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#it doesn't help that we don't know his age or anything

iamthedukeofurl · 1 day

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Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

#discworld #sam vimes #copoganda

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irisintheafterglow · 9 months

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[bernie sanders voice] i am once again.. thinking about coparenting megumi with boyfriend!satoru.

"so you're both megumi's..."

"guardians," you smile politely, praying stupid shit doesn't leave the mouth of the boy next to you. it's wishful thinking.

"yes," he beams so tenderly that you resist the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust. he takes your clammy hand lightly in his and turns back to megumi's teacher. "we had him young." a soft ow comes from under satoru's breath as you kick him under the table, forcing an expression of normalcy onto your face.

you hated parent-teacher conferences because it reminded you just how abnormal megumi and tsumiki's situation was. they had no parents, nor did they have any close relatives that cared for them the way a family should. that left you and the white-haired idiot in the tiny seat next to you to fill in that duty, and between missions and training students, you weren't around as often as you wanted to be.

"i...see," the teacher says hesitantly, eyeing your boyfriend with obvious unease. after a moment, she regains her composure and refocuses on you completely. "is there anything you wish to discuss before we begin?"

"not for me, no."

"when can we get him bumped up a grade? or have him skip one altogether?" every single word that comes from satoru's mouth is a joke but it still has your face burning with embarrassment that you were associated with him. "you know, i skipped a few grades when i was young."

"i can tell," you whisper and he pinches the flesh of your thigh between two fingers in defiance.

"i believe that skipping grades would be unwise at this time, as we haven't done any testing yet-"

"he was kidding, i swear," you say apologetically and, thankfully, the teacher continues as if on a script.

"i see. well, megumi is progressing wonderfully in the class. he's very adept at reading and writing, but he does struggle with math sometimes. it's nothing to be worried about; many children struggle with math at his age." you nod in understanding but grimace inwardly. megs always wanted you to help him with math homework since satoru became frustrated with the problems faster than the actual 2nd grader.

"for being the strongest, he's not that smart," megumi stated bluntly one night while you helped him on a coffee table in the teacher's lounge. you'd sent satoru on a walk around campus after his distress was clearly bothering megumi, who ended up suffering more from satoru's "help" than benefiting. "you're not around that much anymore to help me so i don't know what to do." his tiny eyebrows furrow and you reach out to run your fingers through his spiky black hair.

"i'm really sorry i'm not around as much anymore. do you want me to ask nanami? he handles math all the time."

"i think that'd be worse than satoru."

"you can't get much worse than satoru, buddy," you concede and his mouth turns up a little bit. nothing like a little insulting his mentor to get the boy's mood improved. still, his frown returns like it's his default expression.

"what if i can't do it? what if i'm not like everyone else?" it made your chest ache in a different way when megumi or his sister said something like that, like they were well aware that they weren't normal children. your heart panged for them and mourned their loss of a "normal" childhood just because they were born into a big three clan. it wasn't fair and it was something you lamented to satoru almost every week. you couldn't tell the boy any of that, though, no matter how much you wanted to explain why he wasn't like the rest of the kids in his class.

"just try your best, okay? sometimes, that's all we can do. you're already doing great by asking for help. it's not your fault if someone doesn't know how to help you, so just keep trying." he nodded determinedly; after another hour past dinnertime, you finally finished walking him through the rest of the problems while satoru draped his lanky body over the couch behind you, watching defeatedly over your shoulder.

"is there anything we can do to help him with math?" you ask, unconsciously weaving your fingers with satoru's and giving it a light squeeze. he squeezes back three times. i-love-you.

"he just needs a little reassurance that he's on the right track sometimes."

"mmm, don't we all," you murmur and you don't expect the teacher to laugh softly under her breath, muttering her agreement. before you know it, you've organized megumi's papers into his folder and picked him up from the playground outside his classroom, taking his hand as you walk back to the car.

"your teacher says you're doing well in class."

"really?"

"mhmm, though i didn't need her to tell me that since i already know." you shoot him a small smile, leaning into satoru's body as his arm wraps around your torso. "you, however, need to learn some manners," you lightheartedly tease, knocking your elbow against his abs. "you were not helping in there, you menace."

"it was boring, what do you want me to do?" his tone is so carefree, so comfortingly satoru it made your heart melt.

"it's a parent-teacher conference, not parents. you could have waited outside if you were so bored. went to play on the playground or something." his head dips close to your ear and you feel some strands of his hair brush against your skin.

