through files and mumbled a brief morning. 

The only benefit to your ignorance towards him is he’s been able to watch how soft you could be—how you smile with ease and how gentle your voice could be with those that aren’t him. He’d been able to watch the dynamics of the people who approach you, a taller one making you smirk and a more blonder man able to make your back straighter than he can. 

It’s also allowed him to peer under the hard exterior and defensive tone, and learn more about you from others.

Luna. That’s what they call you—a callsign, codename. A reference to your last operation in Cali before you forced yourself to be on desk work. A name chosen by you, they said—now one you fit so perfectly. One with the night, never sleeping, never leaving the office. 

Now, you’re here. 

Haunting him out of work as you are his work life. If he had known you drank here, he’d have grabbed a bottle and drank alone in his apartment. Not caring for the uptempo music and the fact others stare at him. 

He knows he’s giving more to Colombia than he ever should have—both fractions of his soul and his pride, as well as pieces of his future. The notion forces him to undo his tie as he walks over, letting his tie hang as he slides his jacket off—trying not to fixate on you. 

Even in the low lighting, he sees your perfectly manicured nails and the way your lips slide into a smirk. You roll your wrist as he slides into the chair beside you, amber and ice swirling with your motions—likely making a rhythmic noise if not for the loud music. 

We’re going to find ways around problems. 

“Evening… Sir.” 

He’d found your file, and read the pieces he was able to. He knows a redacted file when he sees one, but the main points are still there—still bold in pressed ink and serif. 

Javi smirks, both at the fact you still haven’t looked at him and the fact he can’t get used to being called sir. Least of all when it falls from your lips—a hidden note to it when you let it leave your tongue. Mouth curling around each letter as you let it float to his ears. 

It’s almost torturous when you say it—just like your perfume has grown to be. Hanging heavy in the air when he walks through, giving him hints of where you are, where you’ve been. He’s also been able to discern vanilla is another element to it, mind flicking to you when he smells a note from your perfume. 

He knows he’d be able to work out the other notes if he allowed himself to. Be able to work out which ones are all you and which you soak your skin in. 

You bring the glass to your lips, draining the liquid down your throat before placing it between the two of you, taking the hint.

“Same again?”

Nodding—direct and clinical, just like a well-trained agent. “Por favor.”

There’s a story. One which goes deep or goes high, he hasn’t quite worked it out. Knowing there has to be a reason for so much to have been removed and a reason why someone as talented as you has been saddled to a desk. If he were more drinks in, he’d ask. Bite the bullet, use his lack of tact to make you angry until you’re bursting at the seams, spilling all of your treasured truths. 

You don’t look at him until your glass is full, and then your eyes meet his, placing him under a spotlight. Illuminating him, making him glow as you make his skin warm and his shirt clings more to his spine. No words leave your lips as you bring the glass back up, taking the smallest sip as you smirk—letting the silence thicken. 

She’s good. Talented.

That’s what he’s been told by Crosby. No further explanation, moving quickly on. 

“You have secrets.” 

You laugh, harsh and short. “Oh, don’t we all. I know a lot about yours.”

“You gonna start calling me a hero too, Luna?”

Pursing your lips, your eyes narrow briefly. He watches as your head tilts, eyes not sharpening or changing, but something in you does. Likely to do with the name—the codeword. The one they used when you were down in Cali to refer to you. 

“I wouldn’t waste my breath telling you something you don’t believe.” You let the words hang, brew and fizz. “You don’t get to call me that, either.”

You take a long sip, rolling your lips together as he brings his own to his lips. He coats his tongue in it, attempting to smother the growing anxiousness embedding itself into his bones. Because there’s something about the way you stare at him, how it makes things unlodge and shift inside of him. 

“You should also know, Peña. I’m harder to sleep with than an informant and I’m not half as impressed by you as Katie, the intern.” 

He tenses, visibly. Not able to hide it, bury it. He doesn’t miss the tone, the way you say it with brimstone and annoyance. The hair along his neck standing on edge as you continue to stare, to dig into him. 

“What… here all of one day and you already managed to fuck the intern. My hero.” 

His cheeks burn, draining his glass as the whiskey does a good job of burning his insides. Hating how you know—how you’re unafraid of lifting a mirror to show him his failings. He despises that you know the edges of him, pierces—the worst parts of him. 

Mainly, he dislikes that you’re smirking, sipping your glass as though taking a victory sip. A checkmate. 

“I sat next to you because I thought you’d cause me the least amount of issues.”

Smirking broader, you tilt your head. “You clearly don’t know me then, Peña.”

“No, Luna. I don’t.”

Placing his glass down, slowly rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. Regretting coming here, regretting thinking he could… 

“I’m sorry. For… the other day. For upsetting you now.”

You lean back, something between the two of you shifting as he watches you sigh. The music changes, slowing, almost quietening. “I’m a bit impressed you know that word.”

He almost laughs. Letting the thick silence thrum between the two of you, resting his elbow on the bar’s counter as he watches you play with your glass.

Clearing your throat, you refuse to meet his eyes as you ask, “It’s likely the whiskey… but, you doing okay, Sir?” 

He watches as you roll your finger across the rim, occasionally glancing at him, but never meeting his eyes. 

Something he suddenly wants—desperate to earn the sight of them. 

“Less of the ‘sir’.”

It’s then he hears you laugh. Low, smothered by faux indifference, compared to the usual you so easily muster. 

“The barrel—barrels—they have you over… i get it. I meant what I said, Javier. If you need an ear,” you say, fingers flexing across the counter as you meet his gaze. “You’re not the only one, to be fucked by bureaucracy—is all I mean. But, you likely know that, right? Heard all about me, and my failings. Have to if you’re calling me my cover name.”

He swallows, watching your chin dip, eyes falling to your lap.

“They make you feel like you’re it, and then just as easily they’ll rip it from you—and you’re left with… nothing.” 

It fluctuates—changes—some shadow of truth emerging from the depths between them as it stands before them both, almost warningly, but not threatening. He can’t understand it, can’t read it fully, but knows it’s there. 

And then you smile, vanishing it all away as you offer him your name again. 

As though you hadn’t already handed it to him, as if he hadn’t already committed it to memory and tried it on his tongue. 

“--just in case you didn’t listen to me before.” “I listened.”

Your lips curl. “Yeah? That before or after you checked out my ass?”

He says nothing, taking your glass and draining it. 

“Don’t call me Luna.”

“Why, you hate it or something?”

You say nothing for a moment before you turn to the bartender—ordering them both another drink. 

He finds you taste like heaven and hell all at once. 

You burn him, consume him—desperately trying to rip through him. He’d let you. Aid you in shredding him apart as long as your sweet, full lips remain pressed to his. They pull him from self-deprecation and overwhelmingness, gripping your waist as he gets you inside his place, pressing your spine against the inside of his door as you let out that honeyed whimper he heard outside the bar. 

You taking me to yours, Peña? Can do.  Don’t pretend you’ve not been thinkin’ it for the last hour. 

One of your arms slings around his neck, eyes full of molten fire and lust as you capture his lips. Pressing yourself roughly against his body, allowing him to pull you so flush he feels the buttons of your blouse against him. 

Before we do this—you clean? Yes, I’m fucking clean. Just checking. I don’t know where you’ve been, Peña. Get in the car. 

The moment halts, pauses. It breathes between you, all set to unravel as your eyes ghost over him, breath merging with his as he stares at you. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your lips curl into a smile, one he strokes with his thumb. “Thank you, Sir.”

Fuck. That word. It drips from your tongue to his ear and down to his cock. His lips messily meeting yours, every other touch precise and well-versed, as though the two of you have done this before together. The movements are painted together by moans and whimpers, a part of him sliding back into place as clothes—both yours and his—fall to the floor in the wake of him getting you to his bed. 

He runs his thumb over your blouse-covered peak, his teeth running down your neck to a spot which makes your nails dig into the back of his head. Your other hand is on his spine, fingers sprayed as he moves you elegantly around the furniture like it’s a dance and not ruination. 

Then your lips find him again, pulling him up, teeth slightly nibbling at his bottom lip. You kiss him like you’re breathing life into him—trying to awaken parts of him stolen months ago. Pity, guilt and an array of other things are all smothered by the way your tongue slides past his teeth. Your fingers are busy in their pursuit, the clanging of metal undoing hammers into the air as his trousers ease from his hips. 

“Thought you were harder to sleep with.”

Your laugh blends with a moan as he presses you against the wall outside his room, hand snaking inside your underwear. 

The fabric cuts into his palm, sliding two fingers into your slick as you clench around him—enveloping him, coating him in your want and need. 

He waits for the back-pedalling for you to tell him something egotistical like others usually do. Only, you don’t. 

“Took pity… fuck—on you. Seemed like—oh, fuck—you need this.” Your hand clutches his cheek, eyes burning into his as your lips try to capture his, just about ghosting, the sensation of it almost making his move against the air. “Plus… thought you’d be better than my—oh, Peña—fingers… Sir.” 

He emits a groan which comes from somewhere at the back of his throat. It makes him crash his mouth to yours, fingers twisting to find the spot that makes your knees weaken. He tastes the whiskey and the mint you’d popped on your tongue when they’d left the bar. 

He smells your perfume, noticing how it wraps around him, digging its claws into him, smearing over his skin. 

“Wanna taste you…”

You clench your walls around his fingers, nails digging into his cheek and waist as you stare, slowly nodding. 

Not allowing you to change your mind, he frees his hand from your underwear, picking you up, kicking the door of his bedroom open as he takes in the small yelp from the sudden movements. 

It’s not until you’re lay against his sheets, eyes coating him in a potion mixed of lust, pleasure and need, swirling shades all around him he couldn’t begin to name, does he really take notice of how fucking beautiful you are. He’d seen it, noted it—but hadn’t allowed himself to truly appreciate it, something he began making up for as he slowly drops to his knees, pulling you a little closer. 

You watch him watch you, chest rising and falling before him. 

“Javi,” he breathes as he hooks a thumb on either side of your underwear, beginning to slide it down your thighs. “That’s what you should call out when I make you come on my tongue.” 

He places a kiss to the inside of your knee as you moan, discarding your underwear before hooking your legs over his shoulders—noticing how wet you are, allowing his breath to dance over it, purposefully blowing it as your hips wiggle in both desperation and apprehension. 

“You have to earn that,” you murmur, missing your usual confidence as he stares at you through his lashes. “Sir.”

He smirks, and then he devours you. Tongue flattening against you at first before he plunges it inside of your folds, tasting you—tasting how much you’ve wanted him since your eyes had begun flicking from his lips to his eyes. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, hearing you—a chorus of please, Peña,  fuck and—

Javi. 

After a night of Peña and a day of sirs—it’s bliss. His name falling from your lips makes him rock his hips for friction. Makes him want to halt his plans to have you come on his tongue, and instead bury himself to the hilt inside of you. 

But there’s time. 

He knows this. Wants this. He wants to take you apart with the same tongue that made you mad. He wants to apologise with the mouth which went too far. He wants to know what your pleasure truly tastes like and commit each note of it to his taste buds. 

You lose it when he sucks lightly on your bundle of nerves, swiping his tongue in slow and quick circles one way, and then the other— “Fuck, Javi. Please—please, fuck—let me…”

He grins. Plunging his fingers back inside of you, curling them, letting them meet that spot he discovered earlier, that he now wants to conquer. Feeling how tight you are, how soaked. How each movement makes a sound which blends with the sound of your pleas—a compilation he wouldn’t ever let be taken from him. A sound he’s happy to burn into his brain. 

Each movement takes you closer to the edge. Your nails carve through his hair, digging into his scalp as his name falls and falls in a mixture of moans. 

He swirled his tongue in a way which makes your hips buck, and he grips you tightly, not letting you move from it until you were breaking, snapping—

The sound you emit sprays across the walls of his bedroom, his tongue lapping up every drop you’ll give him—ears taking in each infliction and sound you bestow on him. 

“Fuck,” you say when you come down, all breathy and sweet.

Fuck, he thinks. Swiping his fingers across his chin, licking you from them as you pull him up from between your legs, kissing him—tasting yourself on him as he grasps her cheek and jaw, falling against the sheets with you.

“Need you.”

“Sí?”

You smirk, all devious and devilish—sliding your leg over his as he grips your hip—digging his thumb into your skin as you whisper in Spanish:

Ruin me. 

He halts, letting the words circle as you bite your lip, rolling your hips against him—knowing he was going to do just that. Over and over again. Savour each moan of yours until even in the morning, before responsibilities and rights and wrongs sneak back in, he would need you again.

Except, Javi doesn’t wake up with you beside him in the morning. 

He wakes up alone, bed sheets cold—and something akin to disappointment fluttering in his chest: you left.

Briefly, he wonders if it's karma. Another arrow to his knee, a mirror confronting him of his past mistakes. Because, he shouldn’t be bothered that you left—preferring to avoid mess and complication.

But it stung. It irked him. Because usually, it was he who did the leaving, not the woman he had just slept with. 

chapter two ->

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[keeps-ache]

hii good morning :) hiii

#just me hi #hiiiiii #hellooo #hiiiiiii #i jus woke up :> #woke up to like 30 notes and i was like 'mm. okay. what is..... goin.......................' #and it was mutuals! :0 #and also one person who wanted a TON of luck! #and also i stayed up til 2 a.m. doing a redraw of a painting from last year! i love it in my new mediums it looks great :D imma see if i- #-can get a picture! #also made a new OC cuz of said redraw #:) #yeah! -v- #oh and i'm also gonna try to design the inside of that OC's house today. so Maybe fun? #hmm what else. oh i wanna go skating. hopefully today? #like it's the perfect temperature ! and it's been a while :) #oh gee what if i just fall on my face first thing? that'd be kinda funny ngl #i just run in place for a second do a backflip and i'm laying face down in some gravel that spawned out of nowhere :) #alrighty i'm going to do things now. byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye

[iliektehhaxs]

Making a sex tape with ghost 💋

Simon would be deployed soon, and he wanted a memento of you—something to keep him company during the lonely nights, something to share with the boys when they eventually asked who was the pretty girl that managed to grab the attention of the ever-feared Ghost.

Their answer would be provided in the form of a video of you getting fucked like a whore.

Phone propped up right in front of your face, nowhere to hide as Simon uses you for his own ends. Back arched, ass in the air, just the way he likes it.

“Eyes up slag, want to see your face properly,” he grunts, then pulls your head up by your hair and fucks you even harder, a feat you weren’t even sure was possible. You’re the picture of debauchery, mouth open with a never ending stream of moans, cries, pleading and begging for Simon to slow down to which he only laughs at.

“Slow down? Don’t think you want that love.”

Just like you asked, his thrusts become forceful, slow and methodical, each push sending your body forward. His cock drags against your inner walls so deliciously you can’t help but cry.

It’s good, but just like he said, it’s not what you want. It’s not enough.

On pure instinct you push your ass back into his hips and he laughs again, taunting you as his large hands keep you still, forced to accept only what he gives.

“Don’t be greedy, slut. Keep nice and still f’me.”

He keeps you right on the edge, no more and no less. Every time you feel yourself close to orgasm he wrestles you back to reality, stopping his movements entirely, then starting once more once he’s certain you’re ready.

“Mm, precious little cunt,” he gasps, dropping his entire body weight against your back. It’s suffocating, how easily he overshadows you and forces you to take every last inch, a whining mess underneath him. “So tight, can feel her squeezin’ me for every last drop.”

Your legs shake with exertion, your body so weak you can’t even summon the strength to hold onto the sheets. His hand reaches up to grab your chin, keeping your head up in a tight grip, the light of the phone illuminating the tears running down your face. “Go on, say it, tell me you need more, want the boys to know just how well I’ve trained you.”

You don’t recognize yourself through the video, the cock-drunk eyes, the fucked out smile plastered across your face, the lack of a single thought in your head besides his cock as you obey his orders.

“More, please,” you whimper, and then his fingers reach up to play with your spit-lined lips.

“Say again doll, louder for me,” he grins, and you do, a sloppy mess of yourself as you gag on his fingers. They play with your tongue, drag against your lips before reaching down to play with your clit, sitting upright to stretch out your poor, over sensitive pussy on his massive cock.

“You look good getting fucked…now smile for the camera.”

#call of duty #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #robo writes #another form of writing practice because A CERTAIN SOMEONE WAS BORED #YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

[luveline]

hi lovely jade!! I had an idea for a request: reader who’s pretty independent who hurt her back working out and now can’t walk/shower/etc on her own for a few days x any of the marauders (I really do love them all and especially the way you write them. you can also make this poly!marauders if you feel so inclined).

this is definitely self indulgent, so please feel free to ignore it if it doesn’t do the creative trick.

thank you for sharing your lovely writing with us and being lovely overall!

sending so many hugs to you!!

hi honey, thank u for requesting!! hope u get better soon <3

the boys take care of you when you hurt yourself. fem, 1.2k

You wake in Sirius’ bed with James curled over you protectively. This is not unusual. What is strange is that Sirius seems to have already gotten up for the day, his sleep shirt thrown in a crumpled mess at your feet and his phone off the charger. You scrub at your tired eyes and consider going to look for him, figuring he's probably in the den (or office, depending on which boy you ask), but your back gives a twinge, and then a throb, and you remember the night before. 

You rub James’ arm and push it off of your chest, preparing mentally for the pain. You've tweaked it a few times in the past, the next day always being worse than the actual time of injury, and yet the pain you're met with is instantaneously disarming. 

“Ow,” you can't help but whine, trying to bend forward away from the pain, and finding you can't manage that, either. You gasp as heat races up your spine and across your shoulders, everywhere and nowhere, like the press of a hot hand. 

James mumbles, “What's the matter?” with his head still buried in the pillows. 

“James, I think I've really hurt myself.” Tears squeeze so quickly out of the corners of your eyes that you don't have time to recognise the heat of them. Other sensations are more pressing. 

You don't know if he's looking at you, but you can feel his careful touch working its way up his arm, and hear the ruffle of the sheets as he gets up. “What?” he asks, his voice stretched with the early hour. 

“Last night, when we were lifting, I– I pulled my shoulder and I thought it would–” You make a strangled sound. “It's really bad, what do I do?” 

“Woah, woah, don't panic!” He leans in, your blurry view suddenly filled with his gentle face. 

James soothes it from there, so to speak. He shushes you softly when you start to sob and helps you lay back down, wiping your tears, not a lick of panic about him. “It's okay, it's okay,” he murmurs, “does that feel better?” 

It's better flat, but not gone. “I can't sit up.” 

“That's okay,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips, where he kisses your fingers. 

He waits for you to calm down before grabbing his phone from his room. It's much later in the day than you'd thought, and Sirius will be working his afternoon shift, while Remus could be anywhere. He likes to write in cafes or parks, somewhere away from the hubbub of the house, lest he be distracted, waylaid with kisses, or pestered into helping make dinner or do laundry or whatever needs doing that day. 

“Hey,” James says, hushed, “you okay? Mm… can you come home?” A startled question that betrays the first recipient, Remus’ rasp on the line. “Yeah, I'm fine, it's our little gym rat sweetheart, she's strained her back, she's a bit upset… No, not yet. You think she'll let me?” 

“I'm not going to the doctor’s,” you call to him. James smiles at you from the door. 

“We’ll see,” he shoots back. “Yep yep. Okay. Well, he's in work… Okay. Yeah, okay. Love you, see you in a bit.” 

“What can he do?” you ask. “You should've left him.” 

“Same thing as me.” He runs his hands through his hair. It's a little too long again, dark and thick, curled at the base of his neck with flicks behind his ears, though it's short compared to Sirius’ mess. When he drops his arms, the noon time sunshine kisses his brown skin with a gorgeous warmth, and emphasises the lines of veins where they run up his arms. “You look like you're in agony,” he says, covering his mouth with a hand. “Is it really that bad?” 

You nod miserably. 

He sits next to you carefully, but now you've awoken your pain it won't sleep, and each millilitre of the mattress's distension prompts a new layer of aching. “Sorry,” he says, sounding like he could cry for you, “why didn't you tell me last night?” 

James wraps his arms around you in a strange way, trying not to jostle you as he leans down to touch his nose to your forehead. 

“I didn't think it would be this bad.” 

He talks a little about the doctor's while you wait for Remus to come home. It isn't a waste of time, he insists, the GP is there for a reason. 

You're surprised when it's Sirius who shouts up the stairs. “You okay?” he calls. 

“Sirius?”

James shrugs. “Remus must've told him. We're fine!” 

A rush up the stairs. Sirius pauses by the door, frowning at you both in his bed. “What did you do?” 

“Well, I didn't mean to,” you say. 

“Not you, darling. James, I told you to look after her, all that equipment freaks me out, and Remus agrees.” 

James sighs. “He doesn't mean that.” 

Sirius goes to sit with you but stops upon noticing your wince, and instead flops down on the floor near the wardrobe with his phone to his ear. “I'll get an emergency appointment.” 

“This isn't an emergency,” you say. 

“It is for you. You'll need a sick note sorted anyways.” 

“But it's not that bad.” 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius says, smiling at you softly, an uncommon expression on him, though not unseen, “I know when you've had a big cry.” 

He gets put on hold, saving you the further ache of the line music while James strokes your temple. You attempt to hide how much your back hurts, but you're hurting bad and the knowledge that it's not about to go away soon is genuinely scary. 

Remus understands uncertain pain. He's last to come home but certainly not the least concerned, shoving his laptop case onto Sirius’ dresser, freeing his hands in favour of your face. “Is it bad?” he asks, looking between you and James for an answer. 

“Not really,” you say. James’ face must say differently. 

“What painkillers have you taken?” he asks quickly, “I have co-codamols, did you take paracetamol? You can't have them at the same time.” 

He frowns deeply at your daunted look. “You haven't taken them already, have you? They're very strong by themselves, with paracetamol as well, you'd–” 

“I haven't taken anything,” you admit. 

Sirius sighs and rubs his nose into his palm. “Jesus.” 

“Oh,” Remus says, hands especially tender, even as he laughs, “of course you haven't.” 

“I was a bit distracted.” 

He sobers, stroking the fat of your cheek and then leaning down for a careful kiss. “Of course. Haven't eaten anything either, I suppose?” 

“No, sorry.” 

He kisses you again and pulls away. “That's okay. What about you, Jamie, did you eat?” 

They take care of you in their different ways, in the same way they take care of one another. “No,” James says, “but I have it. Swap places with me, I'll make dinner while we wait for the GP to answer.” 

“You can make supper at the same time,” Sirius jokes.

You laugh and hurt your back. He is very, very sorry. 

#the marauders #marauders #poly marauders #poly!marauders #poly marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fic #sirius black fic #james potter fic #the marauders x reader #the marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Green

Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Jackson believes in a green future, which includes marijuana. You like to get high. Tonight, Joel joins you and you get to treat him like he treats you. Chapter Warnings: Smut, marijuana use, soft dom reader, sub Joel, m receiving oral, unprotected p in v, riding Joel's thick thigh, you bite Joel's stomach (because it has to be done), Joel watching himself masturbate in your mirror, Joel drinks water out of your hands. Words: 5,100 Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. A/N: Happy 4/20! Wanted to give you another entry akin to Golden Walkway, a little peek into the future again of these two.

Masterlist Playlist

Times never change instead of hiding your illicit use from your parents, now you hide it from a teenager. Joel and you always going to your your house so you can get high, just in case Ellie needs something. Can’t be a bad influence.

“So you never really smoked much?” you ask as you pull the box of papers and weed out of the drawer before sitting down on your couch. You lean over your coffee table removing its contents and start to build your joint.

“Mm, never really was my thing, too risky if I got caught growing up in Texas during the Regan years. Had football eligibility to worry about ‘n then Sarah came, just never was the time for me.” Joel says as he leans back into your armchair his brown eyes intently watching your actions. You begin to crumble weed up and place it on your rolling paper. 

“Ah, makes sense. It’s good for me when my nerves really get to me,” you begin to roll your joint, “helps kinda soften the harsh lines of reality a lot. Makes my body and my mind a little freer.”

You lick your cigarette closed and admire your handiwork, welcoming the anticipation of being with Joel while you’re stoned. 

You grab a match, strike it against the box and spark your joint, rotating it in your mouth to light it up. Joel chuckles as you inhale the first hit. 

“What’s so funny?” You ask in a cloud of your smoke as you exhale.

“Nothing. Maybe I should get high. Making me hard just watching you do this.”

“Oh yeah?” You sit back. 

“Yeah, maybe I should start. Never was one for smoking though.”

“Hm, I can help. I can just blow the smoke into your mouth if you want to try it.” You lean forward wanting him to take you up on your offer.

“Sounds good sweetheart,” he nods and pats his lap. “Come sit with me, have nowhere to be tomorrow.”

You rest the joint between your lips, stand and grab the ashtray. Your bare feet pad across the plush carpet of the area rug as you walk over to Joel. 

“Hi,” you smile out with a small puff of smoke. 