"but then i don't get to watch you be all mature and put-together."

"trying to follow my example?"

"trying to break your composure," he corrects with a sly grin. "i'm the fun one, after all."

"that's one way to put it," megumi deadpans without hesitation and you stifle a snort.

"i'm one of a kind!"

"you're out of your mind, is what you are." before he can protest, you press a kiss to his cheek and he turns a slightly opaquer shade of pink. "but i wouldn't have you any other way."

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen

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rie-092 · 2 months

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FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader

summary : maybe they should just lock you in your room to make sure that you won't do something dangerous.

a.n : i plan to make this a series, what do you think?

abel heilon

let's start with the most chill platonic yandere! out of the guys that i will feature in this post! abel heilon, the duke of the north with a simple mindset of 'if you mess with me then i'll mess with ya' we all know how protective he is with fiona and siegren. but just imagine, what if— just what if he has an illegitimate child who's related to him by blood that he hid from the public's eyes.

anyways, the first time he met you. he became sure of one thing. damn, you were indeed his child. with that silver hair, blue eyes and personality of yours— you were indeed his child. he can't deny that because you looked like a kid version of him. well, it's not like he is denying it tho— but what the fuck is wrong with your brain anyways?!

he doesn't know if you were abused before he met you. but why in the hell are you so obsessed with suicide anyways?! why the fuck are you even throwing yourself in battles when you were a support mage?! for the fuck sake! stop! yes, you have above average amount of mana! but the hell?! you're not as strong as fiona nor siegren! stop it!

if it's not for siegren then he wouldn't know the fact that you happily greeted the assassin that was sent by the imperial family. according to him, before siegren saved you from the assassin you even have the guts to propose to that damn assassin about committing suicide together since according to you, you have fallen in love with him— hearing that story, abel couldn't help but facepalm. (first name), you're thirteen! and that assassin is already thirty-six or worse, older!

maybe because of the stress of managing the north and keeping you safe from your suicide attempts. abel finally snapped.

look, abel likes watching you enjoying your freedom. but damn, if he doesn't do anything about this— he might end up burying you before you even reach the age of 18. he won't hurt you, he swears. that was the last thing that he will do to you. but that doesn't mean that he can't take preventive measures to make sure that you were safe.

platonic yandere! abel heilon was one of the chillest platonic yandere that existed. he will let you do anything that you want, he won't take away your freedom nor hurt you. he isn't also overbearing to the point that it was suffocating. but don't make him snap, because he can be the most suffocating and controlling parent existed.

now, on your sixteenth birthday— to celebrate it. you decided to jump onto the freezing river near the manor. you expected that you'll wake up inside your room— but no. when you opened your eyes, you were inside an unfamiliar room that has no windows. seeing that you can't use your magic, you were sure that there's a magic restricting device placed around here. what the hell is happening?

the door had opened, you looked at who it was and saw abel looking at you with a smug grin. you tried to ask him what is going on but instead of replying— abel only ruffled your hair saying that it will be only him and you from now on. and that was when you realized one thing— abel had taken your freedom away from you.

but abel didn't care. cry until you have no tears left, he doesn't care. the only thing that he cared about was keeping you alive. and this is the only thing that he know to achieve his goal. but don't worry, he will visit you everyday and give you books to make sure that you won't get bored. so, can you stop being a btch and appreciate his efforts?

he doesn't care if your eyes lost its usual enthusiasm and spark. he doesn't care if you stop eating at some point— because abel can shove the food inside your mouth to make sure that you stay alive.

oh, by the way— fiona was the one who made the room where you were staying now. she just wanted to make sure that you were safe! and the only place where you can be safe is the place where you can't use magic! so, forgive them, will ya?

“should i just cut off your arms? so that you won't be able to use your magic again?”

gallahan lombardy

okay, as far as you know— you are not really a suicidal type of person. but for your father, gallahan lombardy you are. because for gallahan, overworking is another way to try to kill yourself after all.

gallahan is a sweet person, i swear. he won't hurt you at all and isolating you? no, no, no, gallahan won't do that! but he still couldn't help but become paranoid when it came to you. you were way too focused on studying— maybe because of the pressure that you were getting from the other people.

your sleep only lasted for two or four hours, you always isolate yourself inside the library. and gallahan didn't like it at all— look, you need to take it easy and rest. the only time you leave the library was when gallahan and tia drag you outside to eat in a cafe or buy new clothes.

platonic yandere! gallahan loves to spoil you. you wanted to buy books? here you go. want to try home-cooked foods? sure, he'll cook it for you. do you want to go to the festival with tia? alright! as long as he will go with you two.

but then, a certain event made gallahan snap. it was a normal day and gallahan entered the library to drag you outside so that you could socialize with the family. but then, he saw you unconscious on the floor, buried in the books and your nose was bleeding. gallahan was panicking, he didn't know what to do. what if you don't wake up? what if something bad happens to you? or worse— what if you die? if it wasn't for shananet who saw her younger brother's panicked face and her niece's condition. then gallahan won't be able to calm down and call the family doctor.

and what is the doctor's diagnosis? you were overworked. and after hearing that, rulac lombardi, your grandfather along with your auntie and uncles saw how your father's face darkened while looking at you who was peacefully sleeping on the bed.

and then, after that incident. you couldn't help but become confused when gallahan didn't scold you— instead, when you woke up. you saw him smiling softly at you. he didn't even ask you to take it easy. he just lets you do what you want.

but what you found odd was your father started giving you foods and drinks everytime and after consuming those things. you started feeling tired and before you knew it, you always ends up asleep. and once you woken up, you were already on your room. with tia cuddling with you while your father was asleep while sitting on the chair next to your bed also asleep.

knowing how innocent your father was, you never suspect a thing. you just kept on eating and drinking the things that he was giving to you. and you never questioned why you always get tired after it. your father loves you so much, so he wouldn't do anything— right?

plot twist, gallahan actually puts drug on your food and drinks to make sure that you will take a rest and never overwork yourself again. but a year later, you started losing your sense of sight because of it. but gallahan and tia don't care when you have them? oh, just thinking about their sweet (first name) being dependent on them was enough to make them very happy.

“sorry, honey! this is just a precaution, okay?”

#manhwa x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere headcanons #yandere manhwa #yandere manhwa x reader #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #gallahan lombardi #abel heilon #tw. yandere #tw: force feeding #tw. isolation #tw.dark content #tw: drugs #tw: obsessive behavior

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evie-sturns · 2 months

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needed this - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after a month-long business trip, you finally return home to your boyfriend matt. you find out he hasn't came since you left, obviously you have to help him.

warnings: smut, very sub!matt, overstimulating, swearing.

-------------------°°••....••°°--------------------

i've been away with work for just over a month, meaning matt's had the house to himself, i'm finally arriving home this evening.

7:54pm

i twist the key into the white door, pushing it open. the scent i'm so used to filling my nose. "matt!" i call out, placing my bag down by the front door and bending over to unstrap my heels.

"i missed you." he says with a grin, speed walking up to me and wrapping his arms around me. i bury my face into his chest, "how was it?" he asks with a wide smile.

"it was good! how was the empty house?" i say, grabbing matts hand and dragging him upstairs.

"lonley as shit without chris and matt aswell, they've been filming with other creators for ages." matt says with a sigh as we walk into our shared bedroom.

"oh yeah, i saw that tara and shit meetup with them" i say, pulling my minidress off over my head.

i can feel matts eyes laying on me as i scavenge through our closet for anything comfier to wear, giving i've been in dresses for 5 weeks straight.

matt clears his throat, "movie?"

i nod, "yeah, yeah just pick whatever you want sweetheart."

matt flicks on the tv at the end of our bed, i unclasp my bra, letting it fall to my feet. i grab one one matts shirt, pulling it down past my head,

i jump into bed beside matt, my leg resting across his waist and lap as i cuddle to his side. the netflix intro blares through the room

"jesus christ!!" i laugh, grabbing the remote and turning down the volume. "my bad." matt says with a smile, shaking his head and pulling up the white fuzzy blanket over us.

8:23pm

i shift the leg which is laying across him, i feel matt grow tense under me, "you okay?" i whisper, looking up at him. "yeah- no yeah- yeah no i'm good." matt stammers, i laugh slightly,

"matt whats wrong?" i say with a giggle, "no- no yeah, shit i'm fine." he says again, his cheeks a deep red as he fidgets with his rings.

"matt." i say with a serious tone. "stop!- i'm fine!" he says, getting worked up.

i sit up in bed abrubtly, the blanket falling off my body, i look down at matts crotch,

hes hard.

he yanks the blanket up over his lap, i pull it back down and straddle his thighs, staring into his eyes. "why are you hard?" i ask quietly, "i'm not!" he instantly replies, his eyes drifting away from mine.

i palm him through his sweatpants, squeezing lightly, he lets out a breathless groan. "so.. what was that?" i tease him,

"i dont know? just your leg moving.." matt says, rubbing his eyes with his fists,

"you got hard from my leg?" i laugh slightly, he nods.