“You look so cute like this, little cigarette sticking out of your mouth, eyes all cloudy and happy. Love it when my girl is happy.”

You giggle at his compliment as you lift your leg up to rest on the chair, your foot tightly fitting within what little room is left on the seat between Joel’s thick thighs. He looks up at you, his mouth slightly agape his usual furrowed brow a lot less creased, more relaxed.

“I am happy,” you answer as his hands begin to massage your calf. “You look a lot less grumpier than you normally look. That makes me happy.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yep,” you say before inhaling another hit. 

“Why don’t you make me happier and sit on my lap, that’d make me really happy darlin’.”

Turning your head to the side you blow out a plume of smoke as you place yourself on Joel’s lap, knees bent against his thighs and the armrests. You can feel the denim covered shape of his half hard cock against your cotton shorts. Your tits underneath your faded and holey t-shirt are right at Joel’s eye level. 

“S’nice,” he says staring forward at your chest. 

“My eyes are up here Joel,” you begin to laugh at your own joke, as you take another hit. You’re so high and happy, you’ve never been stoned and in love, it feels amazing.

“I’d tell you to knock it off, but your whole body’s shaking against me ’n your tits are bouncing in my face,” Joel grins as he kisses a breast through your shirt. 

Fuck, now that feels amazing. 

“Hold this,” you direct, handing him the joint. 

He takes it between his fingers and watches as you lean back and remove your shirt. His eyes widening as he concentrates on your actions, so much for relaxed Joel. He holds up the joint, still in his hands, to your lips.

“Take a hit baby,” his voice gravels out, his cock hardening underneath, “‘n lemme have some.”

You inhale and move your mouth to his, forming a tight seal between the two of you. Joel welcomes the smoke and sucks in as you blow out. 

You grab the joint from him as he exhales, a white cloud of smoke floating above the two of you. You take another pull off the joint, your body already feeling much lighter, your brain less complicated. 

“Can I have that back?” Joel asks. “Want to do the same you did for me.”

You smile a silent agreement and hand him the joint, now a short stub. He brings it up to his mouth, holding it between his thumb and pointer, his large fingers making it practically disappear save for the glowing orange embers that light as he takes a hit. He looks so fucking tempting as his cheeks slightly puff out. Everything Joel Miller does is hot, but the way he drags on a joint, his pillowy lips wrapping around the white paper, the way his broad shoulders rise as he breathes in, this might just be the hottest you’ve ever seen him. When will you ever get tired of looking at this man?

You bring your lips to his and he exhales into your mouth. Oh, this is the best way to get high. You pull away, releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“‘Bout shot, don’t you think?” Joel raises the joint up and looks at it.

“It’s shot,” you grab the ash tray from the table and hand it to him. He stubs out the joint and puts it back on the table.

He looks at you, his eyes heavier than usual, a little red and glazed. You’ve seen his eyes glazed over with lust numerous times, this glaze is a little lighter, a little happier. He sits back and you move farther up his lap so you can move a finger up to pet the smoothness of the little heart patch in his beard. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask as Joel’s hands trace up and down your back. 

“Good, real good,” a deep exhale out of his lips answers. 

“Relaxed?” You ask as your finger moves to brush back and forth across his lips. 

“Mm.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this free before. A light smile, half shut eyes staring back at you, his whole face more relaxed. He looks good this way, you love when he’s happy and relaxed, you’ve never met anybody more deserving.

“Feels good,” Joel says as you rub your finger across his soft lower lip. A deep breath leaves his half parted lips, the air blowing against your finger. “Real good.”

“Good,” your hand moves to trace around his top lip, the hair of his mustache bristling against your digit as you move it back and forth. “I like making you feel good.” 

You feel the the lines around his lips rise as he smiles at you. “You’re s’good at it baby.”

“Yeah? What do you like the most?”

“Hard t’pick. Love the way your eyes always blink as you cum for me, can always tells how good you’re feelin’ by how big your eyes get right before. Love the little gasp you always make when I start fuckin’ you. Love that you grab for my hands at any chance you get, like you need to touch me as much as you can. Love that you always need me.” The last sentence coming out the softest.

“I do need you,” you confess, “all the time, not even for all of the you know, sex stuff.”

“I know baby,” he hugs you against his chest, “I need you too… so much.” 

“But, I do also really need you for the sex stuff, you know?"

Joel’s chuckle vibrates against you. “My girl’s funny, real funny.”  

“But really, what do you need tonight Joel?” You pull away from his chest and look him in the eyes. You love it when he compliments you, you love it when he calls you his girl. You love that he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“I need you to tell me what you want from me tonight.  Make me yours. Talk to me like I talk t’ya.” Joel’s eyes staring into yours as they widen with his admission. “I’m yours baby.”

A bit of trepidation lands in your brain. Joel’s always the one to depend on to chart the stars of your intimacy. He’s so good at predicting what you want, you let him navigate. The thoughts are silenced once you feel his hands move along your hips and thighs. You can tell he wants you to do this for him. You want Joel to experience what you feel after he’s done with you. You want him to believe in you like you believe in him. You sit up higher on him, feeling braver and bolder. Ready to bless him for his confession. 

“Okay. I’m going to get up, walk to the kitchen to get something to drink, and when I come back, I want you to stand in front of my mirrored wall over there. Keep your clothes on.”

You’re shocked by the confidence in your voice. Joel as well, his hands pause their movement as you speak. He stares at you, his mouth slightly open in surprise. 

You rise up off of Joel, folding your arms across your naked chest. “Understand?”

“Y-y-yes,” Joel stutters. 

“Good,” you wink and turn towards the kitchen, your confident steps leaving a bewildered Joel in your chair. You’ve never acted like this, your brain swirling with ideas of what you want to do, what you want to say, how you want to make him feel. 

You grab two glasses out of your cupboard and fill them with water. Your mouth is parched, you’re sure Joel’s is too. You walk back to your living room, your courage building with each step closer. You know you’re ready when you see Joel standing as instructed in front of your mirror. 

“Hi handsome,” you walk to stand behind him, still topless and only in your shorts, his eyes moving from looking at his own reflection to your chest. You wouldn’t expect less from him, you love how he looks at you.

“Hi,” Joel whispers. You think he’s a little nervous, a little excited, he probably feels exactly how you feel. 

“I’m going to watch you watch yourself get undressed. I want you to listen to me and follow my directions, okay?”

“Yes,” his simple answer resolutely spoken as you put the waters down and turn the lamp on besides you, the light bathing both of you in a smoldering golden hue. You want to fully be able to watch Joel do what you have planned for him.

“Good, I don’t want to hear much from you, okay? I’m the one talking.” 

You like this feeling, you especially like the serious nod Joel gives you through the mirror. 

“Take your shirt off.”

You watch Joel’s hands move to the hem of his t-shirt and lift it over his head. 

“Give it to me,” you step forward and extend a hand out. 

The soft gray fabric is still warm with Joel’s body heat as it hits your hand. You bring it to your nose and inhale his scent. “You smell so good all the time. I love the scent of you.” You take one last sniff before putting his shirt on, his smell now encompassing you.

“Wh—“ 

“Quiet,” you interrupt Joel’s protest, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you, I want to smell like you and wear your shirt while I make you feel good.” 

He looks a little annoyed, you like that. 

“Look at your chest. It’s perfect. I love how your shoulders are so wide and so strong. I love how your arms are muscular and yet they’re so soft when I rest my head against them. I love how soft your stomach has gotten meaning you’re well fed and healthy. You like the praise baby?”

Joel nods as his eyes darken hearing you call him one of the pet names he always calls you.

“Unbutton and unzip your pants, but don’t take them off.” Your pussy getting wetter at the thought of the sights that you’re about to see, all directed by you. All broadcast on your mirror. 

Joel nods, as he unbuttons his jeans, his fingers move to his zipper and pulls it down. You love that he never wears underwear when he comes over. You love how you can see the trail of hair from his belly button down to his bush. He’s the perfect amount of hairy. He’s the perfect amount of manly. He’s just fucking perfect.

“Good. You’re thirsty right?” He nods. You lean over to the table and pick up a glass of water. “Drink all of this. Want to watch your neck move as you swallow it down.” 

Joel takes the glass and brings it to his lips, his eye contact not breaking with yours through the reflection. He takes a large gulp brows wrinkling with seriousness for the task at hand, no matter how significant or insignificant it is. It’s so Joel.

“I love watching you drink. I love how small the mug looks in your hand when you drink your coffee in the morning. I love how you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand after downing a whole glass of water when you’re hot. I love how gently form your lips around a glass of whiskey.” You finish your praise as he empties the glass, taking it from him and placing it on the table. 

“Good. Feel better?” 

He nods.

“Take your pants off,” you think of what Joel would say in this moment. “Lemme see all of you.” 

He smirks as he starts to move his jeans down his hips, he knows you’re going to love this part. His cock springs out as it’s freed, fully erect and throbbing, you knew you’d get him good and hard with your attitude. He bends over to shuck his jeans fully off, kicking them to the side, and when he stands up, shoulders back, dick hard and ready to follow your instructions, you almost fall to your knees. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot, baby,” you breathe out. His smirk still remains, he knows what he does to you. 

Your eyes roam his body, he’s so large and so thick, his body screams protector. He’s your protector. He provides for you. You love that you get to love him and make him feel this way. 

“I’m thirsty, why don’t you hand me my glass?” You love how seriously he follows your commands, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. You love how powerful it makes you feel to see Joel readily do your every request. 

Joel turns towards the table and picks up the glass, handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” 

Another nod. 

You quickly drink the water down, save for the last quarter of it. “You’re still thirsty, aren’t you?”

This time it’s not just one slow nod from Joel, it’s three quick nods. He’s thirsty.

“Then come stand here in front of me.” 

You’ve enjoyed watching him from a couple of feet back, standing far enough to be able to see all of him in the mirror. Now that he’s right in front of you though, this is how you like him the most. Right beside you. 

You empty the rest of the water into your mouth, your cheeks swelling out with the amount you’re holding. You bring your palms up to your mouth and cup them together. Joel begins to breathe heavily as he watches you spit the water into your makeshift hand bowl.

“Now, drink it up,” you order.

He moves so fast, so eager to please. Joel’s head quickly craning down as his brown eyes look up at you. Your heart begins to race as his tongue comes out of his mouth and begins to lap up the water out of your hand. “I love how you’re looking up at me, you look at me the same way when you eat me out.” 

Joel grunts as he leans further forward and starts to suck the water up from your hand, never breaking eye contact. The groove of his dimple getting deeper as his cheeks hollow and he sucks up all of the water.

Now you wear Joel’s cocky smirk just like his shirt. You get to know him like he knows you, you get to play with his body like he plays with yours.

“Very good.” You move your hands to wrap around his erection, the slickness of the water allowing you to easily stroke him. A gruff breath leaves Joel’s mouth, the air landing against your face. You only leave your hands on him for a couple pumps, just enough until he begins to arch his back. His eyes widen as you remove your hands, a small “mmf” is let out of his pursed lips.

“I know, I know, I know you want more. You’ll get it soon. You’re being real well behaved for me, aren’t you?” 

Another nod. Joel still hasn’t spoken a word, you miss his voice but you also like to watch him challenge himself to stay quiet. 

“Face the mirror again Joel.”

He likes it when you say his name, he’s told you so many times how he likes to hear your voice say his name. 

“Touch yourself for me Joel.” 

His heavy eyes slowly shut as he bites his bottom lip with a moan, he liked that… a lot. He opens his eyes and with a look of determination, he spits in his hand before moving it down and gripping his shaft as he looks at you for his next command. 

“Stroke yourself for me.” 

He begins to slowly pump himself, savoring and watching himself in the reflection. His gaze anchoring in on pleasuring himself.

You wonder when the last time he did this was.

“When’s the last time you made yourself cum?” His movements falter as he looks up at you and takes in your question. “Go ahead, you can talk, tell me.” 

“That last night you were painting f’me,” a half smile shows up on his face as he begins to stroke again. 

Now you’re the one who only nods, your words lost at his confession. “Go on,” you muster up. You need to hear more. 

“Went to bed that night, ’n all I could see was your pretty eyes lookin’ up at me, how you looked in those overalls, I felt like I could still feel your lips on mine.” His strokes getting quicker, his hand pausing as he twists his hand around his tip. “Was so hard for you, had to take care of things before I could fall asleep.” 

Your whole body shivers, his words making your pussy begin to drip out onto your shorts. The look of his face as he recalls his memories. Those words added to all of his others that prove to you again that you have Joel’s heart, mind and body. He is yours. 

“God. Th—that’s good,” you breathe out, your eyes widening when you watch him bite his lip as he squeezes his cock. He has you flustered, and he knows, his mouth grinning into the signature cocky smirk he gets whenever you get like this. As if his sense of self blooms whenever he makes your heart race. 

You can’t allow him this pleasure over you, you’re the one in control tonight. You remind yourself that this is what Joel wants. You steel yourself and stand a little taller. 

“Stop,” you bark out. 

He obeys, mouth slacking open in shock at your raised voice. His hand unwrapping from around himself. 

“Good job, I think you were getting a little too comfortable, weren’t you?” 

Joel just stares at you, seems he forgot to nod. 

“I can’t let you have the power tonight, can I? Acknowledge me Joel.”

“N—no,” an actual stutter from Joel Miller’s mouth. Not a grunt, not a short one word answer, an actual nervous stutter. 

“That’s right. Now, I think you’ve had too much fun putting on a show for me. Go sit in the middle of the couch.” 

He nods, his broad frame passes by you, he doesn’t even take the time to look at you. 

You follow behind and wait until he takes a seat. You love seeing Joel on your couch, in your bed, using one of your bowls to eat oatmeal out of. You love seeing him in your space, all comfortable and domestic, but seeing him now naked on your couch, his hard cock sitting straight up, his large hands sitting atop his strong thighs, shoulders taking up most of the backrest of his seat, sitting ready to listen to your commands.  This is how you really like to see him. He’s fucking gorgeous. 

“So, you had your fun with your body, I want to have my fun with your body,” you stand over him. Now your body gets to loom over his. 

You bring the collar of Joel’s shirt up to your nose, inhale deeply and moan. “Have I told you before how much I love how your smell? Sometimes I’ll be wearing one of your shirts to bed I’ll smell your scent on it and it’ll make me wet while I’m trying to go to sleep.” The sound from Joel’s mouth makes you bolder. “One night, I might just knock on your door, in only your shirt and my jacket, make you help me take care of what smelling you does to me. Would you like that?” 

Joel shudders and furiously nods.

“Ohh, had a feeling you would,” you chuckle as you remove his shirt off of you. “I’m going to do something I've been wanting to do, okay?”

A nod, a groan, and a sigh now. The more reactions you get at once, the more you know how good you’re doing. 

You pull down your shorts, and kick them aside. His fingers grip into his thighs, his forearms straining at the sight of you. He’s going through it. 

“Can you see me glisten for you baby?” You ask as you lift your foot onto the couch cushion and snake your hand down in between your legs. “See how wet I got watching you touch yourself for me?” You take a finger and run it across your folds gathering your wetness. You hold it up for Joel, his eyes glued to your finger. “Open your mouth.” 

He listens. You slide your finger into his mouth, his lips forming around it, a low moan vibrating against it. 

“Put your hands on the couch, you can’t touch me, you can only watch. Okay?” 

Joel obeys. He still sucks your finger as you straddle his thigh. His skin radiates heat against you once you place your wet pussy on it. You’ve wanted to do this since you saw his bare legs for the first time, his thighs are so muscular and yet so supple, much like the rest of his features. Joel groans as you begin to ride his thigh, rubbing yourself back and forth against his skin. 

“You like how wet my pussy feels on your thigh?” You pull your finger out of his mouth. “Answer me Joel. Want to hear your voice.”

“Yes.”

“What do you like?” 

“Your wet pussy on my th— I like your wet pussy on my thigh,” his low cadence and the pressure against your aching cunt pushing you close to your orgasm.

“I’m going to make myself cum on your thigh, okay? I’m so close.” You begin to grind your hips down on his his thigh, putting the perfect amount of friction against your clit. 

Your hands splay against Joel’s chest, feeling his breaths and his moans rumble against your palms.

“I’m gonna cum on your thigh Joel.” You grab and pull on his chest hair as your climax reaches you, cresting over and spilling onto Joel’s thigh as you grind against it. Joel’s eyes boring into you looking forlorn and tortured that he can’t touch you as you cum on him. 

You rest your head against his shoulder as you catch your breath. You need to recover quickly, you’re ready to ride him. 

Joel grumbles as you stand back up. 

“Would you look at that? Look down baby, look how wet I got your thigh.” You place your hands on his thighs, a hand resting in the puddle of your slick left on his skin. You lean forward as he looks down and nibble the bare skin of his heart patch before licking your way down his neck and chest. “Should probably clean that up, huh?” You ask as your rest your lips against the plush of his belly before gently biting it. 

He groans as you move your mouth down, bypassing his hard cock to the side. You stick your tongue out and lick a long stripe up his thigh tasting yourself as you clean his skin. His breathing turns more labored as he watches you lick yourself up.

“Mm, wonder how I’d taste licking my cum off your cock?” You ask, nuzzling your head into his crotch, his hard cock throbbing against your cheek.

His hips jut as you turn your head and kiss the shaft of him. 

“You’re going to cum fast for me, aren’t you?” You leave a kiss on his shaft higher than your last one.

“I love how hard you always cum for me,” another kiss moving your way up his hardness. 

“I love the way you fuck my mouth while you cum down my throat,” another kiss.

“I love the way my name sounds as you chant it when I make your legs shake,” another kiss right under his tip.

“I love how your cum tastes as I lick it from my lips,” another kiss on his tip, tasting the precum collected on it. 

“Fuck,” he finally utters, not being able to hold back as you lick along the trail of where you just kissed him.

“Shhhh,” you silence against the soft skin of his firmness. “I think it’s about time for me to fuck you, before you get any more ideas about talking.”

Another deep exhale from him, his nose flaring in frustration. You fucking love this. 

“Put your hands on the top of your head, and don’t you dare lower them. Don’t touch me, okay?”

Joel nods raising his hands as you plant yourself back on the couch, straddling his legs. His eyes follow your body, his brows a bit more furrowed now. 

You hover your pussy over his cock, leaving enough space between the two of you that if he really wanted, he could raise his hips and stick his cock in, but he doesn’t. He wants to do good for you. 

“Open your mouth,” you angle your head forward, your lips right in front of his. Joel’s mouth opens, his heavy breathing hitting you in the face, as you lick into his mouth.

You swirl your hips over his cock slowly lowering yourself on him, you’re so soaked for him he easily slides into you. 

A long sigh escapes the back of his throat as you begin to ride him. You pull back from his mouth and rest your hands against his chest. His hands still sit on top of his head, you glance up and see how he’s grabbing at his hair in exasperation. 

He watches as you move your hands from his chest to yours, cupping your breasts and playing with your nipples. 

“Like watching me touch my tits like the way you do? Like how I pinch and pull my nipples like you?”

High pitched moans and groans of frustration leave his mouth. Joel Miller is whimpering. 

“Shhhh, shhh, I know baby. Now quiet. Want to hear my wet pussy ride you, stay quiet,” you say grabbing his jaw and pushing his mouth shut. 

You begin fucking him harder, the sound of your wet cunt bouncing on him and his whimpers the only sounds in the room. You lean forward and rest your head in the juncture between his head and shoulder. You slam yourself up and down on him, the rapidness of your movements matching the rapidness of your heart as you bring yourself close to your orgasm.

Your back straightens as you place your hands on his biceps, staring in his big brown eyes as your body snaps, your pussy clutching his cock as you cum around Joel. He bites his bottom lip fighting his orgasm for as long as he can. His biceps straining against your grasp as you feel his body begin to quake. 

“Clooooose,” he husks. You slip out of him, moving quickly on shaky legs through the aftershocks of your orgasm kneeling down in front of him. His hands are still in his hair as he looks down at you, watching you seal your mouth over him. You bob your head up and down on him as he cums down your throat. 

You swallow all of him down as he chants your name. His hands lower, resting against the hollows of your cheeks as you still keep his softening cock in your mouth.

You stare up at him, his hair left awry and twisted from his hands, eyes wide and still blown out as he blinks down at you, his chest rising and falling still catching his breath. He looks at you, like you’re the only thing in this world. You are the center of his universe. 

#tw marijuana #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller ff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel the last of us

[bitchlessdino]

hello perhaps morning after sex with mingyu + wonwoo ?? like you wake up in bed with both of them after a drunken threesome and go again… maybe one of the boys wakes up first and you start hooking up with him right there only for the other to wake up and get pouty before joining in

Pairing: (Mingyu x afab!reader x Wonwoo)

Genre: smut

Word count: 1.8k

tags: Tags: poly, established friendship, brief enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, spanking, double penetration, degradation, brief hole slapping?, mean wonwoo, sweet mingyu

Summary: Mingyu being the common denominator for the strained acquaintanceship of both you and Wonwoo, he's determined to make this friendship work.

author note: can yall believe this is my first minwon fic, i mean theres a million ones out there that arent mine, but its interesting it took this long. thank you kaili my love for the request, i hope you like it

Mingyu and Wonwoo were and have been inseparable, that is until you came into the picture. You met Mingyu first and clicked immediately with him, taking him everywhere you went like schoolmates. You were self-claiming that he was your best friend, despite how many people telling you he’d be a better boyfriend (he is insanely hot), and that Wonwoo was second best to you.

Wonwoo didn’t like that about you. You just popped out of nowhere with your pretty face and can-do attitude, attaching yourself to Mingyu’s hip like a clingy fanny pack. He was there first and clearly had a stronger connection with Mingyu and he wasn’t going to let some ‘nobody’ steal his friend away from him, no matter how cute that smile was or how nice you smelled.

Mingyu being the ‘empath’ he is, starting to use the word unironically at this point, he could sense the hostility between the two and how things never seemed to align when you were together. It was like a dark cloud peering over everyone when they were in the same room. It made social gatherings suffocating at times and that was unfortunate since he enjoyed both their companies equally, so he set off a plan in motion.

The next gathering would just be the three of them, close and intimate. Drinks would be involved, maybe some food, have it all set up in his apartment, and before you know it, they’d all be besties. This was going to go great.

“Mmh, Wonwoo…”

Mingyu realized things went too well when he found out what he was waking up to the following morning. His eyes couldn’t process it initially, but through his strained eyes he can make out you grinding your wet entrance up against his best friend’s raging boner, moaning obscenities that he hardly ever imagined coming out of your lips.

Wonwoo’s deep chuckles were as dark as chocolate, running his hands all over your body in delight, looking up in amazement to see how needy you already were. “So whiny, you’re so annoying. You want me that bad?”

You nod back at him incessantly, tweaking your stuff buds between your fingers, “I…want…you in me…”

A corner of his lips quirks up, he forces your hips to ride his torso harder, “Yeah? You want my cock inside you?”

Your lips contort anxiously, dragging your hands over his toned, muscular build, “Mm, yes, I want it…”

“I’m gonna need to hear you beg for it. Beg for me, whore,” He taps his length on your stomach, having you mewl over him desperately.

Your core throb, practically hearing the echo from its vacancy, screaming at you to be filled, “Wonwoo please…”

He arches a brow, “Please what? Be specific.”

You’re clenching over nothing, whining in his ear as you leaned towards him, “Please put your cock in me…I need you…”

Mingyu was half asleep when this was all occurring. Tossing and turning, he was wondering what was happening in the background, and why the hell was he so tired for. He soon notices the instability of the bed slightly rocking in its spot, the pure stench of sex that coated the inside of his nostrils, and then your breathy moan, rhythmically dancing in the air. The images then all rush back to him, blood flowing to his lower half, finding enough for his shaft to stand on, and the feeling of neglect wash over him.

“Seriously? You guys couldn’t wait?”

You immediately collect the sounds of Mingyu's pretty whines and turn your head to his side of the bed. “Baby, you’re—ah—up.”

“Hey Gyu.” Wonwoo nods at the younger man.

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip childishly, lightly throwing a pillow back at his friends, and sees it make no effect on the situation. He shifts from the bed, the blanket falling from his body and exposing stiff length, rubbing his eyes in slight frustration. “I can’t believe you two. Without me.”

Your eyes latch on his size, pulling him by his shaft, giggling. “It’s not too late for you to join in.”

“Well, now I gotta catch up,” his hand catches the back of your head and claims your lips.

Your hips moved more slowly this time, focusing on savoring the taste of his lips while entertaining, but the man underneath you wasn’t so patient. Distracted with Mingyu, Wonwoo grips your hips and ruts you faster, bouncing you in his lap. As the sounds of skin slapping together in perfect harmony, you moan in soft, staccato breaths in Mingyu's mouth, allowing your lips to part and have his tongue explore. His hands start playing a part when they fell to your chest, teasing your nipples lightly.