"thats okay." i assure him, reaching for his waistband and toying with it, his breathing intensifies quickly, "why are you so sensitive?" i ask, "just been different since you left a month ago" matt says quietly

"different like how?" i push,

"haven't- you know.." he sighs, "i don't know actually." i reply cheekily.

he doesn't reply, his eyes fixed on my hand which is resting just under his waistband. "tell me the last time you touched yourself" i say, matt goes redder somehow.

"month ago." he says, barely audible "thats okay." i say, tugging his waistband down. "please.." matt whines slightly, "i know." i say, pulling his waistband down to his mid-thighs.

"you want this?" i ask, lifting my self off his thighs to pull my panties off, "jesus, obviously." he says, i shoot him a 'watch your tone' look and he instantly goes quiet.

i sit up, hovering myself above matts tip, which is now red. his hands stay by his sides, i'm 95% sure his brain is so fogged he doesn;t know what to do with them anymore.

i grab his cold hands, placing them on my waist. i stay sitting above his tip for a few more seconds, its tempting to see how worked up i can get matt. he trys to guide me down, but i resist.

"please." he says, "matthew, stop whining and tell me what the fuck you want." i say, "please, you know what i want" matt says shyly, i stay still, waiting for him to practically beg.

"ride me, please?" he breathes out, i can see his stomach jolting up and down from his desperate breaths underneath his white sweater.

i nod, moving my hair to one side and slowly sinking onto matt, he squeezes his eyes shut, his hands dropping from my waist and balling up the white fuzzy blanket. i slowly take more of his length before bottoming out, sitting comfortably on his dick as matt lets out small whimpers

"you alright?" i ask, grabbing his hand which is squeezing the sheets.

he nods his head, "look at me, matt." i say, he opens his eyes, letting in small breaths. "calm. down." i say, he nods again as his top teeth sink into his pink bottom lip.

i slowly start to bounce on him, his eyes stay fixed on me as i quicken my pace. i throw my head back as i balance my hands on his thighs behind me.

"close- really close." matt squeezes out, "no, not yet matt." i tell him.

"i can't, oh my fuck-" he whines, his grip on my waist tightening, the cold metal of his rings pressing against the warmth of my skin.

"you can, and will." i say, placing a hand on his stomach to balance myself as i continue to ride him. he lets out soft groans as he throws his head back into the pillows, his hair flopping.

"your okay, your doing so well." i say with a small moan as I repeatedly hit my g-spot.

suddenly i feel matt release, coating my insides. matt rubs his eyes "did i tell you you could do that?" i say, looking into matts eyes.

"im sorry, shit- i'm so sorry." he rambles, instead of pulling off him, i chase my own orgasm. he groans from overstimulation, "too much, sensitive-" he says,

"is it my fault you came early?" i say as i sit down on his cock, rubbing my clit against his pelvic bone.

he shakes his head, somewhat arching his back off the bed as his hands dig into my waist. i let my head falll foward as i look down at matts hands,

"fuck it hurts." matt says,

we have an established safe word, he knows he can use it whenever he needs, but he's not.

"you want me to stop?" i ask, he pauses for a moment before letting out a breathless "no. fuck please dont-"

i continue to bounce on his length, i feel the pit in my stomach growing as my cheeks flush, matt has mutiple tears falling down his cheeks.

"i think i'm close-" matt says, my eyebrows twist with a small laugh "again?" i question, "yeah- shit." matt groans .

i clench around him, i think thats enough for matt to finish. the knot in my stomach snaps as i feel matt finish again. i collapse down onto matts chest as i attempt to catch my breath, he reaches down and pulls out of me with a wince.

"you okay? did i hurt you?" i say as i rest my face on matts shoulder.

"yeah- no im fine, needed that a lot." he says, his fingers tracing mindless shapes on my back.

after a handful of minutes i sit up on matts lower stomach before lifting myself off him, stepping down onto the plush of our carpet. "c'mon, lets get you cleaned up." i say, wiping matts face with one hand, matt stays still on the bed.

"matt? stand up" i say, matt has a small smile on his face, he wipes his eyes before starting.

"i cant.. stand."

----------------

#nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #m

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queers-gambit · 2 months

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Adore Her, Dior Her

prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4.3k+

warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.