With the endearing way you feel apart to his touch, he can’t help but pull away from the kiss to just have them in his mouth, sucking your tender skin and mouthing flesh around it. “You’re so fucking beautiful...”

His eyes gaze back at you like he was in heat, his hips, and cock twitching to be inside you, your eyes telling him the same. He embraces you as you ride Wonwoo, drawing circles with his tongue, clenching your flesh in his hands, drunk on your pretty voice calling out to him. He could do this all day if he could, but there was one thing he wanted to do a smidge more.

“Come on, Gyu, you know you want to,” Wonwoo takes his hand to your ass cheeks, have you whimper upon impact.

Mingyu knew all too well what his best friend meant and pushed you down to reunite your lips with Wonwoo’s in a frenzy. Mingyu made himself comfortable behind you, legs bordering Wonwoo and parallel to yours. He runs a slick finger over your moisture, and squeezes it between the older man’s cock and your walls, testing your limits.

“So fucking tight…has Wonwoo treating you well?”

You hardly mumble a yes as Wonwoo thrusts deep inside you, feeling the tension up your body and ramming repeatedly inside you, his hands clapping over your ass every few seconds or so. 

“We’re gonna stretch you nice and wide for us okay?” Mingyu warns with a playful tinge.

You moan against Wonwoo’s lips, feeling the heat of his cocky chuckle on your neck. “I think that means yes, Gyu.”

Mingyu held your hips in place, rubbing the tip at the edge of your entry before gradually pushing his length in. With blown-out eyes, you try to quickly adjust to the strain of two cocks plunged inside you, feeling their slick griths rub against each other and fill up your vacancy past its limit, “Oh, fuck…”

It's when Mingyu finds his place that you realize it's only begun. Your hips stationary and nails digging into a pillow, they moved on polar pacing, but fucking you with a similar depth. The euphoria of fullness had overcome you and you try backtracking to the moment when you felt a sensation similar, but none comes in mind. You felt used in the most heavenly way possible.

“So…tight…Fuck, you feel good…” Wonwoo growls out between his grunts, “Stupid slut, perfect fucking body, perfect fucking hole, you’re just perfect everything, aren’t you?”

“So good for us…you’re taking us so good, baby.” Mingyu agrees.

Your eyes keep rolling back in your skull, taking deep breaths, restraining your own orgasm, and at some point the sweat of you three fuse together, becoming one living and breathing system, hot to the touch and unstoppable. Wonwoo eventually encourages you to sit up, pressing your back against Mingyu’s chest, having the image of you being spoiled giving him a sense of purpose and bliss.

“That’s a pretty picture,” he comments, watching as Mingyu grabs your chest again, rolling your nipples and abusing them to his liking.

“I’m c-c-cumming…” you stutter.

Mingyu smugly grins against your skin. “But we’ve only started, baby.”

“I-I know I’m…try–fuck–shit, Mingyu!” You react to the love tap he makes to your hole, his laughter flooding your ears.

Wonwoo laughs along with him, his nails running over your chest and stomach. “Listen to him, slut. Don’t make us have to make you wait…”

“Y-yes, sir…”

Wonwoo was pleased to see your chest heave up and down breathlessly, sweat beading down your body, and the helplessness on your face while Mingyu took advantage. The power running through his veins was immaculate; he made you grind faster, Mingyu pound you harder, all of his present senses were being fulfilled to their maximum. Despite being underneath you, Wonwoo clearly had the upper hand. 

There was a point you couldn’t help yourself anyway, your arousal seeps out of you like oozing honey, dripping the side of your legs and down Wonwoo’s lap, clutching the man behind you desperately for reassurance. “S-shit…I’m sorry.”

“You better be. Mingyu, get on top of them.”

Mingyu follows orders well, your body flat on the mattress in mere seconds with him toppled over you, his smile staring back at you, “Hey, there.”

You get no chance to greet him back as he smothers you with his lips, his full length pushing back in you, and your body aches from the sensitivity. Wonwoo is just a step behind, pulling your legs just slightly more in his direction, he steps off the bed. He plants his feet on the ground and fills up your core to its brim, not caring about the mess you make, only thinking of the bigger mess he plans to make.

“S-so full…”

“You should’ve listened to Wonwoo, baby.” Mingyu strokes the side of your head, pressing his lips against your skin and sucking them until he sees the pigment rise to the surface. 

The room could hardly contain any of the sounds happening, no doubt interrupting a fourth party’s day, and none of you had a care in the world. You were a sweating mess beneath the both of them, used up like their personal toy, and being bruised left and right, all worth it to meet another climax, this time both men joining you.

Mingyu was still kissing your flushed skin when it was happening and Wonwoo, having already poured thick ribbons of his nectar inside you, was pushing it back inside of you, a trail of his and Mingyu’s essence seeping out of you into the sheets. Doing it once, twice, and three times before, you’d do it again and again until your hunger presents itself.

Although both men knew how to make you full, they couldn’t distract or fulfill you from the absence of food. Knowing how exhausted you’ve become, Mingyu laid your body to rest, cleaning out any and all the remnants from your body, while Wonwoo called ahead for some breakfast.

“Anything specific you both want?”

Mingyu cuddles up next to you when he’s finished, throwing a blanket over bare bodies, “Yeah maybe a breakfast sandwich? How about you, baby?”

“That sounds perfect,” you grin, kissing the top of his nose.

Wonwoo smiles to himself, reciting it over the phone before joining them back in bed. He holds you from behind nuzzling to the crook of your neck, and you laugh, wondering why he ever bothered you in the first place. It felt complete with you three together, like a breakfast sandwich.

#svthub #mingyu smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen mingyu #seventeen #wonwoo #mingyu #jeon wonwoo #Kim Mingyu #Kim Mingyu smut #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen x you #mingyu x you #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader

[wandasgf]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY. mdni. 19+.

pairings ; dark ! wanda maximoff + bunny hybrid ! f ! reader

summary ; wanda just loves to play games with her little bunnygirl, especially when she gets a prize at the end.

warnings ; mommy kink, dom!top!wanda, sub!bottom!reader, reader has long hair, pet names (baby, sweetheart, bunny, etc.), cnc (just in case), slight like so very minor violence, predator/prey dynamics, outdoor sex, hair pulling

wc ; 1.8k

Your heart pounds as you make your way through the cold winter forest that surrounds Westview, looking behind you every once in a while to make sure Wanda hasn't caught up with you. You were freezing, your thin layers and short skirt providing no warmth in the frigid cold of your current environment. You had tripped a few times already, your knees and palms a little bloody, so you're sure to make sure your glances behind are fleeting, enough to miss small details if you weren't looking for them specifically.

You stop to catch your breath near a small fire when you're sure it's safe. It is a little strange that this fire was here in the middle of nowhere, but you're not thinking too hard about it, just grateful that it's there. Your ears perk up when you hear a branch snap in the distance and your head whips around just in time to catch a flash of red hair moving through the trees. It takes about half a second for you to start off in a full sprint and you hear Wanda laughing behind you.

"You can run but you can't hide, Зайчик. No one can hear you scream all the way out here." And if they do hear, they won't dare come interfere, but Wanda doesn't add that part. She's quick to follow after you, heart racing, but for the opposite reason that yours is; she's excited. She's been waiting for this practically all week. She loved your little games, especially when you were the prize. She's been chasing after you for the better part of an hour by now, letting you think you've gotten away just to sneak up on you when you're catching your breath.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." She sings, grabbing onto a tree branch and snapping it off, knowing your ears would easily pick up the noise. Her pretty little bunny... out here all alone, scared, tired and running. Just the thought of her catching you makes her dizzy with want. She hears a small thud and she grins, knowing she's got you now.

You'd tripped over a rock, not watching where you were going when you'd heard the branch snap, too busy trying to get away. You got up quickly, but not quick enough because she's gaining on you, so so quickly and you're too tired to run any faster. You know you've lost when you hear her steps slowing down, into a light jog, before they pick up again and then...

Oh no.

You feel yourself being pushed forward for just a split second until you're pulled backwards by your hair. Your back collides with Wanda’s front and she's quick to lock you in place by sliding a hand over your stomach and gripping your throat with the other. She leans down so her mouth is right next to your ear, "Tag, you're it." Wanda whispers, sadistic grin taking over her features, her warm breath makes you shiver and you tense in her hold. "You didn't really think you were going to get away, did you?" Her tone is condescending and cruel as her hand that was previously on your stomach starts to wander up towards your chest.

"It’s no fair, Mommy. I tripped..." You pout, turning your head and looking up at your girlfriend. "Mm, you did. And you still lost, silly girl." Wanda loosens her grip on your throat to use her thumb and index finger to tilt your head up, capturing your lips in a rough kiss. It lasts a second before she pulls away, "And since you lost..." She starts, pushing you down into the cold snow. You land with a whimper, barely having enough time to put your hands out and stop yourself from getting a face full of snow.

Wanda towers over you, dropping to her knees and caging you between her thighs. "...Isn't it about time I get my prize?"

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you wish your girlfriend had chosen somewhere else for this game to take place. The bitter cold is making you shake under her, and you know she's done this on purpose, she even picked out your outfit for today. There's just something about seeing you so helpless that has her heart trying to tear through her chest. It's a harsh tug of your hair that pulls you back to reality, your back arching to try and relieve some of the strain on your long locks. You kick up one of your legs in retaliation, your heel colliding with the back of Wanda’s thigh. “Mommy, I’m cold!" you whine, "can't you get your prize at home?" She has the audacity to laugh at you, only pulling back farther on your hair, "Of course not, little bunny. I want my prize now, and I'm going to get it now."

She flips your skirt up with her free hand, palming your ass and digging her rather sharp nails into the plush skin. You think she may have sharpened them somehow before starting this game. "Now be a good girl and hold still for me." She lets go of your hair and you're quick enough in your reaction that you don't let yourself get a face full of snow, dropping your head down onto your arms. Wanda grips your hips and pulls you up so you're on your knees before speaking, "If you're lucky I'll let you make me cum later." Your ears perk up at that and she laughs, "Awww, is my little bunny that eager to please Mommy?” her tone is mocking, but you know she's pleased. "So desperate for me you're gonna let Mommy fuck you out here in the open, hm?" She pulls your panties to the side and you shiver as you feel her sharp nails as they drag against your slick folds.

"M–Mommy, you're gonna… make those go away, right?” Your ears flatten against your head as you imagine how much it would hurt for her to finger you with nails so sharp. "Of course, Зайчик. How mean do you think I am?" She waves her fingers and her nails go back to how they were before on that hand, but she leaves the others sharp as knives. "It's insulting, really..." She punctuates by pulling you up by your hair, your back flush against her front and you gasp softly, "that you think I’d hurt you like that." She trails her other hand down your thigh, across, and then up before flicking her index finger at just the right angle, slicing your soft skin with a nail and you gasp. "Silly girl." She brings her hand up and licks the blood from her finger.

She brings a hand up to grip your throat, keeping you flush against her while the other one moves to grope your breasts. "Please, Mommy." You whine impatiently, bringing your hand up to grab her wrist and try to tug her hand downwards. "Patience, bunny." She coos, tightening her grip on your throat, but she allows you to tug her hand down. " 'mph, please." You whimper, letting your head fall back against your girlfriend's chest. She chuckles, taking the hem of your skirt and bringing it up to tuck it into the waistband. "Alright, alright, if you insist." She leans her head down to press a kiss to your forehead and it's tender for just a second until she moves her hand up to pry your jaw open, forcing her middle and index finger inside.

her harsh grip is almost bruising and you whimper, trying to shake her grip but she holds you in place. "Be a good girl for me, baby." she hums, playing with your tongue. With her other hand she moves your panties to the side, too impatient to take them off, and gathers some of your slick on her fingers. "So wet for me, baby. I bet you've been waiting for this all day, hm?" She teases, circling her fingers around your clit. "Mhm, want you, please." You whine, though it comes out muffled due to the fingers in your mouth. You grab onto her wrist just in case she tries to move her hand away, she did love to tease you. But she was feeling rather nice today, and she knows it won't be long until you're whining at her to take you home because you're too cold so she decides to skip the teasing for today.

"You want me, do you, Зайчик?" She muses, moving her fingers down and teasingly circling your drooling hole. "Do you want me like this?" She asks, though it's rhetorical, as she plunges two fingers inside your cunt. You gasp out a moan around Wanda’s fingers, fighting the urge to bite down on them in case it results in punishment. She takes that as a sign to keep going as she sets a steady pace, grinding the heel of her palm against your clit. Her other hand busies itself with alternating between fucking your mouth and playing with your tongue, wanting to make you a drooling mess.

Wanda knows her way around your body quite well by now, so it's no surprise that she's turned you into a pathetic moaning mess within a matter of minutes. That and she's quite positive that your heat is coming up soon. You've given up on trying not to bite down on her fingers, but it's not an unwelcome feeling for Wanda. You're trying your hardest not to bite too hard, but you swear you can taste a bit of her blood in your mouth. It's not long before you're close to the edge, begging and pleading for Wanda to please let you cum as best you can with her fingers still in your mouth.

"You gonna cum for me, bunny?" She coos, removing her fingers from your mouth to wrap her hand around your throat, squeezing just the way she knows you like it. She speeds up her thrusts when she hears your moans get higher in pitch and she lets you grind against her palm. "Please, please, please. Mommy, I'm gonna cum." You whine, her fingers bringing you closer and closer to the edge. "Then be a good girl and cum for Mommy, baby." She curls her fingers at just the right angle and you fall apart, nails digging into the skin on Wanda's arm as you can't help but grab onto it, needing something to hold. She lets you ride out your high before eventually slipping her fingers out of you and you whine at the loss, suddenly empty. "Open." is all she says as she brings her fingers up to your mouth, prompting you to lick them clean.

"Time to get you home, sweetheart. It's too cold out here for little bunnies like you."

#alice's fics ! #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch smut #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine

[powderblueblood]

Ooooh lacy falls asleep watching a movie with eddie and he hears her having a sex dream

an: LMAO I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!! alright MINORS DNI i have no problem sending swarms of bees to your houses and also warning for somnophilia (kinda) and hands free ejaculation

first of all, who the hell falls asleep during the warriors?!

the gramercy riffs have just dedicated 'nowhere to run' by arnold mcculler to the warriors and shit is about to go down and your head is bobbing forward on eddie's worn-out couch.

he rolls his eyes at you-- really? "hey." a finger jabs at your knee from the opposite sagging end of the couch. "wakey-wakey. it's just about to get good over here."

"mm-- i'm awake!" you jump, but your eyes barely flicker back open, lashes all heavy and voice all loopy.

"tough day at the office?"

"you would not believe." he watches you struggle to muffle a yawn and pinch your cheeks to liven yourself up. "christmas returns. you remember all those old men that kept coming in and buying copies of the joy of sex?"

eddie guffaws lightly. "uh-huh."

"well, today i met their wives."

eddie mouths a little 'oh no!' and you chorus back 'oh yeah!' and even then, with your cheek shoved against the heel of your hand, he can see you're struggling for consciousness.

"lie down," he tells you. your brow furrows, because you're always more stubborn than tired.

"but the movie--" "fuck the movie. well, no, it's a great movie but just-- take a load off."

you sit up a touch straighter and eddie's about to give you shit about always being such a little pushback. but then you decide, "okay. just for a sec."

what he doesn't expect is for your head to land in his lap.

i mean, couches, opposite ends, you could have cozied yourself up against the slouching arm, but no. you decided to stretch yourself forward and settle with your head basically in his crotch. facing the ceiling. facing him.

eddie's breath shallows as you look up at him, your expression the closest thing to peaceful he's maybe ever seen you. you don't even have that little hitch between your eyebrows you sport like a uniform. looks like that night in his trailer, when he hid you away in his bedroom, which-- look, memory lane is not on the agenda for tonight.

"do me a favor?" you say, and your voice is this cracked little purr.

your hand blindly tugs at his, resting it on the crown of your head. oh. right. that hair petting thing. that thing he gets you to do when you're not being such a pill or he's worn you out from being such a pill. you're so nice with your fingers, see, pressing them against his scalp in a way that makes his whole body shiver. scratching a little sometimes-- a little too harsh sometimes, which makes him cringe away. but not because it hurts. because it... does other things.

eddie sighs, like it's really putting him out, like you do, and slides his fingers into your hair. but that's nothing compared to the sigh you let out.

fuck you. how can one little puff of air make him want to flip you over and mount you?

but he's trying to be normal about this-- he's trying so hard, because you're friends, right?

he doesn't think before he says it. "that feel good?"

"mm-hm," you mumble, hand sliding across your stomach, tucking under your breasts, getting comfortable. "mm-hm... careful of your rings, though."

"i'll be... i'll be careful."

"thanks, eddie." your fingers rise to brush against his tummy, some physical acknowledgement of gratitude that he's sure you mean as like, a nudge on the shoulder or a slap on the back or a high five or a fist bump but it sure as fuck doesn't feel like that.

especially when your fingers stay there, suspended in position as you've fallen asleep almost instantly. like stick a fork in you, you're done.

which is a relief. because less movement from you means less focus on you, which means eddie can pretend to watch the movie and pray away the halfsie that is nestled at the back of your skull.

problem is, you're awfully hard to stop looking at.

as your breathing deepens, his fingers slow and he just... watches you. the ascent and descent of your chest. the soft flicker behind your eyelids. the way your mouth parts ever-so-slightly. you're exhausted, but you're relaxed and he-- alright, fucking shoot him, he feels a little responsible for that? a little proud, okay? you're never relaxed. you're so high strung and sharp, but the edges of that seem to dull around him a touch. especially on nights like these.

eddie finally deludes himself into chilling out enough to tune back into the warriors, and then you make a sound.

it's a soft one, but enough to pucker your lips out of shape.

"ohmm."

eddie freezes, jaw winching. your fingers flick involuntarily against his stomach-- a twitch. a very dangerous twitch.

you make another noise and fuck him, if it doesn't sound like the first delicious note of a whimper. oh god.

and his fingers are still tangled in your hair. ruffling a little, breathing out heavily through his nose, he goes, "lace-- lacy," but it's zero response from you. just a hitch in those eyebrows.

and so lazily, so feline, he feels you sleepily nudge into his touch. if he didn't know any better (he doesn't, for the record, he's never known anything in his life other than this moment, if you really want to know), he'd think that was a sign to... keep going.

digits move against your scalp and he watches, unblinking, as your lips part. a sigh flies out, and not the kind you make when you're fed up with him, not the kind you make when you get a less-than-perfect grade or snag your tights or have a headache... not that kind.

different. sweet. the way he though you might sound, once all those defenses were smashed down. how much is it to rent a bulldozer.

his dumbass, age-old pajama pants are tightening by the second and they don't hide a fuckin' thing. how are you not feeling this.

well, whether you are or you aren't, he's still moving his fingers through your hair and you seem to like that and he's so, so happy, like he's so, so stoked but-- watching the breath hitch in your chest, watching the way your tits kind of slope out of the neckline of your shirt, watching goosebumps flash across your skin.

jesus christ, he can see your nipples through that thin little top you're wearing. tight and pointed, an illusion through the slinky cotton and binding of your bra.

eddie's teeth tighten into his bottom lip, his free hand gripping the back of the couch. this symphony of quiet, broken sounds coming out of you is a full extended play in and of itself, and he wants you on repeat. forever.

your hips lift the tiniest fraction. your fingers, still curled up by his belly, stretch and catch at his t-shirt.

"oh, fuck," eddie breathes, hoping he's quiet enough.

he's doing everything, and he means everything, not to move his hips even one iota even though his cock is crying out-- crying out for you, for your hands, for your mouth, for the crook of your fucking arm, anything so long as it's you.

"mmnm," you mumble, completely unaware, thighs rubbing off one another.

aching. dashing a wet spot right under your pretty, brilliant, terrifying, pretty head.

oh, fucking wake up-- feel me-- but don't, because what if the illusion shatters, what if the bubble bursts, what if you see him for the filthy fucking pervert that he is, getting off on watching you sleep. stroking your hair, making you make those noises-- the fucking sounds coming from those pouted, pillowy lips of yours.

he throbs, and your other hand jerks up to your chest, and his thumb strokes the right side of your skull and you moan. full-bodied. almost real.

it's so dangerous. he wants to turn you over and plunge his cock past your smartass mouth and weaken immediately because you're you and he's him and he will end up begging you to let him gloss your lips with his cum.

too much! way too much! eddie has to bite down on the shoulder of his own shirt as his body tenses, his balls tighten, his vision blacks out--

his eyes squeeze shut, hand freezing on your head. moisture spreads like guilt across his conscience.

fuck. fuck. fuckfuckfuck!

eddie's eyes snap open and he doesn't waste a second of time. he grabs you by the shoulders and shoves you up and away from him.

"wmwhatthefuck--" "--gotta piss. move."

but he sorely underestimates just how dizzy he's going to be when he stands up. he stumbles to the bathroom like keith richards getting off a ride at six flags.

"eddie?" you huskily mumble after him, and he's like, ready to kill you. ready to kill you. ready to give you a home lobotomy so you never say his name all needy and crackly and lovely like that ever again.

when he eventually slinks back, different pants on this time, you give them a pointed look. you're all criss-cross applesauce on the couch and he, like, fucking hates you and wants to carry you to his bedroom bridal style and tear off your panties in a single mouthful.

"costume change?" you ask.

"you snore like a coal miner, you know that?"

eddie's never wanted to fuck a coal miner before.

#powder room talk #deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth #hai brainrot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #so anyway i'm gonna eat some soup #l. doevski by powder

[gremlinvanfleet]

just a little harder... - h.s.

masterlist

summary: harry had a rough day and needed to be a little more rough with you as well. 

word count: 1,353

you knew he had been in meetings all day. he was out of the house early this morning and wouldn’t be back until late. you had been at work yourself, but the thought of him being in his boring public relations discussions had been in the back of your head for all 8 hours of the shift. 

you checked your watch. an hour and a half before your day is over and only an hour before harry gets home. you heard your phone buzz on the desk. 

9:46 pm 

harry: baby… i’m home. eta? 

you: 90 minutes 

harry: specific. counting the seconds?

you: been thinking about you today. its hard not to

harry: cute. hurry home please. 

you: trying my best love 

harry: that’s my girl <3

the texts from him made the last little bit of the day go by a bit faster and you found yourself on the highway faster than you’d initially thought. not much longer before you get to see your boy. 

you put your key into the sticky lock and gave it a wiggle and a pull before the door finally swung open. you surveyed the living room but harry was nowhere to be found. 

“harry? i’m home!” you called out while bending down to untie your shoes. you heard shuffling upstairs then thudding footsteps on the oak stairs. 

“there she is.” his voice was a bit huskier than usual. he gently ran his hand up the underside of your thigh and rested it on your ass. “missed you.” 

you turned around to face him and met his darkened and sleepy looking eyes. 

“how were the meetings?” you asked, running your hands up his chest. 

“you know the answer to that. too many people, all of them saying the same shit with different verbs.” he rolled his eyes. 

“hm. if it makes you feel any better, i lost the key to the copier room today. took everyone like 45 minutes find it.” you giggled. he smiled. “but i was the one to really narrow it down.” “well i should hope so, you were the one who misplaced it, after all.” you gently smacked him. he chuckled and squeezed your cheeks together. you stuck your tongue out at him and slid out of his grasp to head upstairs. 

he wordlessly followed you and watched as you undressed and put on shorts and a tank top. 

“fuck baby, you wear that well…” he gawked at you. you felt the redness that was starting on your face move to the rest of your body. 

he made his way over to you swiftly and planted his lips onto yours. you reciprocated and wove your hands in his hair. it was soft, meaning he hadn’t put any product in it today. casual, just the way you like him.  he grunted softly into the kiss. his lips were so soft and he had the taste of a smoothie on his lips. he must’ve stopped for one before he got home. you pushed your body up against his toned abdomen and deepened the kiss. he grunted into your mouth. 

“mm, i missed your taste today.” he mumbled as he pulled away from you. he gently smacked your hip twice, prompting you to move into the bed. you obliged and quickly took your tank top off. with how thin it was, it wouldn’t have even made much of a difference in what he’d be seeing. 

“already so ready for me, huh? that’s my good girl.” he looked down at you. the angle made his eyes look a greedy shade of green. 

“always.” you whispered. he quickly pulled himself on the bed and between your legs and began the ravishing of your lips. he ran his hand that wasn’t holding him up to your chest and groped harshly. you gasped and he smirked against you, pushing his tongue further in your mouth. 

he ground his hips onto yours and you could feel how hard he was already pushed against your heat. you matched this rhythm. the friction was so good you needed to pull away from him to catch your breath. 

“please, harry. i need you so bad.” you stared into his eyes. he chuckled and his hands quickly found your shorts and pulled them off. he paused for a moment to look at you.  

“i don’t think i’ll ever get sick of seeing you like this for me.” he kissed up your legs to your chest. “only for me…” he mumbled against your goosebump covered skin. every touch of his lips would send searing hot electricity to your cunt. 

you couldn’t take the teasing anymore so you trailed your hand down to your pussy to relive something. you got maybe one rub in before harry noticed and grabbed your wrist. 

“not yet, darling. i’ll take care of you soon.” he smiled sweetly at you even though the most filthy thoughts were happening beneath him. 

he began kissing down your body again, and spend time kissing the inside of your thighs. the drawn out teasing was absolutely agonizing. you whined and pushed your hips up. he smirked and pushed you down with his hand on your pelvis. he finally made his way to your clit. his lips attached and bombarded it with his tongue. you cried out and pushed yourself harder onto his face. he groaned into you. the vibrations went up your entire body. his fingers slid into your sopping hole and he curled them in the most delicious way. you felt your orgasm blossoming in your core. 

“f-fuck! please, harry…” you moaned pathetically. he laughed. 

“please what, baby?” he pulled away from your clit but his fingers were still hitting that spot with every thrust. 

“please, can i cum?” you whined. “please.” 

“aw, yes you can. cum for me. all over my hand.” his mouth was back on your clit and that drew you over that cliff into pure bliss. you clenched hard against him and cried his name. 

“that’s it, that’s it baby. just like that.” he coaxed you through your high. he watched you twitch and smirked. so proud of what he just made you feel. you crossed your legs and closed your eyes. 

“not yet, doll.” he tapped your knee, wanting you to open your legs. you did and he had already pulled himself out of his pants. he wasted no time in sliding his tip up and down your slit to collect your orgasm and pushed himself into you. “fuck me.” he groaned. you whined as he pulled out a bit more only to push back in with more fervour. your legs shook with every thrust from his strong hips. 

“just a little more, baby. just a little harder…” he panted. you couldn’t do anything but nod as he set an unforgiving pace on your little cunt. 

you could feel the soreness creeping with every grunt from him but you didn’t care. all you knew is that his cock was in you and if felt too fucking good for anything else to matter in that moment. you felt yourself coming close to the edge again. he could tell but he didn’t let up for a second. you weakly clenched around him once again. he pushed himself deep and let go completely. you felt his cum paint the inside of your pussy as he moaned and whined into your ear. the sounds were downright sinful but so beautiful coming from him. beautiful men make beautiful sounds. he pulled out of you and the sensitivity made you cry out. he chuckled and pulled you into his heaving chest. both of your breaths settled and you nuzzled into him. 

“you okay, darling?” he whispered. “i’m sorry if that was too much. i missed you so much today and needed you…” 

“i’m okay. it felt so good.” you managed out, half asleep. you knew it would make his ego grow more but he needed to know. 

“hm. my good girl.” he kissed the top of your head and pulled the blanket up over the two of you. 

a good sleep was on its way. 

© gremlinvanfleet 2023 <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction

[albeducks]

WHO'S THE LALALA AND THE OKOKOK IN YOUR RELATIONSHIP ★

WANDERER

he's an okokok and don't you dare disagree with me

i think he could be a lalala too but he prefers hearing you talk and rant about your day

voice kink?? question mark??

no matter what situation, hearing your voice just makes him melt

he's giggling, kicking his feet, going feral, running a marathon, screaming, creaming, crying, whimpering when you're in his sight

"and then she just-" you talked and talked, flinging your arms around exaggeratingly, making the conversation more dramatic and of course, fun to hear.

by conversation, you mean you rambling about your day while he stays silent, occasionally humming and chuckling

when your hold on his hand slightly faltered, he was quick to turn to you, hoping you didn't take his silence for annoyance.

but those thoughts were swept away as quickly as they came when he saw your eyes glowing from the dim lights, lips nonstop moving as you go on about the girl in your class.

he enjoys these moments, where you're comfortaby talking and he's comfortably listening.

ZHONGLI

SUCH a lalala, ugh

this old man may take time to warm up and chat alot, but over time he's sure to talk your ears off

if you're a lalala too, then you will definitely have a good time with him.

if you're an okokok, then you will also have a good time.

he doesn't mind leading the conversation, as long as you're accompanying him.

"osmanthus wine tastes the same as i remember, but where are those who share the memory?" he questions, even though it's not exactly directed at you.

he places the cup down, clearing his throat before continuing his opinion on, well... political things. cough archons cough

you look down at your full cup, his short talk about the wine and the people he drank with spooking you a bit.

what a lonely old man.

a talkative one, at that.

but after many years, having someone who doesn't mind your quiet self is rather nice.

maybe you should visit him more often.

AL HAITHAM

an okokok

yuh

he looks like he's reading his book and not listening to the bs ur saying but don't u dare stop talking

cuz he's listening

and he's enjoying it

cutie frfr

"then it just exploded out of nowhere-" you rambled and rambled about the explosion in your science class, while al haitham is leaning back on the chair, eyes focused on the book he's reading.

"and all of us were like-" your eyes passed al haitham for a split second, but they settled back onto him when you catched a very concentrated al haitham, eyes boring into the thick paper.

your shoulders tensed for a moment and you sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

5 seconds went by.

8.

10.

"why'd you stop talking?" his stern voice surprises you, and when you look at him, his face expression is a mix of confusion and concern.

"mm. nothing."

"and what happened after the class just erupted into flames?" he asked, placing his book down onto the table.

your eyes widened for a second, and you had to blink a few times but you slowly grinned.

with him, you shouldn't worry about not being heard.

#genshin impact x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x reader #al haitam x reader #al haitham x you

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.21)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: the one where you fall asleep whilst waiting for jungkook

word count: 900+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

As you avert your eyes from the glaring screen of your laptop, you check your phone to see if a certain someone had responded to your texts.

you: kook when are u coming home?

delivered

you: text me back when u see this okayyy 🙃

delivered

Your eyebrows furrow, creating a small crease between them as you begin to grow frustrated by Jungkook being MIA.

He has told you that he would be back to eat dinner with you after his boxing practice, but it was currently already 9pm and the said man was nowhere to be seen.

“Bam, where’s your daddy,” You’re whining at the doberman who’s ears perk up at the mention of his name, Bam makes his way to your desk and lays his head on your lap.

You stroke the long and soft ears of the dog, Jungkook having decided not to clip his ears, and you would assume Bam is extremely grateful for his dad’s decision.

Bam’s mouth opens, letting out a squeaky yawn as you catch the yawn yourself, your eyes tearing up slightly under your glasses.

For now you simply assumed he stayed back at his practice again and forgot the time, something Jungkook often did when he was really into the lesson.

But there’s an assignment waiting for you to be completed, the thought of it snaps you out of your daze and forces you to continue to type away with the screen shining right into your tired eyes.

“Bam, house,” you point to the large dog bed in the corner of you and Jungkook’s shared office. Every room in your apartment had a dog bed for the spoilt dog.

He obediently walks over to the bed, plops down and lets out a huff before drifting off to sleep.

However, progress with the essay you were supposed to write was not going too well, with every word you typed onto the keyboard, your eyes were fluttering shut closer each second.

-

“Jagi, I’m home,” Jungkook’s voice echoes into the silence of the apartment, as he frowns, expecting you to run up to him and ask him a million questions as to why he was back so late.

Instead he was met with a dark apartment, the office room down the hallway lit up as Bam excitedly huffs around your boyfriend.

“Bam, where’s your mommy?” The dog only perks up at the mention of his name again, he trails behind Jungkook who’s making his way to the only light source in the apartment.

A smile tugs at the corner of Jungkook’s lips as he spots you laying over your desk, head propped against your folded arms as your mouth emits soft breathing that fills the room.

He pulls out his phone, opening the camera app to snap a picture.

But the flash function had not been turned off, causing a bright glare to emit from his phone as he clicks the button to take a picture.

“Oh fuck-“

You squint your eyes as you slowly sit up, groggy and mind hazy from your previous slumber.

“Baby?” The small voice that comes out from your mouth makes Jungkook soften his gaze on you, stroking your cheek as he pecks it gently.

“Sorry Jagi, I got caught up again because I wanted to master this technique that they taught me today,” He gives you another apologetic kiss on your forehead as you close your eyes, the bright light on the ceiling way too glaring for your tired eyes.

“Mm, missed you,” You hum, stretching out your arms to wrap them around Jungkook’s waist, as he chuckles and fondly ruffles at your hair.

“Have you eaten Jagi?”

“Mm-hm,”

“Okay come on, it’s already 10, we should wash up and get ready to sleep,” He attempts to pull your body up but you freeze, remembering you still had that unfinished essay to do.

You point to the laptop screen, opening your mouth to explain to your boyfriend that you had to sit here and finish it up before you could do anything else.

“Baby you can do it tomorrow, come on, you’re tired already,” He manages to convince you to follow him into the bedroom, as you trudge slightly behind him.

Jungkook smiles fondly at you as he watches you plop onto your shared bed, spreading out like a starfish as you take in the coldness of the AC.

Soon, there's a large mass that climbs over you, sinking the mattress down as Jungkook pecks your lips, his hands on both sides of your arms.

“Kook I’m too tired to do my skincare today, let’s just sleep,” You yawn, arms reaching up to pull the man above you down.

But Jungkook resists, tutting at you, “You’ll regret it in the morning, come on, I’ll help you,”

You shake your head, grouchy as you whine and cover yourself with the duvet under you.

“Hop on,”

“Huh?”

You peer curiously at where the voice was coming from, Jungkook propped up on his knees as he signals for you to get on his back.

You giggle, sliding out of bed as you climb onto him, tightening your grip on his shoulders as he carries you to the bathroom, letting you down gently on the closed toilet seat.

It takes a while for Jungkook to find out which of your skincare does what, but he manages in the end.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook angst

[undercoverpena]

iii. file room + accusations

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter three of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, flirting to the highest level. wordcount: 5.8k an: thank you for your patience, none of this chapter existed three days ago, but i think it was necessary for how... spicy the next one will be. as always, a huge thank you to @guyfieriii who let me hammer this idea out with her, and @yeyinde who fills me with absolute confidence to take this on.

“You have fun last night?”

Stirring your cup, you turn your head. “We went for one drink—” 

“Are you fucking Van Ness?” 

You throw the spoon into the sink, glaring—full of poisoned accusation, hoping it stings, hoping it bites. 

Chris has always been a little jealous, and a little bitter. But this side of him, the side grown from the decay of what once was…

“Believe it or not, people of the opposite sex can just be friends.”

“Like we were?” 

You scoff, almost going to grab your coffee when his hand touches your wrist.

“Sorry… that was,” Chris sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“I know.” 

Leaning back on the counter, you stare at him. The man you used to share a bed with, cook with, sleep with—finding yourself unable to recognise him. The same amount you barely were able to recognise yourself these days. 

“Just because we went for a drink, doesn’t mean I fucked him. I don’t fuck people just because they buy me drinks, if anything, I fuck them in spite of buying me things.” 

Lowering his hand, he opens his eyes. “I know… I just…”

You motion to move, hearing his words die as you hold his gaze. “Do us both a favour, Chris, get over us or stop trying to be my friend.”

It was a last-minute decision to get you coffee. 

A thought which nestled until it bloomed and spread itself over all the others. You’d been on his mind, likely put there because of his dreams. 

Javi had become so used to the smoky blend of violence and regret in his nightmares, it caught him by surprise long after he awoke that something good had been trying to form. Something with a sly smile that had slowly been driving him wild and a pair of eyes he saw even when he blinked. 

His bed creaked as he stretched, shoving the leftover hold of sleep from his muscles. 

He turns over how you’d not seemed like yourself yesterday. How quiet you were, how distant. You’d made two visits to his office, both for actual work purposes. He’d thought of asking, of questioning—but each time he’d found himself about to, you had a visitor at your desk. 

As time had ticked on, the night bludgeoning the day, he’d watched as you packed up your things, met by one of the other agents—tall and dark-haired—pulling a short laugh from you. 

He spent the next hour buried in case files just so he wouldn’t focus on the sound. And how he hadn’t pulled that same sound from you all day.

Now, as streams of sunlight flicker through his curtains, he reaches for his lighter and cigarettes. About to light one, a thought appearing and growing—rotting and festering in the empty space he’s carved for you.

Maybe you’re his delayed punishment.

His price to pay for what he did last time he was here. He thinks of you more than he does others—more than he has done with others. 

You are a torture, a thing put here in front of him as something he could have once, and never again. A reminder of it each time you sway into his office. How he’d tasted you, he’d felt your curves and heard your pretty noises. Now only for him to be locked in a prison of his own making because of it.

Because he’s forever interrupted by phone calls, meetings and whatever else life has—and will—throw his way. 

As he takes a drag, the point and thought cements itself further, because Javi doesn’t dream.

He relives nightmares and what-ifs, but he rarely ever dreams. Yet, there you were, smiling, pulling him from a nightmare into something more pleasant he didn’t want to wake from. You who hadn’t even fully formed, a shadow, an outline at best, but you’re there, he can tell. All pretty and sharp-tongued—not that he’s heard dream-you even speak, but he knows. 

Knows about the same amount as he knows he should turn the water in the shower a bit colder. Should let it sting his chest from how icy it is, trying to cage the thoughts of you he shouldn’t have. 

Because there’s a lesson to be learnt about shitting when he’s eating—and he’s already failed it twice. 

So, he lets his chin dip to his chest as water cascades down his neck, letting freezing droplets smother any chance of warmth. Because even if he shouldn’t, even if he couldn’t—technically—you’re in his head. 

Secretly, he blames you. Blames each quick retort you’ve had and each flirtatious sentence which continuously hangs in the air longer than anything else. 

Mainly, he blames you for the things you’re not at fault for. Like your smile, your laugh and the way you tap your pen on the desk when you’re lost in thought. 

That softer smile is the one in last night's dreams. Embedding itself firmly in the few hours he’s managed to catch in a while. The edges of it are genuine, exactly like it was in person—looking as much like it was born and not willed, as he’s seen in the flesh. You owe me a coffee. He thought about it as he lay in his sheets, again when he lit his first cigarette and on repeat in the shower.

It’s why he buys you one—it’s cemented in his thoughts. 

Front and fucking centre. 

By the time he makes it to work, his forehead is slightly slick with sweat. Barely noticeable to most, he supposes, but he feels it. His determination to catch you before the rest filter in, able to confidently present you with your inside joke right at your desk. 

It would mean he’s the instigator. It would mean he’d see you taken back, rendered silent for fucking once. 

Because normally, it’s you doing that to him. You and your quick wit make him roll his tongue around his mouth as he tries to control his body. 

Usually, he was in control. He was the one making others stupid over him—it’s different being on the other side. More so when he catches sight of himself in the reflection of the glass door, the smirk large and proud on his face. 

All because of fucking you. 

And then, you’re not at your desk.

His tongue pokes into his cheek as he inwardly kicks himself, heart descending down to his stomach—thumping against nothingness and last night's whiskey. 

He contemplates binning them as he moves past the desks. Throwing it before someone sees him with two coffees and a piece of fruit. Annoyance spreads like a wildfire through him, singeing the edges of muscles and bones. It layers, landing firmly on top of the shit from Cornerstone, the conversation with Stechner and—

He sees you. 

Like the sun which bleeds through clouds on a rainy day; like a torch through thick, sullen darkness. There you are.

Able to see you clearer and clearer on his approach, until he’s peering through his open door, spotting you on your knees, head bent. There’s an array of paper around you, placed out in a semi-circle on his office floor, an empty file box discarded close to the door. You don’t notice him, still fixated on whatever it is that has you in his office. 

You don’t even lift up when he’s at the doorway, casting a shadow over the papers. 

“You’re in early.”

Smirking, he leans against the doorway, watching you shift a paper to the side. Remaining bent over, finger tapping in a rhythmic pattern against a page closest to your hand. 

“And you’re in my office, cariño.”

He expects you to look up, even if just your eyes. You don’t. 

Another notch adding to the enigma that is you. The mystery, the hard-to-read and understand puzzle that is currently on your knees.  

“I needed the space.”

“For?”

That’s when you lift your head, sighing—if only to yourself—before slowly standing. You don’t groan, and don’t let out a noise as you do, shifting your trousers so they fall as they’re supposed to. Then, you’re awkwardly stepping over your pile as you come to stand beside him. 

“Personal project—that for me?” 

You take it before he can confirm it, taking a large gulp of it, filling the air with a groan. A sound which tugs something inside of him, even if your eyes remain fixed on the mess on his floor and not him. 

It’s childish—almost like he was back in school. Staring at the pretty girl until she notices him. But you are pretty, and fuck does he wish you’d notice him. 

“Thanks.” 

Something sinks. 

He’s not sure what, but it’s in his chest. 

Somehow, foolishly, he’d expected a little more from the gesture. The fact you’d been more grateful when he’d returned a pen, than grabbing you coffee. That, and your eyes barely meet his, continuing to turn something over in your mind as you take another sip. 

It’s silent, your silent—outside of the occasional sighs you let escape.  

Realistically, he knows you’re not being your usual self because you’re likely doing your job—something in the short span of time he’s known you, he knows you do well. But, it feeds into that… feeling. The one he woke up with when you’d left. Rejection. 

Something he’s experienced before—been through. Yet, never really learnt how to handle it.

How often are you told no, Peña? Rarely. I can believe that.  You want another drink? Can’t say no, can I?

It rattles him more because it’s you. You who has made him do things like this. He wanted to make you smile, wanted to show you that he fucking listened. 

Even if you confuse him. Bouncing from one minute flirting with him as he tries to be decent, fighting the feeling of the beads of sweat collecting on his collar. The next you’re staring through him as though you’d rather skin him than fuck him. 

He can’t say any of that, not as he massages his inner cheek between his teeth. Eyes staring at the pages, noticing the manilla case files poking out underneath all the stark white papers. 

He’s itching to get closer. To read the number on the side strips, see what it is that has stolen your attention. 

Instead, he nudges you. Watching as you lift your chin in his direction. Your eyes are the last to rise from the floor. Your face all blank and expressionless—appears as if you’re awaiting instruction from him for something. He sees the circles under your eyes, the rest of your face devoid of anything he can dissect. It almost feels as if he’s trying to read the wall, rather than a person who has made him copious cups of coffee. 

“You need me to move?”

He snorts, if only to himself. “No. But you’re quiet...”

Shooting him a short nod, you offer a forced smile. “Sorry.”

He feels something knot, something which makes it hard to take a step back and turn away from you. Something urging him to push, to keep standing there, even if he would get more from the water cooler.

“Hey… you good?” 

You eye him, brows narrowing ever so slightly. “Yes. Of course...” 

He nods. “Good. Okay, good.”

You turn more to face him, frowning as you try but find yourself unable to discern whatever it is you’re looking for—not that he knows what you’re searching for. 

He’s confused, prickled—tense. But nothing else. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t be or something?” 

You seem upset. Distracted. 

That’s what he wants to say. Wants to try and unpick the reason for your sharper gaze, raised shoulders and the almost box of files on his office floor.

Likely would if it didn’t allow you to know that he watches you, even through the blinds. That he knows these little things, the small shifts in your otherwise carefully constructed set of walls and barriers to keep everyone out. 

“I expected you to give me more shit… about the fruit, the coffee. Be difficult.”

You smirk, leaning as you run the cup under your nose. “I can be difficult if you need me to be, sir.” 

Your smile slowly spreads, more teeth than you’ve shown—more laid-back. It stretches from your cheeks to your eyes. His tongue runs across the front of his teeth, watching it, how it illuminates and lights every part of you. 

“Somehow, I bet you can be.”

Shrugging, you take a sip from the coffee again—eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the taste. 

He did good, he thinks. Knowing you likely won’t admit it, acknowledge it—

“This is good…”

He feels his brow rise, wiping his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Almost as good as you… sir.”

You watch him, make sure it lands. Watch it spread. Likely enjoying the show too. He can’t hide it, not quick enough to mask it. Not that he really puts much effort into trying.

It’s futile, a waste of energy and time.

He’s even sure you hear him inhale and whisper the word fuck as your phone rings.

“I’ll tidy this up in a minute, excuse me.”

Then you’re gone. Leaving him with your words and perfume, hearing the distinct sweet and, most innocent voice. 

A voice which didn’t fit or follow what you had just said. 

He’d never thought Messina’s job looked fun, but he never realised how unbearable it must have been. 

Javi’s head throbs from it. 

All of it. The meetings about meetings, the bureaucracy which wraps ropes around his throat and the fact—even if he’s not in the room—he can feel Stechner breathing down his neck. 

Something pulses more so when he meets your smirk-smile. The one he was robbed of enjoying yesterday, but today has got it in plenty. He puts it down to the coffee, not the possibility he heard you went out for a drink with another agent last night. 

Fresh air washes over him as he steps out of the building. The stuffy boardroom air uncurling itself from his suit as the grey, cloudy day hangs around him. Normally, he finds the humidity tiresome, but today it greets him like a friend. A better friend than pompous air breathed by men who want an easy win, than fight the actual fight that’s necessary. 

It’s habit again now, lighting a cigarette, even if he had tried to quit. His fingers hover the cigarette close to his lips, watching the end sparkle with orange and yellow as he releases his shoulders from around his ears. 

Bad habit, that.  So are you. You don’t mean that, sir. 

Taking the longest drag, he lets it fill his lungs. 

Hearing your voice call him sir, it is always faintly there—a callback, a reminder. A tease. 

He didn’t mean it, you’d been right. Didn’t mean it so much at all. Even if you were bad and a habit, you weren’t a bad habit.

Javi kept thinking about that night, and the ones he could have enjoyed after. Thoughts of taking you back to his and seeing how many times he can make you call his name; whether you’d beg him in that same way, please, Javi, please. 

It’s taken all of his strength not to act on it. 

Something to prove fizzing inside of him, blending with the taste and scent of tobacco which bleed across his senses. It slowly undoes each tendril of stress, unknotting each tense muscle, allowing the briefest second of calm—of peace—to wash over him. 

Sex did that too. 

Sex, whiskey and smokes did it all together. A perfect blend—one which had kept him going for longer than he cared to admit before. 

He didn’t smoke the night he fucked you. Hadn’t even realised he hadn’t until he smoked this one—acknowledging there’s a deeper meaning there, but unwilling to unfold it.

No good came from digging inside himself, not now. Not when his walls are painted in red shame and bitter regrets. 

He’d thought things were easier then. 

Before, when he didn’t have people answering to him, and he had a partner. He had a person to share a desk space with. Now, he’s behind glass—placed on a mantle, eyes looking up to him when they should be looking down. The pressure nipping at him, the smoke swirling up to his nose as he hovers the cigarette on his lip.

It’s at the last minute he catches the blonde woman coming closer, more into his view. Right in his peripheral. “Can I get one of those?”

Her non-embassy attire catches him off guard, before she introduces herself. Eyes raking up and down her, unsure where he knows her from—where he’d place her. Something, that voice he continuously ignores, firing and chirping, but he does what he always does. 

Javi should have known. He’s trained to be better. Expected to do better. 

Churning her name, the newspaper she works for in his head as he lets his smoke dangling from his lip. Already waiting, expecting. She was a reporter, she’d have questions. More than asking him for a cigarette and more than a simple chat about the weather. 

Then it falls from her tongue. Acidic, purposefully chosen to knock him—to bother him.

It does. Especially because she casually throws them his way. Him left feeling them figuratively land and bruise as she did. Each accusation not spoken, feels sharper and more painful than the previous, his cigarette doing nothing to stoke the rising shame and annoyance. 

If anything, it just covers it in tobacco smoke and a bitter taste. 

“Have a nice day—”

“Have you heard much about the Cali accident? Four more people dead. Children. Dozens more sick.”

The reporter's words swirl, peck and dig into him further. His sharp response is not close to the one he wants to give: I cannot get involved. His place here is tied securely to his behaviour. One wrong step, one misfortune, and he’s sure he’ll be back in Texas. Having accomplished nothing, once again.

“Looks like you said, it was an accident.”

The lie falls from him before he can pull it back. Knowing she doesn’t believe him—he doesn’t even believe himself. 

She snorts, half-laughing in mockery. “By the end of the day, it will be. No matter what the truth is.” 

The itch inside of him worsens when she turns from him. Fingers rolling against his palm, making him wish he’d finished his cigarette irrespective of the questioning and insinuations. The imaginary rope that ties his hands behind his back, constricting, stinging. 

His palm meets his forehead, rubbing against it as he heads in. Feet carrying him, body moving—

He needs you.

You who he could vent to, ask, merely fucking speak to. You who’d likely see through his bullshit and know something is wrong. You who he suspects understands, for reasons not highlighted in your report or in any file. Who stared into his eyes in that bar and made him wonder what hell you’d been through for the vengeance to live so prominently in your eyes. 

He comes to a stop, blinking as he lands on you, glaring into Feistl. 

The two of you huddled close, engaged in a discussion that didn’t look all too friendly. Your eyes gave it away, the forced smile confirming it. So much of your thoughts flitted across your face when you weren’t careful—and usually, you were careful. 

That’s something he learnt quickly. That you’re secretive, cautious, meticulous. 