"That's the one. That's one we should get!"

"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"

"Why did we even agree to go?"

You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."

"But she's just so - "

"Jen. Her name's Jen."

Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."

"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.

"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."

You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."

"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.

"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."

He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."

The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "

"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."

"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "

"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"

You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.

"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.

"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."

"You literally drove us here," you laughed.

"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."

"Last time you said that - "

"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."

He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.

"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"

You sighed, "Why?"

"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"

"Well, yeah! It's so magical."

"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"

You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."

"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."

"Oh," you nodded slowly.

He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”

"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."

"You know how to ski?"

"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."

Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "

"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"

"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."

She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"

"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"

Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.

"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.

"Like it?"

"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.

Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."

You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."

"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"

You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."

"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"

You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."

"Hush, we're only buying one."

His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."

"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.

"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "

"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"

"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."

"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"

"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.

"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.

"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.

You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.

"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"

"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.

"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."

"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.

All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."

"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "

"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."

She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."

"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"

"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.

So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.

"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"

"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."

"Diamonds?"

"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.

"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"

You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"

Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"

"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.

"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.

"You'll find a way," you answered.

"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.

"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"

Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."

When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.

How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?

His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.

Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.

And then... He met you. Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.

After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.

Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.

And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.

However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.

Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.

All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.

Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.

Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.

Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."

"Bucky, no - "

"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.

You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"

He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"

"You can save it for a rainy day?"

He shrugged, "Not necessary."

"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"

"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."

"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.

You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was. And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.

"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."

You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"

Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"

"That's not a solution!"

"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm?"

"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."

"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."

Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."

He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"

"What's that?"

"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."

"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"

"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."

Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "

"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."

Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.

requesting rules and masterlist

MCU masterlist

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he-calls-me-kitten · 3 months

Text

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice

VA! MC x OM! Characters

"Hey Levi, any new game recommendations for me? I just finished the last lot of books Satan suggested." You asked, plopping down your head on his shoulder to look at his screen.

"M-MC! You have to warn me before you do such things!" He muttered, his ears turning red as he scrolled some webpages pages for you. "But okay yeah these are the new games that are out recently... see anything you like?"

"Oh my God! It's out it's out!" You pointed excitedly at the screen. "Pretty Little Things is out! Finally!! I was dying to tell you all about it!"

Levi visibly stiffened up. "You-you were waiting for this particular game to come out? Are you sure it's not another game with a similar sounding name?"

"Nah uh this is the exact same one. Look up the list of voice actors in this game!"

"WHAT?! MC WHY IS YOUR NAME IN HERE?????"

"Yes! This was the new part-time job I couldn't tell you about since it was still in production! Im so glad you can just play it now!"

"...it's uh ready for download on all platforms already...so which character did voice?"

"Oh spoiler alert, my character is the only one that doesn't have a name, you have assign me one, the same way you name yourself. They even designed the characters to resemble all the VA's and add in some of their personalities, isn't that sweet?"

"Hahaha y-yeah definitely sweet! I'll be sure to check it out soon!"

"Great! Lemme know what you think of the game okay?!" You squeezed him in a small hug before you left.

Later in the Demon Brothers only group chat:

Levi: Code Red! Code Red! ASHSKSHSKSKSJJSKKS

Mammon: WHAT WHAT THAT MEANS AN MC RELATED EMERGENCY RIGHT??

Asmo: OMG are they OKAY?? Should I go check up on them in their room!?!

Satan: I'm already on my way.

Mammon: NOT BEFORE ME YOU'RE NOT!

Belphie: Is MC hurt in anyway?

Beel: Did they pass out from hunger?! I can bring them emergency snacks right away

Lucifer: Can you lot not lose your minds everytime MC is mentioned? Pathetic. Levi, calm down and tell us what's wrong.

Beel: But Lucifer I just saw you hurrying up the stairs to MC's room too...

Satan: Typical Lucifer. By the way, MC is perfectly fine, happy even. Levi what are you on about?

Mammon: Yeah MC can't stop smiling! It's a good thing that happened, you idiot! Why would you scare us like that?

Asmo: Omg apparently MC voice acted in a new game! Levi I need you to download it for me ASAP please!

Beel: Me too, please.

Belphie: Me three.

Lucifer: I've already done it, you all can do it yourselves if you could do your own work for once.

Satan: Oh shut up, MC just did it for you right now as they did it for me.

Levi: It's a Dating Simulator. With multiple H-rated DLC endings. And MC is one of the dateables.