When he blinks, he watches you say something before walking away before it’s fully landed. His jaw tightens, almost cracks. Eyes fixed on the back of the other agent, unable to tear his eyes away, watching you throw something in the sink, mutter something and storm in the other direction. 

He shouldn’t care. 

He’d learnt to avoid problems between couples with Connie and Murphy. He supposes it’s even more important to stay out of it when they were exes. Ones who worked closely with one another, shared office space and breathed the same air. 

He does care. 

It’s the only reason why he waits, almost reaching his office before he turns on his heels and heads in the direction you’ve gone. 

With each step, he swipes his index finger over the pad of his thumb, unsure what he’s going to say. What he’s going to do. Thrumming with annoyance from the outside; protectiveness swirling with a bunch of other unresolved feelings inside of him. 

It makes no sense—none of it. Yet the door squeals in protest as he shoves it open. 

Dropping your hand from your face, your eyes greet him instantly—the door barely back in its frame before you’ve hidden how wide and surprised they were. 

He doesn’t speak, but neither do you. 

And then, slowly—as though they were the physical embodiment of your walls coming down—your arms folded and your eyes narrowed. All he did was simply fucking stare, all he could do. 

There’s nothing he can say. Not that would make any sense—not to him, or to you. So, he allows the heaviness of the conversation outside and the annoyance that had grown in its place, to slowly dissipate as he stares and breathes, letting you do the same.

The tension thickens. Almost softly simmering between the two of you.

There’s no music thrumming this time, no alcohol to blame for the kinder expressions and wider grins. He just focuses on trying not to pay attention to it, but in the smaller space, it’s harder to ignore. It sits there grinning with its shiny teeth, its mocking behaviour taunting him, as he wonders if it’s the same for you. 

And then, you smile as if you can read his thoughts. It's instant, the way it smothers other emotions. Dilutes them, makes his tongue run across his teeth as he lets the stress melt from his shoulders and back. 

“I know what you’re gonna say?”

Looking at the floor, you snort. “I doubt that.”

“It’s none of my fucking business, right?” he adds, your eyes staring at him through your brows. “But, it looked heavy and I needed to ask—wanted to ask.”

“I’m fine.”

He gnaws at other words. Deciding quickly against them, swallowing them back, and switching to the next set of things he could say. 

“You told me you’d take the mountain of shit for me—hold the walls up. Remember?”

“Faintly.”

Lie, he thinks. It flutters across your face, the acknowledgement, how easily you’re able to recall it. He takes that as his invitation. Stepping closer, he watches as you unfold your arms.

“Who does that for you, cariño?” 

Your mouth—so usually the quicker one out of the two of you—clamps shut. Any quick remark fizzling into nothing as your chest rises and falls significantly, likely all from a silent sigh. 

“I promise I’m—“

“Don’t lie,” Javi adds, interrupting you. “Not to me.” 

Please, he thinks. But, he keeps that silent request to himself—even if it’s likely he’s spelling it with his eyes, his softer expression. 

You shift, eyes fluctuating between softening and sharpening. As if unsure whether to let him in—and be honest, trusting—or ruin him. He just hopes it's the former. Feeling it—that something which thrums in the air whenever he’s around you. The thing he’d rather bury than confront. 

Even if he likes being near you. Likes how you make him coffee, visit his office and tell him things he already knows. Just to be near you. To make sure you’re okay because you so often make sure he is. 

Your eyes narrow. “What’s happened?”

“What?”

Tilting your head, you sigh. “You went out for a smoke—“

“How’d you kn—“

Smirking, you lick your lips. “You’re not the only one with a pair of eyes, Peña. What. Happened?” Blowing out air, you shake your head. “I’m not stupid—”

“—I don’t think you’re—”

“And, you want me to tell you things, and you can’t even tell me what happened outside to make you this riled up.” 

He lets you have that one. Nodding gently, running his hands through his hair as he contemplates it—telling you. Informing you of it all. How Martínez doesn’t trust him, that the reporter outside…

Looking up, he stares at you. 

You are the face of ruination. Your eyes able and powerful enough to bring him to his knees. Already unspooling him, having dug under a layer he’s never allowed many others.

So he decides against sharing, instead smirking.

Not for reasons such as him not trusting you, but because this isn’t about him. It was always about him. You made it about him, whenever you fucking could, just like it had been before. Back when he had Steve, when he made catching Escobar about him. When he convinced himself he was doing what was right. 

He’d do it again—parts of it, anyway. But he still wanted this to be different, to be better, to be—

“How y’sleeping?” 

You blink, almost wincing from surprise. “Fine.” “Don’t lie.”

“How do you know I’m not sleeping?” 

Swiping his thumb across his bottom lip, he shrugs. “Because I know I don’t. More here, than I did in Texas. But… not like before. Nothing close to the hours I got before Escobar.” 

He watches your eyes widen at his name. The one he so rarely says, even when questioned. 

The one which makes a muscle in his chest tighten when he hears the name, fighting to not let the guilt and shame run through his blood at the mere mention. 

“I know I have no idea what you went through. But, I’d get it—try to, at least.”

It flashes like a rainstorm over your face. The heaviness of the clouds and then the downpour—and before he can get an umbrella out, it’s over. Javi isn’t quick enough to work out each expression. Not sure if he’s miles off or so close to the thing unravelling you, that he’s rendered you silent. 

You roll your lips, before whispering, “I don’t sleep either.” 

He blinks, staring at you as you try to force a smile and he moves closer. 

Like the two of you are being drawn together, pulled. It is all another dance, one without music, a beat or lyrics, and yet, you lift your hand to his cheek. Some words forming, that never appear. A different expression cracked over the former, one that he wasn’t sure he'd seen before. 

He tries to paint it, carve it into a space so he can unpick its meaning later—knowing how quick you are to wipe your canvas clean. But, your eyes flick over him, looking for something as he slides a hand over your hip, feeling you hunting. He feels the warmth stroke from his eyes to his lips, and back again. 

The thread, the one which had begun being sewn between the seats at the bar, was tightening and it tugged the two of you closer and closer, until he felt you—your lips. 

You’re kissing him. 

Hands pressed on both sides of his cheeks as you brought his mouth down to yours. Devastating him, ruining him all over again. Everything about you is intense. Consuming. Spanning over him and tugging him under in thick waves he’s not sure where they came from. 

All he can focus on is how good it feels to kiss you again. 

How soft your lips are, how he didn’t take the time to appreciate it before. How today you’re a mix of sugary lips and a bitter coffee tongue. 

He guides you, moving you behind the shelves—more out of view, the softest huff escaping your lips when your back meets the shelving. One he captures and stores, holding it closely as he pulls you tighter against him. Almost desperately so. You scorch yourself against him, hoping to leave something on him you’ll be able to see—something he welcomes. Some proof that you’re not too far out of reach as he groans at the sensation of your nails scraping through his hair and your mouth burning against his. 

It’s messy, disorientating—but, so are you. 

His tongue licking up into your mouth, hearing the discernible sound of a moan smothered by both your mouths as the shelving creeks when your spine presses against it. 

It’s natural, well-versed—like it was in his place. His thigh slotting between both your legs, hearing his name leave your lips in a whimper, all wrapped inside of a groan that has been born somewhere deep in your throat. 

Then it turns slower, gentle, languid. His head swimming in you, and only you. A hand up your spine curling you closer; your hand sliding from his hair and cheek to his neck. 

“Cariñ—“

The squeal of the door yanks the two of you apart.

His heart hammers, fucking thunders as your back flattens to the shelves, his feet making him step back—hidden behind more shelving. 

Someone from the doorway yells your name, not a voice he’s familiar with. 

They’re sharp, gruff, far enough away to not know, but if they stepped in the room… 

Javi is sure anyone could walk in and they’d feel the tension. More so convinced when he glances down your frame, seeing buttons undone and exposed, soft, kissable skin.

You must feel it. The way he looks at you. Your mouth shouting back you’d be there in a minute as nervous, shaky fingers try to button yourself.

In typical fashion, you shoot a sharp glare at him. One he’d already been expecting. One he knows you don’t mean. 

They’re not like the ones he endured when he first met you. It wasn’t the glare that made him almost beg for forgiveness. This glare was a ‘we almost got caught, idiot’ stare. One he feels no guilt about as he waits in your silence, hearing the door once again close. 

“We can’t do this.”

He moves, stepping back in front of you, leaning both hands on the shelves—caging you in, keeping you close. Not allowing you to wriggle away. “Well, we can’t do this here.”

It crosses his mind it could be too much. He could be being too much.

That it was fine at the bar, at his place. That it’s fine with the flirting, but anything more is overstepping. Then Javi sees the glint—the soft twitch of your right lip before he feels hands slide around his neck. Keeping him as close as he’s keeping you. 

“Peña.” 

“Cariño.”

You smirk, fingers sliding down his chest, not breaking eye contact with him. “Thought you were trying to be decent.” 

“Told you I was doing a poor job of it.” 

It’s less a smirk, and more a smile now. Soft on the edges, almost warm. Something he wishes to bottle. If only to keep the feeling he has bubbling in his chest when he spots it. When you allow him to see past curled lips and sharper words. 

“Let me take you for a drink.” 

You smile, playing with his tie. “You don’t have to buy me a drink to fuck me. This isn’t transactional. You don’t have to find a way to pay me to be around you.” Your eyes flip up, cutting into his, letting his thoughts run wild as you slowly roll your lips. “Plus, I want to.”

“Want to what?”

You trace your bottom lip with your tongue. “Fuck you.” 

Letting go of his tie, you wink. 

“I did tell you earlier, you’re more than half-good. Are you really that surprised I’d want another round with you?” 

Moving from him, walking around the files until he hears the door squeal and slams back into place. Slowly raising his hand, massaging his forehead. 

Staying in the file room for an impossibly long-time. An amount appropriate to how hard you’d gotten him, to how long it took him to will it away with thoughts of case file boxes and catching narcos. 

It’s hours until he gets a sight of you, watching you poking your head in his doorway. The afternoon having firmly gone, blanketed instead by the night. 

“Hey,” you say, leaning against the frame.

You look worn, more tired. Whatever had stolen you from your desk seemingly having taken the last shreds of caffeine and willpower you had been running on. 

He also notices you’re wearing your coat, bag already in hand. He doubted it was an invite to leave with you. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to go try and grab that thing you mentioned.”

Leaning back into his chair, he lets his brow rise. Feeling it curl up his face as your smile seeps into your cheeks and eyes. 

“Sleep, Peña, I’m going to go try and get some sleep.”

“Afraid you’d enjoy your tenth cup of coffee or something?” 

Licking your lips, you roll your eyes. “Eleventh. I had the tenth after… we organised the file room.”

“That’s what we’re calling it?” 

Shaking your head, he smiles. 

Natural, easy. Like it’s the most normal thing Javier Peña can do, when he never fucking does it. When it’s been so long since the last time, he can’t actually find a time with much ease. 

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” 

Leaning on his elbows, digging them into the paper covering the wood, he has to nod. “Thought that was my line.”

There are plenty of women he’s had a nice time with, plenty that he’s had a great time with. Some he’s liked going back for more, others he never has. But it’s rare he has a good time when both sets of clothes are on. Rare when it’s in an environment like this, flooded in fluorescence and weighed down by expectations. 

Smiling, he taps his desk. “We’re good, cariño. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Peña… you should…” you begin to say, standing a little taller as you glance at his desk, slowly pointing to something near the top of the pile. “He’s a good agent. Thorough. Just take a look at what he’s done. Ch—Feistl, he wants to do a good job. He cares a lot, too. So, just consider it… even if you do so because I make you coffee and am extra nice to you.”

He stares, confusion wrapping around words he won’t speak. Because he’s not sure how someone can be so nice about a person they keep bickering with only earlier. A person he’s pretty sure you called an asshole if his lip reading was up to scratch. 

“If you get some sleep, I’ll look over it, sure,” he smirks. 

You nod, lifting up from the doorframe—he expects you to leave, but you linger.

Pretty eyes drink him in, looking close to how they did in the file room, and it takes all of his willpower to not cross the room and kiss you again. It would be easier too, to stop fighting and give in. 

But he doesn’t, afraid if he does, it would be the last time. Somehow, unsure if he could allow himself to have nice things, never mind actually having them. 

Glueing his feet to the ground, he feels you break eye contact. Allowing him to capture his full breath. 

“Try to get some yourself—sleep that is. Maybe we can be less difficult with one another that way.” 

He laughs, watching you turn on your heels as he leans to grab the file. Listening to your shoes getting quieter, until he’s left with his thoughts and the low mumble of the television.

He spots your handwriting first, words left on your usual lined paper so similar to the ones you’ve just spoken. Then he opens it, finding tabs along certain pages—ones he knows aren’t there from Feistl but you. 

It’s only as he reads, as he goes between messy writing and typed-up words, does he see what you mean. Does he begin to see the beginning of something. 

It turns the cogs, and lets them twist—something forming until he’s standing. 

Then the television catches his eye, hand quick to grab the remote as he turns it up. He feels his stomach drop, parts of the formed idea beginning to solidify as other parts begin to crumble. 

…After a thorough investigation, we’ve reached the conclusion that the Yumbo chemical exposure was caused by a faulty valve in a natural gas line in the area…

chapter four ->

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[first-edition]

One Night You

Spencer and yourself have a one night stand, and thinking that’s all it is you get up to leave and the confessions begin.

Smut, p in v, mention of alcohol, clit play if you squint, fluff, slight angst

THIS FIC IS 18+ MINORS DNI

You never expected that sitting on the floor of Spencer’s living room to solve a kidnapping case would end up with two glasses of wine and your clothes flying off, but here you are in bed with your co-worker who’ve you’d had a crush on since day one.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands roaming your skin, your fingers tangling his hair. The erotic sounds of skin hitting skin and moans.

His lips kiss and suck your neck surely leaving marks not caring about the work scheduled for tomorrow.

“F-fuck.” Spencer curse as you arch your back pulling him closer to you as his cock stretches your cunt. His member hitting the sweetest spot of you over and over again. His little moans and whimpers in your ear making you go weaker for him submitting even more than you already are.

Your lips move from an open setting to a smile he pulls him self up to look at you wanting nothing more than to watch your face contort to his control when you cum around his dick.

A smile forms on his as well before you place your arms around him connecting your lips with his. Spencer places his hand up above your head gripping the head board breaking kiss as he fucks into you harder rewarding himself with the sounds of your pleasure. His other using his skilled finger to rub your clit.

Your nails run down his back feeling his muscles as he groans against you his hair falling around his face framing him perfectly. The knot in your stomach tightening before it snaps and you grip onto him cumming around him.

“S-Spence ah!” You moan out gasping.

A light chuckle leaves his mouth as he kisses you continuing to fuck you through your high before taking his own pleasure spurting his cum into the condom as he roughly pushing into you surely hitting your cervix.

—————

The bright light from his cracked curtains cover your face as you open your eyes blinking away the blur of sleep. You see a pair of light brown eyes looking seemingly golden from the morning glow.

“Morning” he says his voice only slightly deeper.

“Mm.” You say wiping your eyes. Before sitting up pulling your hair back out of your face. You sigh looking around the room for your clothes yet they are nowhere to be found only the panties you put on after it was over.

You hold the comforter against your chest giving yourself a little bit of your self preservation back.

“Where are you going?” He says looking up at you.

“Home…I shouldn’t have over stayed my welcom im sorry.” You say leaving him with a chuckle as he shakes his head

“Over stayed? What are you talking about?” He asks. You look around eyeing twords both of your ‘naked’ bodies. You bring the comforter closer to you.

“As much as i dont want it to be call it was it is spencer. A one night stand were going to go into work later today covered in marks while the team analyzies us and we’ll stand across the room from each other in awkward silence with the boys congratulate you and i get scolded for being a drunken whore by the girls.” You huff pulling your knees to your chest. He sits up his hand placing its self against your bare back.

“Who said this was a one nights stand.” He says looking at you tucking your hair behind your ear. You turn your head your eyes meeting.

“You’re not a drunken whore you never were or will be you’re y/n a woman who i happen to work with and whomst I’ve happened to fall in love with so I invited her over to help work on a case which was complimented with a glass of wine and very good sex.“ he says brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“…what.” You reply. He raises his eyes brows to you to make sure you got every detail of his confession.

“If you’ll let me I’d like to take you on a proper date and I-“ he cut off by your lips on his as you climb over him straddling him he sits up holding onto you as you share a passionate kiss.

Breaking the kiss for a moment you speak.

“Say it..say it again.”

“You’re not a drunken whore you never were or-“

“No. No…say the other thing.” You say looking into his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. Have been for a while a very Very long while. I love you so please dont call this a one nights stand. I plan to do this and many other things with you….if youll have me” he say. The smile grows on your face as you nod pecking his lips.

“I love you too spencer. I do.” You say. He smiles laying down and taking you with him both of you giggling and laughing as you share kisses and cuddles.

“Spence.” You gasp pulling back a bit.

“Hmm?” He ask

“Where are my clothes?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Spencer reid x reader smut #Smut #criminal minds smut

[yukichosodrink]

I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU♡

PAIRINGS: Bodyguard! Toji x reader smut

SUMMARY: Without your knowledge, your father gets you a bodyguard, a very attractive one.

C/W: Creampie, reader is a bimbo, thigh humping, both toji and reader are adults, daddy kink, use of pet names, tojis really rough, dirty talkin

A/N: i got inspired by character ai lmaoo this is my first time writing smut so dont b mean but i'll try to b good enjoy xx

You hear your brother tell you about how father has hired another bodyguard named Toji, but you just shrug it off. You are sitting in your room when the door to your hyper feminine room barges open to see a buff, tall man leaning against the doorframe glaring at you,"You're the brat?"

"Yeah" I mumble gesturing for him to sit on the couch. I was wearing a tight top and skirt, applying my gloss, blinking up at him. I assumed he was the man my father hired me.

As you motion him to sit on the couch, Toji's eyes trail down to your outfit, eyes moving slowly. His gaze remains there for a while, eyes lingering on your lips now that you're applying gloss.

He finally looks away, leaning back and spreading his arms out across the couch.

You sit down, too, watching as Toji seems to relax around you. When you look up at Toji again, he's watching you. His gaze is still on your lips, the corners of his lips turning up into a smile.

"Your name," he asks. "I know your daddy's name. But what's your goddamn name?"

"Oh, I'm Y/n" I said warmly, still putting down my gloss.

"Y/n…" Toji says with a slight grin. "Sounds fancy," he adds, leaning back in his seat. He continues to stare at you for a little bit longer before leaning forward again and placing his hands on his knees.

"You have a boyfriend?" Toji asks you out of nowhere. He seems oddly interested in that.

"Mm thanks. not really though." I say innocently placing myself on his lap.

Toji seems to be caught off-guard by you suddenly sitting onto his lap. His eyes widen in surprise and he quickly clears his throat, nodding his head as he speaks.

"No boyfriend, huh?" Toji asks with a grin on his face now that he's recovered. "So, you're single."

"mm" i mumble.

Toji hums to himself, wrapping his arms around your waist. His eyes travel from your hair, down toward the dress you're wearing. Toji seems to study every inch of your body now that you're sitting on his lap. His gaze is lingering on your chest now, though. He seems to be taking his time to look at everything.

Toji continues to study your body for a few moments longer before finally lifting his eyes toward your face again. His expression is relaxed now as he raises his hands and runs them through your hair softly.

"Your hair is pretty," Toji comments, grinning at you. "You're pretty."

"Thanks" I giggle slightly. "You know daddy's never at home, he's always working." I say sadly.

"You don't see your daddy very often?" Toji asks, running the back of his fingers along your jaw and neck now. His eyes never leave your face, not for a moment.

"He's always busy and I'm always left alone here." I frown shifting in toji's lap.

"Poor baby," Toji sighs softly, leaning down so that you can feel his breath against your neck. His fingers are tracing small circles on your neck, up and down your shoulders.

"How often does your daddy actually see you?" he asks, moving in a little bit to put his head on your shoulder. "Does he pay you any attention at all?"

"Like once a week, sometimes even a month.. He doesn't pay any attention" I whine in his lap now.

Toji nods his head, not once taking his eyes off you. His fingertips are caressing your neck still, massaging your skin gently. His breath is hot against your neck now.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be paying you plenty of attention," he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

I whimper, the color of my cheeks reddening. I start softly grinding on his lap.

Toji feels your movements against him, your body swaying softly back and forth against his. His hands are tracing up and down your back now, one of them running down to your thighs.

He moves his lips closer to you, his lips brushing against your neck to send chills down your spine. He bites his lower lip just to add to the tension.

"And I'll take very good care of you," he says in a low voice, "Make sure your every need is met…"

I whine now, grinding further on his lap,"D-don't tell my daddy about this 'kay?" I say.

"Why's that?" Toji laughs, still massaging your back and running his fingers up and down your legs. "Is he gonna get mad at his little baby? Is daddy gonna get mad at me for playing with his little girl?"

He bites his lip again and looks you right in the eye. I nod in agreement, my movements fastening.

Toji's cheeks flush as he sees your movements speed up. His breath is steady, but he can feel his heart pounding out of his chest.

"We won't tell daddy," he says, leaning in close to you. His breath is hot against your neck and his voice is husky. His lips are just barely touching your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs.

I finish on his thigh, breathing heavily chest heaving, up and down looking embarrassed.

Toji chuckles softly at seeing you flushed and embarrassed. "Look at how cute you are," he sighs, stroking your cheeks softly. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about, alright?"

His hands move from your thighs to your hips now, the skin to skin contact making him shiver."P-please Toji" I beg eyes fixated on him.

"Mmm?" Just the sound of your voice is enough to drive Toji wild. You're begging for him. He has you right where he wants you.

"Please what?" he whispers. The way he's looking at you makes it clear that he'll do whatever you want him to.

He keeps running his fingers up and down your hip, tracing small circles with his fingertips as he speaks again.

"You want me to not tell your daddy about this?" Toji asks, leaning in closer to you. He lifts your chin up so that you're looking straight at him. "Or is there anything else you want from me?"

"Please just.."

The way his voice trails off makes Toji feel a rush of excitement as he stares down into your eyes.

"Please just what?" he asks, leaning down to get his face just a few inches from yours. He wants to hear your words, he wants to hear you beg.

"Please just take me" i beg.

The words are enough to make Toji shiver with arousal. He leans in and presses his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. As he does, he moves down to hug your legs around your waist, lifting you up to sit on his lap. He kisses you like a starving man, as if you're the only thing he's been able to think about for hours and hours. Your body is pressing up against his now as he kisses you, his hands wandering down to your thighs.

He flips you over, getting on top of you, moving onto your neck placing kisses and leaving marks that will be showing for a couple of days.

"Take off the top or i'll do it myself." He say pulling at your top, a moan leaving your lips as you comply. He flips you over again, places kisses onto your nipples, groping harshly, sucking and nipping at the skin, tweaking and pullling in his big palms while sucking the other one. He moves up placing kisses on your jaw while palming your clothes cunt with his hands.

"Gonna break this pussy. Make it mine." He grunts against you, as you whine and moan his name. He takes off his pants springing out his thick red cock, with precum leaking from the tip. He gives it a few pumps while tapping your cheek with it. "Open" he commands and you comply, obediently.

He fucks your throat, mercilessly in and out till tears are streaming down your face, you cough and he takes it out, lining it at your slit.

"It's too big, it w-won't fit." I cough. "You'll make it fit, princess." He says, moving it slightly. He slams in without warning making you cry out.

"T-toji, Ah, m-more." I cry grinding my hips against him.

"You have me balls deep inside you baby, what else do you want?" Toji grins not moving.

"P-please fuck me, daddy. Fuck me raw pleasepleaseplease" I blabbed mindlessly, and he grins at again. He slams his cock inside and fucks me restlessly, moving both my legs up placing it on his shoulders, hitting my cervix as I clenched around him, moaning his name.

"tojitojitojipleasepleaserightthere" I cried out and he picked up his speed at an animalistic pace. "Gonna cum, princess? Gonna cum on daddy's cock?" He groans.

I climax at the same time as him as he pours thick ropes of cum inside me, still fucking me through the climax. Beads of sweat forms on his face as he wipes it while I lay tired.

"Tired already? Want me to put you to bed?" He teases getting off of you and taking you in his arms,"Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you." He says brushing his fingers through your hair softly.

A/N: guys that was the first time i honestly wrote smut so idk how it was so pls dont bear wit me for it but ill take constructive criticism. thanks hope u enjoyed <3

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro #fushiguro toji #yuuji #jujustu kaisen #smut #toji smut #jjk toji #tojixreader #jjkxreader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #jujutsu nanami #weeb #anime #nanamismut

[demonbanger]

18+ | 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐍𝐇𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 💌

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔 minors ! kindly do not interact please 𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

𐂴 pairings: Female-Bodied Reader X Bakugo, Aizawa, Iida, Tokoyami, Deku, Mirio, All Might, Shoto, Kirishima, Tamaki

𐂴 contains: sundress szn, aged-up students, use of quirks, (semi)public unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, daddy + mommy kink, exhibitionism, degrading w punk ass Bakugo, lotsa pet names, use of puppy with Izuku, choking, orgasm control, Aizawa’s is heavy on mating press + kink, Iida’s overstimulation, pussy spanking, tentacles w tamaki <3, feral men alert 🚨

𐂴 10k~ words total | 10 drabbles | bonus: lazy illustrations

𐂴 crispy ass low quality ass photos smh

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

💥 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 ~ “OH, IT’S ON, PRINCESS.”

He’ll smile at his girl doing such a dirty, sexy thing in public, and you know what’s coming for you at home. In true Bakugo fashion, he’ll tease you right back, except do it better than you to prove that he’s the best. Karma’s a bitch, but Bakugo is the biggest bitchboy in town.

You try as hard as possible to keep the straightest face you could muster. Katsuki is looking at the cafe menu, sipping his coffee.

“So what do you want?” he grumbles, so he could order for the both of you. It’s go time. Your hand is already under the table, and finds your big thick target immediately, squeezing it firmly through his black pinstripe dress pants. Enemy spotted. His eyes lock on you, and the look in them lets you know that you just signed up for hours of poundtown and crying when you guys get home from your date. He can be so mean, too, stealing your orgasms from you until he decides it’s okay for you to cum. So really you’re signing up to be at his mercy…or lack thereof.

He snorts a little, the corners of his lips turning upwards ever so slightly.

“Really? Heh, that’s a good choice. I was going to go for the club sandwich. And you better not eat all my fries, you dirty little delinquent.” His cock starts to harden in your hand, and your fingers find his cockhead, tracing its prominent outline. You could swear you feel his pulsing veins beneath your fingertips. You keep your hand there, squeezing, then trailing to his balls…then pulling away when he twitches.

As if nothing happened, you reply,“Mm, no worries, I’ll also get the croissant and omelette, I promise to leave some of your fries for you,” you suck at keeping a straight face, as fiery eyes blink incredulously, furiously asking you why the fuck you stopped.

This time you feel his rough hand firmly grabbing your thigh, and yanking it over his big leg. His calloused palm trails right up the skirt of your yellow gingham sundress. What is he doing?

“’Katsu,” you whimper quietly to his sickly smug face. “We can’t do this here.” You both know you don’t believe the words you’re spewing.

Fluffy blonde hair swooshes left and right as he looks around dramatically to prove a point. “Says the fuck who?” his canines flash, a predator knowing there was nowhere for his prey to run. His sharp eyes, sharp teeth, sharp choker, black snakebites, the growl evident in his voice…this menacing boy has you backed into a corner. Heck, his big hand has your thigh trapped right now. He was right. What were you saying? Bakugo Katsuki never followed anyone’s rules, and never will.

You squeak when two hot, large digits rubbed you over your thin little panties. He leans in real close to you, resting a muscled forearm on top of your soft thigh. His hot breath fans against your neck and he whispers huskily in your ear, moaning a little in just the way that make your juices stir, your clit throb,

“Fuck….Y’always signing up for shit you can’t handle, Princess. Trying to put yourself in danger, like Daddy does. But you can’t pull it off, babe, wanna know why? You’re dealing with Dynamight, and don’t you forget it. Just ya wait until we get home. Trying to be a nasty little bitch in heat, you think that’s funny?” You thank the heavens that the table isn’t see through and not too many people are dining where they could see you both being absolutely filthy. You gulp. He pushes your panties aside, rubbing the ungodly amounts of slick you’ve already built up in circles around your clit.

“Little kitty cat gets so wet, huh? Is it cuz you know I could fuck you right on top of this table? I’m the number two hero, I don’t give a fuck. Does that scare you? Me showing everyone what happens to bad girls who can’t be patient and grab their boyfriend’s meat under the fucking table?” He’s babbling, and you can see his cock straining against his pants. If he was dressed in his grey sweatpants, guaranteed you’d see precum leaking through.

The thigh that wasn’t being held on top of his by his other hand, tries to shakily close around his hand but he doesn’t let up. You feel a familiar heat start to pool in your stomach and you silently plead with him to not make you cum in public, in broad daylight. You could tell he has no intentions of stopping. A big, thick finger dips in and changes your mind as it always does, making your brain get consumed with want for him, need to get filled up no matter what. It thrusts into you as his thumb keeps rubbing your clit expertly. You begin to grind stupidly into his hand, chasing your own high. His eyes, they look so hungry for you…

Just as you feel yourself getting close, he pulls away and puts your leg back down to normal as your pussy throbs and you clench around nothing. What the fuck? You glare at him, he sucks his fingers, and he licks the mug like a SLUT before sipping his coffee again.

“What’s’a matter, sweetheart?” His gruff voice feigns ignorance, and before you could reply, the server comes. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

❤️‍🩹 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀 𝐒𝐇Ō𝐓𝐀 ~ “So You Have Chosen… Death.”

The UA High School teacher is so disciplined, such a gentleman who knows how to conduct himself maturely. Which is a total contrast to how he is behind closed doors in the bedroom. Oh, he’ll still be a gentleman, but don’t think he’ll hold back on you. He’ll teach you a thing or two about teasing him like a little brat.

You both sit in the private back part of a fancy restaurant for your anniversary dinner. Ever the classy, baked ziti at home, father of your two cats, charcuterie board mf, has taken you to a dark, sophisticated winery by the sea. His alumn who can talk to animals is caring for the fur children back at home. Now you’re sitting in what looks like a speakeasy as you overhear jazz from the main restaurant, the lights dim, and his ebony black hair falls beautifully over his cashmere sweater. An intense set of dark eyes have never looked so intense, and you can barely take it.

You hold the wine 45° and stir it a little, smelling its scent profile before taking a little sip. Berries. Spice. Old earth. Chestnut barrel. And a hint of flora.

“This one’s delicious,” you smile, and you like it because it tastes like love, it tastes how the look in his eyes feel.

“You’re delicious,” his eyes scan over your body in the sleek, velvety emerald dress you surprised him in, and you feel the heat from his smoky deep voice filling your ears and going down your esophagus with the warm wine, and making you flush. You decide to return the favor and be a little cheeky. Perhaps it’s the wine bringing out the boldness in you, or he’s trying to be a siren with his dark eyes and silken tone but you are sinking. And your foot has left its high heel and is floating.

A thin brow quirks as your pedicured foot rubs his firm thigh, then goes up, up, to the apex of his legs and fondles him through his slacks. You’re already hard. He smirks. —How could I not be?—

Teachers. They make for the best students. He’s studying you, the fall and rise of your chest, and can pick up that you’re turned on. And just like that, you both can’t wait for the dinner to be over so you could…

But you both wait. Lots of tension makes for the best of releases. You know from past experience. You continue to have eye sex, like how you did when you both would pine for each other. Years of having a crush on your tailor client, of him talking with you, of you starting to think of what his stubble must feel like on your tenderest spots, of if he likes getting his hair pulled, of will there ever be a ring on his finger one of these days? Him coming to the atelier to pick up his clothing, and looking at you in the same way he’s looking at you now, but you not being able to put a finger on it.

You would wake up from a restless sleep in your studio and wonder, why am I having dreams of my client? You’d look forward to his messages telling you how lovely of a job you’d do to fitting his clothing to accent his body…his body that you wanted all over yours. It felt like a whirlwind…a long, unblinking staring match as he lingered in picking up his clothing from you turned into him asking you out, to him bringing flowers to your work, and lots of eye contact as you realized his stubble tickles your inner thighs rough— in a delicious way, that pulling his hair makes him rumble against you and eat you even more ravenously, and that now you keep looking at your hand wondering what it would look like with a big rock on your finger.

Flash forward to after dinner, and you’re walking hand in hand, the taste of wine and butterscotch gelato in your mouths, and his hand guides you by your lower back into the lodge. Now you’re on the bed, and your feet are bound to the posts, and his hand pins your wrists above your head as he’s ramming into you, hips slapping your clit so perfectly and grinding into you. You already came twice on his face, and you feel another one coming soon.

“Sh-Shō,” you slur, the second his lips aren’t swallowing yours. Your tear-brimmed eyes, glazed with pleasure, meet his deep eyes that still look as hungry as ever, with that extra mysteriously serious look from earlier. It makes you shiver.

“Darling,” he purrs, “i hope you’re not saying you want me to slow down, when you showed me just how much you wanted me back there.” How is he not out of breath, when he’s pistoning straight into your sweet spot over and over? He muffles your whimpers and steals your breath away with more sloppy kisses, and your bordeaux-stained lips are wet with your drool combined with his saliva. You’re seeing stars, and screaming his name as you’re bound into this mating press. You feel so full on his fat cock as every ridge and vein drags so deliciously into every surface of your pussy; his hipbones smack into your ass so lewdly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. He grabs your jaw firmly, thumb swiping your lower lip. “Ah, ah, ah, want my little wifey to look at me, or you won’t get my kids,” he’s babbling, but your ears perk up at the words wifey and kids and it drives your wine/cock-drunk mind wild as he drills into you.

“Yes, yes!” you scream, “I’m your wifey, Shōta, please say I’m yours, mmm, I belong t’you!!” You don’t break eye contact this time, pleading him to know you really really mean you belong to him. His thrusts get sloppier, and his baritone moans sound so hot as you feel like if he goes any harder, you’ll get fucked right through the bed.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” his hands clench around your wrists and throat, and he kisses all over your face, “All, fucking, mine—” He goes down to rub your clit feverishly so you could clench around him, and his thrusts are deep, threatening to hit your womb.

“Cum for me, my beautiful woman,” the sight of his black hair framing and sticking to his face as he stares into your soul, does it for you and you see white, which milks his cock of all he has to offer as he’s balls deep inside you.

You both ride out your orgasms for a minute, then come back to earth, panting. “Oh, by the way. Since you agreed you’re my wifey, I hope you know I’m being serious.”

Your heart stops as he finishes untying you and arranges the clothes you both threw to the floor. What?

“I’ve been wanting to make you Mrs Aizawa for quite some time now, and it kind of came out in the heat of the moment, but…” he grabbed the ring from his pants pocket, blushing like a schoolboy, “Miss Y/n, will you marry me?” His voice was soft, and the ring sparkled even in the dim bedroom.

Tears once again filled your eyes. “I was being serious, too, Shō. Of course I’ll marry you.” x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🚀 𝐈𝐈𝐃𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐀 ~ *TRIES TO PRETEND NOTHING IS HAPPENING TO HIM*

Key word: tries. That does not mean he succeeds. Iida will, however, make it your problem when you get back home, and you’ll know he does not take such matters of inappropriateness lightly.

(girl help my drawing’s proportions in this are more fcked than a Picasso painting, n e ways,,)

When you grab his cock in the cute outdoor restaurant in the downtown area, Tenya Iida is glad that 1. it’s night time, 2. you’re both sat in the back corner, and 3. the service was slow.

“Aw, Iida, are you all right?” you coo, and he curses you in his mind. Evil vixen! He will show you not to continue in such wrongdoing! Just…not here…You play footsie with him, feeling up his meaty calves as he shakily finishes taking a sip of his water.

“Yes, my love, I am perfectly all right, everything is just wonderful,” his voice is convincing, but the bright pink glow that shines over his entire face, is not. Not to mention his hand is shaking like a leaf and still clenched around his glass, as if it’s offering some sort of stability.

“You look like you’re going to break your water,” you giggle, and you catch a dangerous glint in his eye for a split second.

“Maybe I’ll break yours, have it spill all over the place,” he mutters.

“C-come again?” No, you heard him right. When he takes you shopping afterwards, best believe he makes sure you’re dripping all over him in the dressing room, his fingers stuffed inside your mouth as the Hero Ingenium slams in and out of you at the speed of light, making you almost cum in every place you two are alone together for the entire night. But your punishment is you don’t actually get to. Because you acted like a little villain. And when you sob into his jacket that you just want to go home now, he rushes you both home with his quirk, and you’re so glad he’s so much faster than driving in a car.

He’ll make you squirt all over his face and cum until you’re apologizing for teasing him in public like that, and he makes you promise to not be such a naughty little girl, because only good girls get stuffed with daddy’s cum. (You’ll break that promise since you love how he brings about his justice). x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🔮 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 ~ “CAREFUL, LEST YOUR ACTIONS MANIFEST A REVELRY IN THE DARK”

What a dangerous game you play, and you couldn’t keep it at bay until Dark Flicks and Chills, could you? What are the things that go bump in the night? Oh, right. It’ll be his cock, bumping rather harshly into your cervix, because of your foolish lack of self control. But it’s ok. Because he a freak like that too.

It appears your mind dwells in the abyss quite frequently.

Your lovely boyfriend had taken you to the new Museum of Unexplained Wonders, an alluring museum that toured past cryptids, alien evidence in ancient cultures, chilling discoveries, unexplained mysteries, creatures of the deep, cursed items, and ancient secrets. And now here you are, in the spooky wax figure restaurant, eating horror-inspired food. You couldn’t be happier than now, and having such deep conversation with your beloved bird boy and hearing his handsome voice make such great theories is stirring something inside your creature of the deep.

“I really do have to say, I’m so curious about what will happen as they continue to investigate Skinwalker Ridge,” you muse, and Tokoyami’s ruby reds gaze into your eyes passionately as he nods.

“They’re doing such a good job at proving that there are aliens. I wonder if they’d let people with electromagnetic-type quirks into the grounds to help them,” his voice sounds so deep and comforting, you think to yourself, like someone playing the cello. You could listen to it forever.

“I-oh, Y/N, goodness what are you doing?” He whispers, expression indicating that he’s clearly blushing. The culprit: your hand squeezing his dick. Does he accidentally have a semi-hard-on already? Or is he enjoying all of this in the same way you are? Your hand leaves as you nonchalantly eat more of your food, and he swallows thickly, trying to resume eating too.

“My apologies. It seems like it teleported into my hand. Or maybe I’m just possessed by an ancient fertility god,” you winked up at him.

“Oh? Is that so? Are you sure it’s not a multiple possession, because I’ve been feeling the same way, hearing about what your beautiful mind comes up with.” You gasped as you felt something stronger than a cold draft of wind touch a specific place on your legs. Was that..? “Oh and Dark Shadow, feel free.” The two giant hands on your thighs spread you wider apart as Dark Shadow found solace in the shadows under the booth in the dim, colorfully-lit spooky restaurant. Fumikage’s hand trails to your thigh, and you are so glad that you wore a skirt today as it dips under the dark pleated fabric.

“I have to say, I love how much of a dirty thing you are,” the tip of his beak drags over the sensitive spot on your neck, trailing down to lick and nip at your shoulder and collarbone. You didn’t realize his fork is now in his left hand, and he continues eating as you tried to act normally in public. You feel the cool of his rings as it brushes against your skin, and it’s coming closer and closer to……

“No need to have this in the middle here,” he mutters under his breath, as he tears a hole in the fishnet tights above your pussy.

“Y-yeah, about you loving my…twisted nature, I can say the—same,” you try to stay normal as you felt a tongue from under the table push your panties aside and lick a broad stripe right up your throbbing core, making you whine the last word. Dark Shadow’s tongue began to push inside you, and your thighs shuddered around their head.

“My goddess of the violet twilight, you are lust incarnate. No need to conceal such lovely noises,” he smiles, sipping his drink and watching you come unraveled with his fingers pinching and swirling over your engorged clit, and Dark Shadow tongue fucking you under the table.

“I-I love those lyrics, b-but we’re in public! Nnn~!” You try to keep your whimpers quiet, but the last one is forced out when you feel the thick tongue touch your spongey, tender spot. Shadow’s tongue keeps thrusting in and out, hitting that spot with such fervor and Fumikage’s fingers on your bud feel so perfect, that your eyes roll back in pleasure and you buck into him and his quirk, nails digging into his smooth arm that would not budge from between your thighs.

“What happened to your love of being nervous, Y/n?” The way your name rolls off the tip of his tongue combined with all the other stimuli makes you come undone, and you lean your head into Tokoyami’s soft black t-shirt, seeking support in his firm muscles, tears pricking your vision as you look into his eyes the way he likes.

“Fuck,” he grunts at your fucked-out expression as you bite your lip hard enough to almost draw blood, and he cups your jaw in his spare hand, pecking kisses on your forehead (the best he could do with his falconesque beak), running fingers through your hair to comfort you as you ride your orgasm and cream all over Shadow’s tongue and his other hand.

When you return to the third dimension and catch your breath, it’s like you almost forgot you were in the restaurant. “Is my crazy black eyeliner running down my face?” You say meekly, squeezing his much larger hand.

“No, love, your soul windows are still perfectly decorated and in place,” he speaks tenderly, full of love. You pet Dark Shadow’s hair, and they coo and lick their beak clean, savoring your taste.

“Your goth metal reference is getting you head when we get home.”

“Not in the mummy exhibit?” He winks at you.

“Unless you want a curse following us home,” you laugh.

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🧤 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 ~ “BABE, W-WAIT!!!”

He’s so 🥺shy🫣 but then he’s trying to Texas smash in your pussy, and is so drunk in lust you almost have to say “down, boy” to get him to behave.

If Bakugo were to see you two lovebirds right now, he would scream, possibly cry, shit his pants, possibly throw up from how soft Izuku and you are being. And that’s okay. He’s laying on your lap and you’re feeding eachother strawberries and little bites of cake, and you couldn’t be happier than right now.

The soft breeze is rustling in the trees, and your boyfriend’s pine-colored mess of hair moves just like the leaves above. Butterflies keep flying around, and you tell yourself he and you should make little dandelion flower crowns for each other sometime.

You’re so full of love for life right now, and your lover is so beautiful in the sunlight, and his thrifted sweater vest that matches his hair looks so cute on him with his muscular arms, and you,, you’re ovulating so you wish it wasn’t just your heart that was full. But the problem is, you’re in a park in the city. Eh, no matter.

Midoriya rests on his elbows, shifting off of your lap but leaving little fluttery kisses on your legs and..you don’t think he realizes what he’s doing to you. So you naturally do the most logical thing to do, and grab his dick. “This is mine, by the way,” you giggle, as his bright green eyes widen and flash to yours.

He bites his lip and immediately looks flustered, the poor boy. He’s so bad at hiding his arousal. His cock is already tenting in his corduroy trousers! “I-I know, baby, but why did you have to remind me,” —his voice hushes to a whisper—“in the middle of a public picnic babe???” You grab him by his little strawberry charm necklace that you gave him, and you see his Adam’s apple bob up and down to try and swallow back a whine, to no avail. There’s a blush spread wide across his face, and with his green hair and freckles now he really looks like a strawberry, you just realized, and you can’t help but laugh.

He thinks you’re being mean and trying to humiliate him in public, and he pouts which makes him look all the more adorable. But he’s still so hard. “Because,” you get closer to him, addicted to how his pupils blow up full of so much love, “you’re so adorable and I can’t stop thinking about how much cuter you’d look stuffing me full of your cum, puppy boy.” You watch as his nostrils flare as you try out that name for the first time, and his breathing gets heavier. He is so turned on. You bet his boner is so painful. You grab it again, squeezing, and he whimpers and doesn’t shy away as you do, the two of you not caring if anyone sees. He’s so thick in your hand and his cock is just so massive in general for such a sweet boy that you know it’s just not fair for him since his boner is completely impossible to hide. But he loves you ao much that he doesn’t care, and his love for you is stronger than any embarrassment he could feel right now.

“You’re such a cutie, Mommy-fuck, sorry, I mean M-fuck—Y/N,” Izuku can barely think, since all his blood went down to his cock. Fair enough.

Your eyes narrow as you feel yourself getting wetter. “Mm, excuse me, what was that, sweet boy?”

“Y/N, ‘m so sorry, I-I’m getting so horny right now, and it’s your fault, I mean not in a bad way, you’re doing nothing wrong, but— and I don’t know if this is something you like to be called, which if it’s not, I’m sorry, but when you called me puppy boy I couldn’t help but get so—”

You cut him off with a kiss. He kisses back with a frustrated whimper. “All that talking, and you could be spending your time showing Mommy what that mouth can do,” you tease, but boy oh boy he’s taking that seriously. He looks at you hungrily and determined, like he’s on one of his missions to defeat a villain and it makes you throb with want. “Okay,” he says, completely seriously, but you’re too shocked to try and stop him.

He hovers over you and kisses you deeply, then kisses your face, ears, down your neck, licking and sucking and kissing your shoulders and collarbones, trailing down and kissing over your dress before he gets below your waist. Every kiss sets you on fire, and he’s so strong in pinning you down you can do nothing but just accept it. He looks around to make sure no one is around. Well, you guys got lucky. He lifts up your skirt, and the breeze carries the smell of your pheromones over to his nose and he bites his lip in anticipation.

“You don’t have to—”

“You smell so good, Mommy, wanna put my kids in you,” suddenly he uses his strength and pushes the back of your thighs up, moving your thong to the side, and attacks your pussy, switching between licking and sucking your clit, to dipping his tongue into your soaked center, and groaning at how good you taste. “Mm, ahhh you’re so —mmm- good,” he’s talking with his mouth full, and you’re digging your fingers into his hair and pulling harshly on it, which only eggs him on further. He dips two fingers in without warning and starts pumping them in and out of you, admiring the way they look and how your pussy grips them and makes wet, squelching noises. “‘Zuku, oh my god, holy shit,” you’re sobbing as his fingers alone Full you up so good, it feels too good, you need more…He begins attacking your clit with his mouth again and his eyes are more tearful from pleasure than yours.

“So good, Izu’, you’re doing so well, f-fuck, such a good boy,” at the praise, Izuku hums sweetly, the vibration on your clit making you buck into his face and hump it, making him moan and move his fingers faster so you can do it again. You try to close your thighs, but his other strong arm holds them in place so your pussy keeps facing the sky.

You keep gasping and moaning his name. You feel yourself getting close, so close. “M’s’close, baby, gonna cum all over your face, you’re eating me so good, are you that hungry?” You’re babbling under his mouth, and he loves it, not realizing he’s grinding into the blanketed ground beneath you to help ease his hardness that’s gotten painful.

“So hungry,” he lifts up for a few seconds to dutifully reply to you, fingers pounding and curling into the spot that makes you whimper, “want you to feed me your juices, then fill you up with pups, make you a mommy, so we can bring them on more picnics,”

He goes back down on you and the words make your head spin, and you buck up into him. He sucks your clit and nibbles on your pussy as he keeps hitting your g-spot faster and faster, and you shakily come undone underneath him.

“Babe, please, please let’s go home right now, can you fly us, please?” You ask, pleading because you need his cock and you’re sure he desperately wants to cum in you too. He’s set the already packed up basket aside and is already trying to fold up the blanket. You rush to help him but he smiles all lust-blown, juices still dripping down his face. “Already on it, gorgeous.” You hold all the things, he swoops you up, making sure the bottom of your skirt is tucked under his arm, and he flies over so he could pound into you for a few rough rounds. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

💫 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐀 ~ “WOW, BABE, YOU’VE GOT MORE OF AN ELEMENT OF SURPRISE THAN ME!”

A normal bystander would think he’s just smiling at his girlfriend, but when you grab his dick in public, you know it’s actually a very dangerous smirk on his face! Consider yourself warned!

A warm breeze fills the air as you sit in the beachside tiki grill, some straw and wood shielding you from the hot sun. Mirio’s got a little tan starting, as well as some summertime freckles, and his glimmering eyes are admiring his girlfriend, you.

You cheekily reach under the table, and he thinks you’re in to play thumb wrestling. Which he lets you win, so you then go to your main mission, and reach for his muscular thigh. He quirks an eyebrow and his head to the side, looking exactly like a golden retriever puppy with his cute little grin. It makes you giggle and gives you butterflies in your stomach. Alas, you cannot reach his cock without leaning forward so much that it’s obvious. So you retreat, taking a sip of your frozen drink.

His hand copies what you did, and lazily rests on your thigh without his arm even needing to stretch a little. He squeezes your soft skin, and his cuteness just makes your ovaries fucking explode. You want this sweetheart to do terrible things to you, and you want it now!!!

“Baby,” he breaks you out of your trance, and he swears your smile is brighter than all the stars put together. “Did you want the little umbrella before I finish my drink? I even put on one of those little cherries you like so much.” You need him now.

“Is that even a question!!! Yay of course you’d think to give me one of the cherries I love you so much,” you grab it from him, and you both eat the little cherries. You don’t catch him gazing lovingly at how cute you look chewing the sugary cherry, and twirling the tiny umbrella between your fingers, and putting it down into your drink.

“You only love me for the little drink decor, nothing else!! It’s always like this, Y/N, I’m more than the little umbrellas….or am I,” he feigned accusatory sadness, and you played along.

“It’s true. That’s the only thing I’m here for. Just using you to build my collection of little umbrellas. I cover my entire house in them.”

He chewed the cinnamon pineapple of his piña colada, smirking mischievously. “You look like the type. You’re the worst. Not even a gold digger, a little trinket digger, what ever shall I do?”

“Yes….yes…ha ha ha yes!!!” you mocked an evil villain whose plans were coming to fruition, “you are hopeless and defeated, without you looking I have taken every last little trinket from your house, none of your friends or family are safe, Lemillion, I will defeat you 200 percent!”

“M-my tiny spoons….my liddol Russian dolls…all of them, you took all of them!“ he clutches his chest.

“It was me. You are reduced to nothing, a man with no little fun objects. For I have stripped you of all of your pride! No fun allowed!!!”

You both are dying of laughter at this point, and you clutch your stomach doubling over because he’s laughing so hard, and your laughter keeps building up. It’s not like what you’re saying is even remotely funny, and no one else would really laugh but you both just love how stupid it all is. This is how dates with him always are. You craft ridiculous, highly specific situations and keep building on top of the ridiculousness dramatically, and your laughter does the same.

“Just imagining all my little car decorations and stuff vanishing suddenly and wondering where they are, then I see you crouched in a corner in front of a pile of all my little things,” he’s trying so hard to stop laughing, and you’re taking sips of your drink to just calm down. He doesn’t realize, of course, that one of your feet has left your little sandals and is about to hijack between his thighs.

He begins to tip his glass upwards to get the rest of the stubborn slush in his drink, and you trail from feeling up his thunder thighs to his bulge. You think he’d be shocked but he just winks and finishes up his drink.

“Is that the next trinket you plan to steal from me?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Yes, but it’s not small enough to be a trinket,” you could swear his dick is twitching at your touch.

“B-but, it still has the personality a small one has!!”

You chuckle. “Mm, I suppose.”

The server comes. “Alright guys, are you feeling a little hungry for some shareable apps? Or just another round?” You keep your foot where it is, and tease him, feeling him get a little harder under you.

“Definitely another round, and I think the Hawaiian roll sliders could be good, right, babe?” You ask him.

He tugs at his shirt, flashing his beautiful abs. “Aw, are mine not good enough for you?” He’s good at acting normal. Damn it. He’s getting rock hard though, and you know his pink flushed cheeks aren’t just sun-kissed.

“Damn, you know what, you’re right,” you look to the server, “just give me a steak knife to cut into him so I can get my own Hawaiian bun sliders.”

The server laughs. “Perfect, one extra sharp white-hot steak knife, anything else?”

“Hmm. Calamari, taquitos, maybe actually those sliders forreal though, and some flatbread. That’s all, right, baby?” Togata asks you, and you nod.

“Great!” The server grins at the adorable couple, “I’ll be back with your drinks!” They give a thumbs-up, and you and Mirio do the same. He looks at you while he does so, and you see it in his eyes. It makes you squirm in your seat. He’s so going to fuck you in the bathroom after this. Better hope you’re good at not screaming as he hits all your good spots roughly and fills you up so nice. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🇺🇸 𝐘𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐈 ~ “WE SHALL SETTLE THIS SOON, DARLING”

You’re playing a dangerous game, teasing the hero who is number-one in your heart, the seven-foot tall man who packs the entire US of A in his pants. But danger? You like danger. You can’t say he didn’t warn you.

“Toshi, slow down!!!” You mewl, but the man above you is unforgiving and unrelenting.

“Darling, don’t say I didn’t warn you on three separate occasions about teasing me so much at dinner,” he drawls through clenched teeth, as obscene squelching noises fill the air, and you hiccup under his weight, nails digging into his back.

You don’t see what the big deal is. He took you out to a lovely dinner where a grand piano was playing such an alluring song, and his hot kisses and “I love you”’s to your ear were not helping. You just wanted to remind him that you could take your cock at any time and how perfectly he was made for you. You didn’t expect him to grip your wrist with an iron grip (him holding back) and warn you in his deep, silky voice “try that again, little lady, and see what happens.”

What else could he expect? A little minx like you? You crumbled under the predatory flick in his aquamarine eyes and hummed. “Maybe I do want to see,” you mewl, as you only clench his thick cock harder. His cock that you cannot dream of fully holding completely in your smaller hand. You rub at its growing hardness with your thumb and feel yourself salivating at the sight and feel of how overwhelming his size is. It’s so intimidating, almost too much, impossible to fully fit in one thrust and needing at least 20 minutes of prep to sink his head in alone. “Baby girl,” he growls warningly, “keep going like this and I might actually break you when we get home, you’re making it very hard for your Daddy to contain himself, I don’t want to hurt you.” You bite your bottom lip at his words, and your other hand feels over just how big his hand is, that’s holding your wrist failing to stop you. “Maybe I want it to hurt,” you whisper, eyes big, and he has to keep himself from groaning. “Warning you for the last time, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

He’s making sure of that right now. Your legs hurt from being spread so wide to make room for his broad frame, which completely swallows you whole over the bed, almost crushing you. It hurts your hips as he holds you apart and pounds into your pussy, which slobbers white rings of cream around the wide base of his cock, stretching you impossibly. You pant and see it moving through your belly, and he sees it too and leaves even more love marks on your neck, your whines and his growls creating a beautiful harmony.

You’re screaming utter nonsense, so many versions of what you say now, “oh god, oh my gosh, holy fuck, please please, Toshi, please don’t stop,” and he squeezes your face in his giant hand.

“Thought you were just telling me to slow down, sweetie, do you even know what you’re talking about?”

Clearly not. You’re so dumb on his cock, as he fucks your brains out, and he picks you up and flips you like a rag doll, and manhandles you so your hips are flush with his. He grips your cheeks and spreads you open, admiring how your juices drip down your thighs, then thrusts back in, stretching you all over again, making you moan loudly.

“You’re such a naughty little thing, I bet you wanted me to go hard on you, didn’t you?” An especially sharp thrust rocks you forward, and he uses a hand on your sternum to lift you up and hold you in place. “Look at Daddy when I’m talking and answer, little lady.”

“Mm-Yes-!! Yes! I w-wanted you to go so hard , so hard on me, yes, unghhh!” He’s rubbing your clit and molding you to his size, hitting your cervix over and over, as you see stars and scratch stripes into his meaty forearms. “Such a dirty girl,” he purrs, and his words send you over the edge, and you sob.

“D-T’shi!! G-gonna cum soon!!” His balls slap you rhythmically, and he keeps rubbing your clit with the thick pads of his fingers, nibbling on your neck. You’re still digging your nails into him to keep your wavering sense of balance.

“Do it baby, cum all over Daddy’s dick that you love so much,” and with that, you sob, “Yes, mmmph!!!!” And spasm around his huge cock. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing so he doesn’t spill into you at your walls constricting around him. He has to pull at least a few more out of you before he feels satisfied enough to spill inside you for the first of many times tonight. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🛡 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 ~ *QUIET GASP*

Shoto looks so cute on your sushi date, so flustered when you pull your mean trick. You almost feel bad as his breathing is shaky, but don’t think he isn’t enjoying this. He is. And definitely wants you to continue.

“Whoops, dropped my napkin!” You’re already down before he could get it for you, giving him no time to react as the gentleman he is.

You pick up the napkin you dropped on purpose, and hear an audible gasp as you grab his dick , so glad he wore some soft pants today so you could move your hand around it for a few seconds, and cup his balls, squeezing gently.

When you get back up, he looks at you so desperately, so helplessly, and you giggle at his pouting face. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rub salt in the wound, and he sighs, looking off to the side.

“N-nothing,” he breathes, but you could tell he’s getting hard, trying to put a little bit of wasabi on his nigiri and dip it into the kirashi sauce, but then he drops it in and shakily tries to pick it up and eat it.

You’re starting to feel so bad, poor boy can’t even function; he’s so cute. He doesn’t know what to do.

He huffs. And in polite traditional Japanese fashion, “Uhm, I’ll be right back. Please excuse my rudeness as I need to use the restroom.”

You see his hands dug into his pockets, desperately trying to hide his fat boner, as he walks coolly to the restroom. In his mind, he’s making a beeline. Why would you do that? He wonders, frustrated and chasing some kind of release. He bucks into his fist, wishing it was your mouth, or your pussy, or even just your hand. Were you trying to test his…self control? He’s so dull, he doesn’t realize you’re just trying to get him riled up, and he hears a buzz in his phone. It’s you.

Y/N❤️: Babe

Y/N❤️: Show me how hard you are

So that’s what it was.

You feel a buzz of your phone, within a couple minutes of you sending it,, and are shocked he could be so fast. Which means he’s doing what you’re thinking.

Immediately you turn your brightness down and your eyes widen, seeing slick coating his cock as he jerks it in his hand, and soon after, he spills into it. That’s how horny you made him. Now your thighs are rubbing together, and he’s making his way back to the table, giving you a small smile. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🪨 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 ~ “HAHA, THAT’S CUTE BABY”

Kirishima finds it adorable that you just want to get a feel of his manliness, even in public! After all, he stores so much love for you in his heart AND down there! He grins and can’t wait to stuff you in the car!

You hear some slurps as Eijiro tries (and fails) to slurp some of his ramen without getting some juices dribbling down his chin. “Don’t look at me, Y/N,” he rushes to wipe his face, and you laugh at how cute he is, trying to look proper all of a sudden in front of you.

But the noises he made just remind you of him eating something else, and it’s kind of hot how he can get a bit messy. You chew on some pork, and sip some broth with corn and seaweed, humming at the yummy taste.

“Yer so beautiful, Y/N,” your Eiji smiles at you, and his red hair looks so fluffy, you want to pet it right now.

“No you,” you wink at him, and he blushes ‘cause you make him feel like he’s a boy in high school again with some stupid crush, the type of girl he can’t keep his hands off of, he wants to cherish you for as long as you’d allow him, and keep you warm and safe in his heart forever.

Others might take a look at the guy with his open shirt and big muscles, pretty smile, and think he could be a player, but Eijiro was actually so nervous to go up and talk to you for the first time. He had eyes for you, and it was extremely clear as you leaned forward over your bowl, and caught him blushing, looking down your shirt, then looking away quickly. You decide you want to give him shit for it.

“Eiji, what are you looking at?” You ask so sweetly, a little smile creeps over his face.

“N-nothing, I mean, you. I just can’t help it, you do things to me,” he makes you blush. You do something bold, and reach under the table and trace his long, buff thigh.

“What kind of things, sweetheart?” You know what kind of things.

“I-I, well, we can’t talk about this here, can we?” He’s such a gentleman, but he’s dodging the question.

You grab his bulge firmly, and you hear a strangled moan come out of him, before he clears his throat to hide it.

“I think we can,” you smile, and his sharp teeth flash at you. He uses his quirk to harden it a ton, then not harden it as much under your touch. Such a silly boy.

“O-oh my gosh Eijiro, so fucking, big-!!” You claw at his chest, and he’s helping you bounce up and down in the car. Planting hungry kisses all over your neck, bright red eyes staring at you rabidly, wanting to eat the cream out your pussy after he cums inside it.

“I know, sweetheart, don’t worry, the sting will go away in just a little bit,” he coos in your ear, holding you still and fucking up into you. Your moans mix in the air and you bury your face in his neck, taking in his cinnamon-cherry-leather scent.

“Such a gorgeous thing, and so sneaky grabbing what’s yours while we’re eating. Makes me feel so wanted, babe” he’s got a tight grip on your hips, his rock-hard length spearing you open and making your juices leak all over.

You look into his eyes, and he loves the lust that’s inside them. You kiss him hungrily and your tongues fight for dominance, and you rub circles on your clit making you moan. He wraps an arm around you and keeps fucking up into you, then moves your hand away so he could take over, and you whine into the kiss feeling him smile. He nibbles on your lip and you tug his hair, legs starting to shake from overstimulation.

“Go ahead, baby, cum for me,” he growls, and relishes in the feeling of your soaking wet walls clenching in a vice-like grip around his length.

He slaps your ass. “Do me a favor, and get in the back seat. I’m not even close to done with you yet.” x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

🐙 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐊𝐈 ~ “BUNNY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Your perfect boyfriend is so shy and shocked when you grab his cock, but also excited that his love wants him badly enough to do such a daring, scary thing. So he wishes to repay the favor.

Tamaki always feels so safe to be himself around you, and wants to make sure you always feel the exact same way. You boosted his confidence in so many ways, and he knows now just how much you love him and anything he does to you, spicy-wise, is something you love as long as it’s him. He even enjoys going out in public more, because you’re there! He was so excited to take you out to the place he and FatGum eat at most regularly, and here you are now eating takoyaki with each other in a little tight booth, knees brushing up against each other, sharing longing glances and relaxing conversation.

He looks so sweet as you eat together, that you just want to kiss him! But you can’t yet so instead you boop his nose, and he smiles coyly. “Bunny, why did you do that? Don’t be afraid to do it again, though.” You boop his nose again.

“Because you’re cute, you know that, right?”

He blushes. “Oh, me? Thank you. But not as cute as you are.” His sharp features look so good colored a bright pink that you want to see how he looks like red, right now. The booth is such close quarters that you’re able to pull this off, so you trace over his joggers and locate his cock, cupping it in your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

His expression makes you imagine that he’s got steam coming out of his ears. His pointy elf ears perk up in surprise as he raises his eyebrows and bites his lip. A little smile is still across his lips, because he loves you and trusts you, and you make him so flustered that his heart does little somersaults and he doesn’t know what to do.

“B-bunny! What do you think you’re doing?” He quietly asks and you feel just like the nickname he gave you, a little mischievous bunny rabbit.

“Just reaching for what I’d like to order next off the menu, why?” your eyes are twinkling up at him. He has an idea, a bold idea that you’ll definitely like.

“Oh yeah? You’re still really hungry, aren’t you?” You don’t know what’s possessed him to say something so teasing in public of all places, but you are here for it, and hope he does so more often.

“Yes, my love, ‘m so hungry for you, I could eat you up right here, right now.” Suddenly, you gasp loudly, as you feel something hot and wet, with suction cups trailing up your leg. His violet eyes look at yours knowingly, and you realize what he might be doing.

“ ’Majiki,” you breathe, and his tentacle slides up further and further under your dress. You whimper, and take a sip of tea to distract yourself from making more noise, but the look your boyfriend is giving you is not helping one bit. He looks hungry for you, too. The tentacle snakes over to your pussy, and moves your panties to the side. Is he….?

You’re biting your finger to keep the noise down, but you want to scream at how good he feels, rubbing his suction cups on your clit, then dipping into your wet center.

“Baby, is there something wrong? Don’t tell me you’ll let your food get cold,” his sweet voice is hiding the filth of his actions , and being caught by surprise is only magnifying your arousal.

“Hah~ I’m just fine, babe, just have a sudden, mmmhh—” his tentacle thrusts in nice and deep, looking for your sweet spot, and you buck into him as it gets thicker and stretches you out—“c-craving for more seafood, don’t worry ‘bout me!” You try to eat a bit more, and he decides not to mess *too* much with being inside you, and stays suctioning your clit lewdly, driving you wild. He decides, he loves playing with his food, to play with his dessert. The faces you’re making in the little booth as you try to keep your composure and keep eating are so cute, and his sensitive ears pick up on the little soft mewls you’re attempting to keep hushed and at bay.

He can tell you’re so wet, and feels how hot your fleshy walls are as they suck him in, and he wants to put his cock inside you. But he can’t yet. “Aww, bunny, well I have a special dessert for you, but it’s from another place, if you’re interested. You’ll just have to save lots of room.”

All you can really do is nod, because otherwise the whole restaurant would hear you moaning his name, which might humiliate you both—and he slams the cash down on the table, pulls away from you, and ushers you into the car.

At home, you’ll definitely get your dessert, all because your boyfriend loved how much you showed him you wanted him. x

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

a/n well guys, I hope you enjoyed these lil drabbles that I crammed into one post! some of them may have been pretty rushed so I could keep it not wayyy too long but let me know in the reblogs / comments what you think ! thanks for reading and I hope you liked the drawings too. i may take commissions and drawing requests if you ask me 💕

𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔𖥔

ALL ART AND WRITING HERE IS INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF ©️DEMONBANGER ON TUMBLR. DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST, ESPECIALLY ON OTHER PLATFORMS SUCH AS TIKTOK AS THIS IS 18+ CONTENT. TY!

#{ ✏️ }—speaking in tongues #demon papí draws #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki x reader #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #iida x y/n #iida smut #iida x reader #tokoyami smut #tokoyami x reader #deku smut #izuku midoria x reader #deku x reader #deku x y/n #mirio smut #mirio x y/n #all might smut #all might x reader #shoto todoroki smut #Shoto smut #kirishima smut #kirishima x y/n #tamaki smut #tamaki amajiki x reader

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.4 | Bradley Bradshaw

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In the middle of nowhere with no power, the world you knew back home feels further away than ever.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out.

…

“Mm, che pioverá.” Teodora had sighed, early that morning, while sitting at the breakfast table with Bradley and Pasquale, her son, and her daughter-in-law surrounding her. The three of them had paused eating to look up at the beaming sun, the still trees and the cloudless sky.

Sweat was already beading at the back of Bradley’s neck as he chewed at a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Sandro had brushed her off with a simple shake of his head and an affectionate eye roll. Bradley had flashed an amused smile between the two of them and swallowed down his bite. Pasquale had hummed a thoughtful, but not necessarily agreeing sound.

The three of them already had plans for the day to drive out and take a look at the spinitrae at the university an hour away, after Bradley’s morning run, Pasquale’s phone call home and Sandro’s morning swim.

As usual around here, Teodora was right.

You’re woken by the first rumble of thunder. Face down, your arms wrapped securely around the pillow, Bradley’s blue shirt wrapped securely around your body. Only thirty minutes after the two of them had so briskly dismissed the old woman’s claims.

Already since then, the landscape has transformed. The skies are thick with dark clouds and the wind whips at the trees, knocking fruit to the ground with ease.

With Bradley supposedly gone for the day, you had figured that things around here would be a bit of a free for all. Zoe had suggested digging through the Gabris’ VHS collection in search of a movie in English while you go through pages of Ovid. Nothing to get up particularly early for.

The thunder makes you lift your head and frown a bit. It’s not like you have been really keeping up with the weather forecast, but yesterday’s clear skies hadn’t exactly alerted you to an oncoming storm. It’s barely rained at all since you got here.

Stretching your legs across cool sheets, you sigh and roll onto your back. It’s not cold, per se, but once you’ve strayed from the warmth of your sleeping position your skin starts to prickle with chill.

Your engagement ring stares back at you from its discarded spot on the dresser by the window. This place isn’t like a hotel, Malcolm wouldn’t have a clue which numbers to punch to reach you all the way out here. He wouldn’t even know which province you’re in. You might as well be on a different planet.

It kind of feels like you are.

The point of closing the window is what drives you out of bed first of all. You pad along the floor and turn to the window, all blackened skies and pouring rain for miles around.

Then, a figure by the trees catches your eye. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, that defined line running down the middle of his chest — you recognise him right away.

Bradley is soaked from the rain, wearing a pair of blue running shorts. Caught in the middle of the downpour, he jogs back along the path as rain beats down his back.

Your fingertips push back the edge of the curtain as your shoulder leans up against the window frame. The Gabris estate really is beautiful, miles of stretching, rolling fields and hills with dustings of green forests at its edge..

Those blue shorts sit low on his waist and they’re still exposing so much of his long, muscled legs. His chest is wet, and that cross necklace of his bounces against his collarbones with each footfall.

Maybe he feels the eyes on him, or maybe he catches you in his peripheral — either way, his gaze flickers up to the window and he catches sight of you. Catches you smiling at him.

Through the rain-splattered window pane, he spots his shirt wrapped around your shoulders, just a few of the buttons fastened. Your skin peeking through the gaps between the open buttons. Even with his run cut short, his mouth grows dry all of a sudden.

He lifts a soaked palm and cards it through his hair as he slows to a stop, attempting to tame his drenched curls. From outside, it’s hard to really tell what he’s thinking when he looks at you, especially under the cover of the rain.

You lift your hand from your side and wave your fingers at him.

The rest of the group might be up, they might not. Not a single one of them would know yet that Bradley’s trip to the university has been canceled, they wouldn’t be looking for him. Not in your room, especially.

He stands there for a second and lets himself fall into the fantasy. Walking up those stairs and clicking that heavy wooden door shut behind him. Working open the buttons on that shirt, coming to realize that you aren’t wearing anything under it.

You’re driving him crazy, and he savors every second of it. He can’t stand and stare for too long, he can already feel all of his attention rushing south. He swallows. Then, he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and blinks the rain from his eyes, shaking his head.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and tug at it and shit— that really doesn’t help his problem at all. His mouth ghosts at a smile as he reminds himself to move.

His attention is back on the path ahead as he resumes his jog back to the house. Thunder rumbles in the air.

You’re free to resume your staring. You wonder if he’s even wearing underwear under those tiny shorts— doesn’t look like it.

The thought makes your cheeks hot. His perpetually warm hands soothing your chilled thighs, brushing so coolly under the cotton of his shirt, reclaiming it as he unfastens the buttons, and your mouth on his chest, the salt from his skin— his shoes on the stairs snap you out of it.

The villa is old and the stairs creak at every opportunity. He’s skipping steps, his long strides make that easy and you hear him pause at the top. His room is to the right. Yours is just a bit to the left. You swallow, holding your breath to listen out.

His footsteps fall to the right. One, two, three steps and you hear his door open and close. A dejected sigh pushes past your lips as you lean back into the wall.

He’s wet, and probably sweaty from his run. He always showers before everyone else, too. Your towel is hanging on the hook behind the door. You cross the room briskly and grab it on the way out, crossing into the hallway as he steps back out of his room, also holding his towel.

You’re two steps closer to the bathroom than he is. His eyes flicker down to your bare legs, then at his shirt hanging partially open across your chest. Finally, he meets your gaze and smiles a bit.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” You copy back, turning on your heel and crossing the hall to the bathroom. He watches your hand settle on the door knob. He catches the purposeful way you glance back at him over your shoulder, and catches on.

He thought about going into your room. He really did. With everything you have learned in the past few days, he has been trying to give you space — he figured the last thing you would want would be him getting handsy.

With the way you’re looking at him now, he’s not so sure.

He checks the hallway. Still empty. With Sandro out swimming, Pasquale yapping away in the kitchen, and Dorie painting out in the sun room, it’s like you’re alone.

He starts towards you, slowly.

“I like your shirt.”

You glance downward. This was bold. It wasn’t exactly well thought-out, rushing into the hallway barely dressed. He’s still barely dressed. His hair and his skin are still wet from the rain. He still looks warm.

“Thanks.” You answer him softly, as he comes to stand before you. He reaches out and finds your skin with his fingertips, gently stroking a pattern against your thigh.

“You about to shower?” Bradley asks you, close enough that his stomach is just about brushing yours. Your mouth is dry, and you forgot to close the window when you got out of bed. You shiver. Finally, when you remember you’ve been asked a question, you nod at him.

He hums, “Weird. Me too.”

Your eyes widen, somewhere between shock and excitement. Then, there’s a sudden cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. It’s like a physical force pushing you back. Your mother, maybe, trying to push you in the right direction from across the Atlantic.

He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, or more pressingly, what’s gotten into you. He had given you his shirt as a kind gesture, and here you are, using it against him in such a cruel, cruel way.

As his mind crosses over into the territory of saying fuck it and suggesting that he take you right here in the hallway, your gaze meets his firmly and your fingers twist the doorknob.

He swallows, feeling the nylon of his shorts grow tighter at the semblance of an invitation. The bathroom door creeps open, and you glance towards it.

He shouldn’t. Your head is all over the place. Keeping his hands to himself is the right move.

“Ladies first, I’ll wait.” He tells you, shooting you a quick wink.

That’s a no. It’s a kind way of saying no, but it’s a no nonetheless. He doesn’t want to. A quick glance downward proves to you that he's half hard in those running shorts.

“No need.” You whisper, hoping to god that was the right thing to say. The two of you can’t possibly keep whispering out in the hallway, half dressed like this. He doesn’t answer, he just blinks at you.

You swallow a breath and hold it, stepping past him and into the bathroom. The door remains loudly open behind you, like it’s a car-alarm going off right in Bradley’s ear, actually.

He inhales and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. The alarm stops.

“Stop. Look at me,” Somehow now, he feels the need to be quieter than before, and not just because this old bathroom echoes. You fidget, bare feet on cold tile as you stand before him. His brows knit together a bit. “Are you sure about this?”

You purse your lips for a moment and look down at yourself. Honesty is the best policy. You just have to figure out why you’re here yourself.

“It’s just showering.” You say it confidently, like you aren’t even trying to convince yourself. It surprises him. “Doesn’t have to be… sexual. It’s just two people in the shower. Together.”

“Right. Naked.” He reminds you.

“Right.” You copy back, hoping you sound more certain than you feel.

“And you’re cool with that?” He checks. The way he raises his eyebrows tells you that he expects you not to be. In the same breath, you catch the way his eyes flicker to the shower head behind the two of you.

You, him. Naked. You have toed that line before. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t bad at all actually, it was incredible.

“Yeah.” Your sudden why-wouldn’t-it-be attitude has Bradley prickling with suspicion about your motives this morning, and the morality in being in here with you when he’s certain that your head isn’t quite clear about what happened with your fiancé.

But, he reaches to his right, and bolts the lock across the door. His eyes study your face, and his fingers linger for a moment against the brass. Upholding your unspoken role in this, you twist away from him and turn on the water.

So, we’re doing this. Bradley holds onto that breath, not quite ready to let the thought pass or the exhale follow, as he drops his towel to rest against the sink basin.

You’re bent at the waist, calculating the measure of hot and cold water between the two taps, and Bradley is met with an unobstructed view of your legs. In the vein of following your impulses this morning, he considers sinking to his knees and letting his mouth greet them — but he doesn’t. He half considers tucking his hands behind his back just to remove the temptation at all.

He thinks back to that movie he saw last November, with Anthony Michael Hall and the other kids. In particular, the shower scene where too inept teenage boys stand awkwardly in the back of a shower cubicle, not knowing what to do with their hands, while a beautiful woman showers in front of them.

And then you turn to look at him again.

“You first.”

“Me…? — right,” Clothes. You’re talking about clothes. With his running shoes, he probably has more articles of clothing on than you do. Depends if you’re wearing underwear, he guesses. He isn’t. He kicks off the shoes and goes for his socks next, warm condensation starts to permeate the space between the two of you. Strange, this room feels awfully cramped already, he doesn’t know where the steam finds the space to join. “You just going to stand and watch?”

With his socks gone, he only has one article of clothing left. He hooks a thumb into the waistband of those blue nylon shorts and pushes just an inch, revealing a soft tan line and a sharp V following the shape of his hip.

Stiffly, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. His pulse quickens, watching you watch him.

“Can I?” Bradley asks finally, rushing it out at once. He gestures to the one button left fastened, sitting above your navel.

If this was anyone else, Bradley would probably already be in the shower by now. This pace is unfamiliar, and foreign for him. He’s not quite sure where to tread.

You give him a little nod.

He takes one step forwards and pinches the button between his index and thumb, popping it open as his other hand fits securely against the small of your back and pushes you into him. There’s a second of observation as your bare stomach comes flush against his, where his eyes won’t leave your face for fear of missing some kind of a sign.

Being undressed by him as steam clouds the room, him doing absolutely nothing to hide the darkened look in his eyes. You weren’t fooling anyone by pretending that this could have been something innocent. You might as well accept it for what it is.

As his fingers dip under the material covering each of your shoulders and guide it back, off of your arms, you stretch up and kiss his mouth softly. Experimentally. He shuts his eyes and waits. Your second kiss is firmer, and your fingers reach for the nape of his neck.

He follows suit, relieved finally that he has some kind of sign about how you’re feeling about this. His hand hugs the nape of your neck, his nose bumping your cheek, his tongue swiping across your lip.

‘I like you, you know?’ Your words from yesterday afternoon have been playing in his mind all night. He’s an idiot for not saying more, he just hadn’t wanted to push his luck.

“Come on, we can’t be in here all morning.” He remembers, against your mouth.

“Right.” You sigh, eyes closed as you lean in for another kiss.

With your back to him, you drop your underwear to the ground with his shirt as he steps out of his shorts. You step into the tub first, falling under the safety of the warm spray. He steps in behind you, his fingers finding your waist.

You’re naked. Completely naked, and so is he. With your back to him, he can’t really see you, and you’ve no way of seeing him. The thought of turning around makes your chest feel tight.

He hasn’t ever had to feel so calculated about this before. Is he an appropriate distance away? — well, nothing about this is appropriate, but is he making it worse? — Are you waiting for him to make a move or do you want him to keep his hands to himself?

“I thought you were going to the university today.” You say to the wall of tile in front of you.

“Yeah. Weather took a turn, the road through town floods when it rains like this, apparently.” Bradley answers you.

The only parts of him that are touching you are his fingers. Experimentally, you lean your head back and as expected, it falls to rest against his shoulder. It just looks like you’re rinsing your hair.

His fingers stray from your hip and unfurl across your bare stomach, as he drops his head to press a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. That’s safe enough.

Heart racing, you lift your arms and pull your hair back, saturating it under the stream of water. As you stretch up to do so, your back curves away from him and your ass grazes his thigh.

He swallows thickly. Looking down, he knows you feel the way his half-hard package is pressing into the back of your hip. He turns his face toward your neck, kissing softly.

In a last ditch effort to regulate your breathing before he offers you a nebulizer, you screw your eyes shut. In the dark, you feel his heartbeat against your back, his warm fingers smoothing along your middle, his lips on your throat, and his erection behind you.

“God.”

His mouth stills against your neck. The tickle of his mustache alerts you to the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You alright?” He’s referring to the way you had audibly whimpered inches from his ear, in this extremely tight enclosed space, of course.

“Mhm.” You squeak.

He nuzzles the tip of his nose against the crook of your jaw. “You’re shaking.”

You swallow. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not.” He reminds you.

Screwing your eyes shut once again, you “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, he tucks two fingers around the hair at the nape of your neck and guides it away from your shoulders. With your eyes closed, you feel his breath on your neck first. It’s cooler than the steam from the shower and it hits exactly the right spot between your collar and jaw to make you shiver.

He takes hold of your bicep and turns you steadily towards him, biting at his lip as he finds you just opening your eyes. He knows that if you look too long, you’ll panic. He presses swiftly forwards, his bare chest flush against yours as his open mouth closes around your pulse point.

Mm. The sound slips from your mouth before he is even done with the first kiss, while his fingers are still stretching around your hip and while his tongue is just softly greeting your warm skin.

For a man who, less than three days ago, was adamantly telling you in the streets of Florence that sleeping together would be a bad idea, Bradley sure does seem to be okay with all of this.

He’s okay with it. Too comfortable with it, really. He’s still holding back. If he wasn’t, he would flatten his palm against your ass and pull you against him, and let you feel exactly how comfortable with it he really is.

Instead, he focuses his attention on his mouth. Flowing opposite to the droplets of water, he sucks softly at the tender skin, trailing towards your jaw.

Each time his lips close around a new inch of skin, there’s an urging ebb that prods at you like electricity, buzzing within you and leaving you powerless. His frame towers before you; you know he would catch you if your knees actually did give out but you’d rather die than live through the embarrassment.

Like he shares the same sentiment of keeping you on your feet, Bradley’s hands flex around your waist, curling tighter around your soft skin. He pulls back, sweeping a hand through his wet curls as he studies your face.

He’s getting better at this, reading you.

His eyes break away from yours, and his gaze slips downwards. He’s dead quiet, drinking you in, studying your naked body.

The water droplets seem to have it all figured out. Spilling over your shoulders, flowing along the valley between your breasts. His gaze lingers there for more than just a few droplets.

Each one of your shaking breaths disrupts the pattern in a new way, rise and fall, spill and flow. Water beads across the soft flesh, flowing right past the warmed, softened, flushed skin of your nipples.

Maybe that water doesn’t have it all figured out after all — Bradley thinks there’s no way he could pass that by so freely.

Then, he watches where the droplets spill to once they pass your breasts by. They surge across your soft stomach, spilling across your abdomen, dripping into the navel and tracing the dulcet curve of your hips.

He hasn’t ever had you like this. Unobstructed, unwavering — all-encompassing. There could be a flood outside and he wouldn’t care. He knows he should be grateful for this, alone, and he is, it’s enough, you’re more than enough, but there’s a greed growing in him that wants more.

He wants to inhale the fresh, soapy smell of your skin. Taste the remnants of yourself on your skin, before it’s scrubbed clean. Feel you melt into him. His gaze flickers back up to yours like a drumbeat.

It makes you stiffen, the sudden look in his eyes. All red-blooded, lust-driven, filthy thoughts pooling into the soft browns of his irises.

Before he loses the nerve, or before you do, he tips your chin back swiftly and kisses you hard enough that the two of you fall into the cold tiles behind you.

Sturdy, centuries old structure behind your back and even sturdier, warm weight against your front, you’re pinned at an angle and your feet feel like they’re slipping but you’re smart enough to know that falling isn’t an option.

A deep and desperate sound falls from his lips as he pulls back, his forehead knocking into yours. Your mouth hangs open, your eyes wide, like you know just what Bradley’s thinking when he looks at it.

He squeezes at your body, leaning forwards and letting his mouth cover yours. You’re just about growing comfortable with it, with his nose bumping your cheek and his broad shoulders, his weight pinning you to the wall. Then, his hand skims along the centre of your back and without warning, squeezes firmly around the flesh of your ass.

It’s not that it feels bad. In fact, there’s something that makes you want to keen into the rough touch that you don’t quite understand. But all of a sudden, it clicks that you’re pinned between him and the wall, and his weight is a heavy anchor, his hands are everywhere and his mouth is hot.

He feels your fingernails press weakly into his bicep.

“Stop.” you tell him quietly. Really, you aren’t even sure if he would hear you. Maybe Malcolm hadn’t heard you, if you had asked him to stop.

He pulls back swiftly and looks down at you, both hands planting safely on your hips. He’s watching you carefully, but he doesn’t have to search hard go find what he’s looking for.

“Yeah?” He says softly, nodding.

It’s an instant thing, the way you shrink back into the wall behind you and duck your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he swallows and gives a shake of his head. He got carried away, that’s all. “You’re right. We should hurry up.”

And just like that, it’s not about sex. The fear in your eyes fades to recognition, and Bradley leans forwards and presses his lips to your forehead.

The two of you finish your shower in strictly platonic nature. One by one, you duck out of the bathroom and leave behind any evidence of your morning together, to get ready for the day.

Trees bow under the weight of the fat raindrops as the rumble of thunder grows closer. The villa groans and creaks, shutters rattling and slamming. The power gets knocked out a little after two, leaving very little for anyone in the house to do.

Bodies are strewn lazily around the living room everywhere you look. Luke’s taking up the majority of the couch, his raven-coloured hair tucked back under a Jets cap and a book balanced against his sternum, a concentrated frown plastered across his face.

Bradley got the good spot, tucked halfway into the reading desk in the far right corner of the room. His face is illuminated by a cluster of flickering candles, sitting amongst his piles of papers. Alessandro sits beside him, the two of them have been talking away for hours now. Their conversation is muted for the benefit of others, but you can hear the occasional Italian cuss word from your spot on the floor.

“Do you think they used to jerk it to these pictures?” Zoe whispers. You glance up at her, then across at Abigail.

She grins, lifting up the book and turning it onto its side, displaying a printed artwork like a centerfold. “See? Like an ancient playboy? — Miss June, and Miss July.”

Bradley looks up as the three of you giggle for the third time in ten minutes. It doesn’t take him long, when looking at the way Zoe is pointing out the spread legs of a woman riding a man, to notice the comparison she’s making to modern pornography.

He’s used to it by now, his students pointing at tits in the books and giggling to themselves. If she was doing her work, she would be reading about exactly what made the mulier equitans so popular in Roman art.

You’re laying on your front, looking up from the pages of your notes, with a soft grin toying at your lips. None of them know how you started your morning.

Today, Bradley is studying a passage from Ovid’s Art of Love, depicting various forms of copulation and the cultural attitude to them at that time. Sexual variety fascinated the masses back then. Paintings in homes, carved into architecture, spinitrae tokens in Pompeii.

Astrology and its links to sexual preferences. An intriguing read, really.

“Man, this is a wicked storm.” Robin glances over her shoulder at the mass of bodies lazing around the living room, then back out of the window at the sheets of rain pouring onto the fields beyond.

“This is wicked boring.” Luke says from his spot on the couch. As one of Bradley’s best teaching assistants, this work comes much more easily to him than it would to most. He could finish it in thirty minutes if he wanted to.

“Hey, Bradley—“

“No.” Bradley says swiftly.

Luke’s mouth stretches into a little-brotherly kind of annoying grin as he tucks an arm behind his head. “Come on. We’re bored.”

“Sounds wicked tough, dude.” Bradley answers, looking back down to the book, mocking his student so coolly. Luke has always found an older brother in Bradley, so the taunting just makes his grin stretch wild.

From your spot on the ground, you find yourself smiling at the pages at Bradley’s joke.

“Can you teach me how to do that card trick where it’s upside down in the deck?” Luke persists. You didn’t know that Bradley knew any card tricks.

“No.” He answers bluntly, but in the kind of way that shows he’s clearly still getting some kind of enjoyment out of this rapport with Luke.

“Bradley, did you ever tell anyone else that you took piano lessons for like twelve years?” Luke asks, shooting a pointed look at the baby grand in the corner of the room.

Bradley looks up at him, and your mouth twitches. A red flush starts at his ears and spreads across his temples, onto his cheeks and down his neck. You’ve never seen a grown man blush like that.

“Don’t go there, buddy.” Bradley warns him, knowing equally embarrassing facts about Luke and starting to categorize them in his mind.

“Did you really, Bradley?” Abigail asks.

He glances at her, then makes a point of trying to focus on his work once again. Big, boyish Bradley, delicately tapping away at the keys of a piano is difficult to imagine.

“He sings too.” Luke declares.

“Luke.” Bradley warns, not looking up this time, flushed pink.

You’ve never seen Bradley be quite this shy about anything. He frowns at the pages of his book, oh, so serious.

“C’mon. One song and I’ll leave you alone. We’re bored.” For once, you’re on Luke’s side. Not that you would voice that.

The wind whips the side of the house and the shutters rattle in support of Luke’s campaign. Bradley starts to scribble down nonsense annotations in the effort of getting at least something done.

“Go find a puzzle or something.” He mutters.

“Aw, come on, Bradley, please?” Zoe joins in.

“Just one song.” Robin adds.

Bradley looks up, and finds you. Caught smiling at him from the carpet, clearly amused by the entire situation. You stare back at him, unwavering and expectant.

With a dejected exhale, he looks down at his watch. “One. And then none of you are allowed to speak to me until at least 4pm.”

You know that he would make an exception to that rule for you. There’s no planned alone time for the two of you this afternoon, since he was supposed to be out. Maybe he’s as disappointed about that as you are.

“Play something we know this time.” Luke interjects as Bradley crosses the room to the piano. Last time, Bradley sang a track from the 50s and Luke didn’t have a clue what the hell it was.

Bradley untucks the bench from the piano, and sits down. His back is straight as he removes the cover and settles his fingers onto the keys. “Uh-huh, like what?”

“What, you’re thirty-three and you don’t listen to the radio anymore?” Luke scoffs.

Bradley closes his eyes for a second and tries to think of a song that he knows how to play from this decade. He doesn’t play too much these days.

The room is quiet, even the rain seems to have quieted in anticipation for his performance.

He shoots one more pointed look toward Luke, and then presses his fingers into the keys. You settle your chin against your palm as he taps out the opening chords of I guess that’s why they call it the blues.

Just like everything he does, he makes it seem effortless, fluidly playing the melody. And then he starts to sing.

You watch him across the darkened room. The candlelight flickers on his face as lightning strikes outside. Don’t wish it away, don’t look at it like it’s forever.

His fingers press gently into the keys, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Alessandro sits back in his chair and smiles softly, knowing how much easier Bradley would have been convinced to perform all those years ago.

His voice is deeper than you would have expected, but soft as he finishes the first verse. God, he’s handsome.

It couldn’t possibly have taken longer than four and a half minutes for him to get through the song, but it feels like you watch him play all afternoon. Broad-shouldered, serious, still flushed-pink even once he has stopped singing. He turns sheepishly to face the room.

“Encore!” Luke whoops before anyone else gets a chance to say a word. Bradley groans, pushing himself up from the chair swiftly and rolling his eyes.

“Bite me.”

Zoe whips around to face you, clearly not as captivated by the performance as you had been. “Bradley’s kinda hot when he sings.”

Your mouth flattens, purely because it occurs to you suddenly that it wouldn’t be appropriate to smile. If she thinks he’s hot when he’s singing, she would be captivated by what you had gotten to see in the shower this morning.

The afternoon workload grows tiresome quickly, and Bradley watches his students filter out of the living room one by one. You disappear with Zoe and Abigail trailing in tow a little after three.

Alessandro’s wife serves a family style dinner, since the house is full and it’s still too rainy for anyone to have other plans. Bradley sits at the far end with Sandro and Dorie, all of them talking in politely hushed tones. You are at the opposite end, finding yourself missing those private dinners the two of you had gotten to share in the city.

After dinner, Bradley knows that his room upstairs is likely to be occupied after seeing Robin’s hand wandering across Luke’s board shorts at dinner. He disappears into the study to finish up with his work, and you call it an early night.

Well, you try to. After rereading the same three pages of Sarah Keene’s Air of Enchantment six times, you give up and head back for the stairs. The house is quiet and empty feeling. Without power, you guess there isn’t a lot to do around here.

You trail your fingers along the wallpaper, rounding the entryway into the now empty living room. The bench of the piano is still untucked from where Bradley had sat earlier. You let yourself be drawn towards it, taking a seat and brushing your fingers along the keys. Dust under your fingertips, candlesticks burning around the room — you figure that Sandro or his wife must be around somewhere if there are still candles lit.

There’s no sneaking around in a house like this. The handle clicks, and the wood creaks loudly from a room away. Bradley’s weight passes across noisy floorboards, growing closer.

He was hoping to see you, trying to convince himself to stay away from your room. His lips twitch. His eyes flicker over the grey track shorts and the Nicks jersey you’re wearing, casual and comfy, with your hair down. He likes it.

“Hey.” He says softly.

“Hey.” You answer, watching him. Maybe someday you’ll talk him out of wearing those t-shirts that are too sizes too big for him, but today’s not that day. It hangs on his broad frame as he walks towards you.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, squeezing your shoulder with a warm palm.

“Here.” You realize suddenly, shifting over as far as you can on the bench to make room for him. He glances down, knowing he won’t fit, and decides to perch half off of the bench anyways.

At your side, Bradley considers bringing up this morning. It’s been itching at him all day to know what about his behavior in the shower had been too much. He’s been wishing he was a mind reader, really. He would love to figure out exactly what he can do to make you relax.

“I didn’t know you played piano.” You tell him, watching your fingers ghost over the keys.

“I don’t, so much anymore.” He answers.

“I liked hearing you play.” You say.

He turns his head, smoothing his fingers along the length of your spine. Maybe he won’t hit Luke for revealing his secret after all.

Luke wants to do what Bradley does, and Bradley is only nine years older than he is — they had grown close quickly when Luke has first started TA’ing for him. Luke knows plenty about Bradley, and Bradley knows plenty about Luke. He hopes the two of you never get to making small talk, really.

“Will you play it again?”

He blinks, broken from his train of thought, and finding you looking at him now. Bradley looks between the piano and your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

”The same thing?” Bradley asks, displaying that awful habit he’s got of leaning one of those thick shoulders into you, crowding your space and grounding you with his presence. His thumb brushes tenderly over the tip of your nose, then across the bow of your top lip as he tips his head to one side. “You don’t want to hear anything else?”

You purse your lips in thought, then shake your head. The way your lips twist and hint at a smile just drives him crazy. Like he really has to work for the full thing. You shrug your shoulders at him. “Can’t a girl want a private rendition?”

He taps his thumb against your chin, his fingers stretching along the underside of your jaw. He doesn’t make you work for the smile that he gives you. Really, he would have to fight to keep it off of his face. “Fine.”

The tip of his tongue dips from between his lips to wet them, then he sighs softly and straightens into proper posture and turns his attention towards the keys. Your arm loops under his, your head settles to rest against his shoulder. He likes that feeling.

Wind whips rain against the shutters. The older ones creak and bang in complaint, unprepared for such miserable weather. Bradley’s fingers tap fluidly at the keys. Your fingertips trail the vein in his forearm up to the cuff of his rolled shirt sleeve.

He sings quieter than before. After all, this performance is just for you now. His voice is softer, if it wasn’t so effortlessly melodic, it would be like he’s reading to you. He doesn’t have to, there’s no sheet music in front of him and he knows which keys he’s reaching for, but his gaze remains solely on the piano. He can feel you looking at him.

From where your head is resting against his shoulder, you’re peering up at him with your obstructed view of his face. Your touch tickles against his forearm, your fingertips grazing the strap of his wristwatch with each trip.

As the first verse ends and the pace of the song builds into the chorus, Bradley winkles his nose slightly in concentration. Your lips twitch. The shutters bang against the old house. He turns his head and catches your gaze; you pull back so that he can really see you.

And I guess that’s why they call it the blues;

time on my hands could be time spent with you.

Laughing like children, living like lovers, rolling like thunder, under the covers.

And by the time he gets the words out, he’s smiling again. Not because of the absurdity of him performing Elton John for the second time in one evening, or because this is far from what he would have chosen to sing you, but because of the way you’re watching him.

Like you’re watching him play Sonata No. 14.

Long before Elton John first graced the US charts, Bradley would be sent over to his grandmother’s neighbor’s house every Thursday for two hours while the adults were at work. There, he sat at the piano and seethed to the pace of the metronome while a miserable seventy year old war vet scolded his posture. He hated playing piano back then.

It’s not so bad anymore.

And that miserable old man wasn’t really a bad teacher. Maybe Bradley was just a bad student.

Just stare into space, picture my face in your hands. Live for each second,

He turns his attention back towards the keys like he didn’t have the song memorized by ‘84.

And never forget I’m your man.

Wait on me, girl. Cry in the night if it helps. But more than ever, I simply love you, more than I love life itself.

Your head settles back against the warm muscle of his shoulder. Your fingers dance along the sensitive inseam of his forearm. You close your eyes and the rain grows louder, Bradley’s breaths between the lyrics grow deeper.

This is nice. You let your mind wander, wondering if evenings would always look like this with Bradley, if he would always sing you the same song over and over. On evenings like this, he would kiss the top of your head and tell you he loved you, and you would tell him the same.

It’s not hard to picture.

Your eyes remain closed through the chorus and remaining verses. Just the soft cotton of his shirt against your cheek, the rumble of his singing voice and the rain outside.

He swallows and clears his throat quietly, as he withdraws his hands from the keys.

“What’s your favourite song?” You ask him softly. His hands rest in his lap, his eyes on the painting directly across from him. He takes a moment to think about it.

“Have you ever heard the song Take it To the Limit by The Eagles?” You might not have, he figures that since you probably would have been in school when that album came out, you probably weren’t as big of an Eagles fan as he was.

You shake your head softly. “I don’t think so. What’s it sound like?”

He pulls back, and raises his eyebrows at you. “Is this an elaborate plan to get me to play for you all night?”

Your smile grows bashful, but your eyes remain steadily on him. “I just want to hear how it goes.”

“Well, what’s your favourite song?”

“You know that song from last summer, rhythm of the night?”

Bradley stares back at you. His eyes wrinkle at the edges and his mouth breaks into a grin before the laughter bubbles over and he spills forwards.

“Like El de Barge? Forget about the worries on your mind, da-da-da-duh-da-da?” You’ve never heard Bradley giggling quite like this before, literally tickled pink by your revelation as he jokingly hums out the words.

You’re powerless but to grin back at him. “Uh-huh. What’s wrong with that?”

Alessandro peers into the sitting room as he passes by. He doesn’t take time to stop and stare at the two of you sharing the piano bench, giggling with each other, but now he understands what the other students have all been gossiping about.

“I was expecting Madonna or — Wham, or something.” Bradley manages through his giggles, swiping a hand through his curls, almost gaining composure before bubbling over into laughter again.

“Sure, I like them,” You agree with him, smiling dumbly at the way he leans into you to laugh, “But come on! — You just can’t listen to that song and not feel happy!”

He’s up so close that you could kiss him when he finally gets himself together, still smiling softly back at you. Driven by his amused disbelief, he shakes his head softly. His fingers brush against your knee.

All of a sudden he has this image of you wandering around with that headset covering your ears, and De Barge being the soundtrack you have picked. Scowling at him from the back of the minivan, listening to such an upbeat track.

“You’re a trip.” He tells you.

Your eyes flicker downward, briefly catching on the way his fingers are curled into the skin of your thigh. Not too hard, just kind of holding you close. His own eyes follow suit, and linger on the way your hands sit in your lap. On your still bare ring finger.

When he looks at you this time, he’s thinking of the shower this morning. Your head lulling back onto his shoulder, sighing in pleasure as you just let yourself enjoy the moment. His lips tug at a soft smile.

“So, will you play that song for me? — Your favourite?” You ask. There isn’t a lot of room on the bench so, as you twist to face towards him, your thigh sits across the top of his, halfway into his lap.

Maybe he will end up playing for you all night, after all. He shoots you an amusedly pointed look, then lifts his hands and settles them onto the keys once more.

You grin at him, shifting closer again, settling your cheek against his shoulder.

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