...

Levi: Hello?!! Did you guys not see my message?!

Levi: Seriously no reaction?! You guys aren't freaked out by this?!?

Beel: I just heard several doors opening and closing at once.

Asmo: Oh come Levi, I think you already know what our reaction is Levi ♥️ How can we possibly hold in our excitement after such a news!?

Levi: Are you all downloading the game together?!!! Y'all are hogging the bandwidth too much, my download speed has gone way down!!

Simeon: Hey

Simeon: I heard some demons in a cafe, raving about a game where MC plays one of the main characters?

Solomon: Indeed MC just sent us all a link right now.

Simeon: Oh is that so? I'll get Luke to help me download it after he's done with his.

Levi: Luke is playing it too?! I don't think it's appropriate given it's certain hidden endings!!

Barbatos: MC already made sure of it. He only has access to the sibling and friendship routes. It's a special version they added for all ages.

Diavolo: It already has downloads in the ten thousands. I'm really glad to see how MC is beloved by Devildom.

Levi: Are NONE of you affected by the fact that there are erotic routes with MC's VOICE?!!

Solomon: Oh I personally cannot wait hear my adorable apprentice's performance.

Barbatos: Ahem. I'd rather not comment on it.

Simeon: Same.

Diavolo: Same.

Levi: Sigh. We really are just a helpless lot at the mercy of MC.

To be continued...

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me solomon #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barabtos

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joelscruff · 1 year

Text

you know i don't mean it (joel miller x reader) 18+

welcome to my 300 follower celebration! \o/ i polled my followers on which character they'd most like to see in some new smut and joel won (not surprised). this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up getting a bit longer than i anticipated, hope you enjoy! summary: you and joel get off together. that's pretty much it. you also have some unresolved feelings for him and he's being closed off. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink (the term 'good girl' is used maybe 432534 times), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (but make it soft), mutual masturbation, come-play, come-eating, this is filthy word count: about 2.5k | ao3 link

"This is the last time," he mutters under his breath, belt buckle jangling as he lays down across from you, "We can't keep doin' this."

"Yeah, yeah," your hand is already buried in your panties, index finger lightly rotating against your clit, "That's what you said last week too."

He grunts and you watch as he slips his hand inside his jeans and palms himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to relax. He pretends he's doing this for your benefit, like its you who needs help getting off, as if he's not a middle aged man who hasn't been touched by a woman in years. And it's not like you haven't offered, you've genuinely tried to give yourself to him more than a few times, but it's simply a line he won't cross.

Other lines, however, are much easier to cross. It had started out relatively innocent, something that had happened completely by chance, or at least you both led yourselves to believe it was. You'd both had the same idea one night and had ended up getting off together in the same room, you in the chair beside the fireplace of the abandoned ski lodge you'd both been posted in, him on the couch.

"Are you -" he'd gasped into the darkness when he'd heard the wet sound of your fingers a few feet away, plunging in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm.

"Like you're not," you'd hissed back, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he'd muttered, hand stilling on his cock where seconds ago he'd been stroking like his life depended on it.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He'd groaned, releasing himself and sitting up to squint at you in the darkness, "So what are you gonna do about it?"

You glared at him, not bothering to remove your hand from your underwear as you continued to finger yourself, breathing deeply, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going. And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

After a few seconds of silence, he'd flopped himself back down on the couch and reached for himself again, fucking into his fist, "No talking," he said through his teeth, "Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you'd replied, and roughly added a third finger as you watched the dark silhouette of him jacking himself off barely six feet away from you.

One night turned into two, turned into five, and now ten. It wasn't every night, only when you were on patrol together. You'd privately asked Tommy to make sure that Joel was your patrol partner as often as possible, because you felt "safer" with him... you're not sure if he'd really believed you.

You're back in the ski lodge again tonight, both of you situated on the couch in your usual positions, on opposite ends and facing each other. It's ridiculous how quickly it's taken you both to get used to these sessions, the casual feeling of it making it even hotter somehow.

"How many fingers are you using this time?" Joel murmurs, eyeing you where you're touching yourself, unable to fully see what he'd like to.

"Up to you," you breathe, still prodding your clit, "How many do you want me to use?"

"Three," he replies, and you watch as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his jeans, jutting large and solid against his stomach, "Real slow, then real fast."

You nod, lifting your hips up to pull your panties free and expose yourself to him, legs wide.

"Stick to my rhythm," he tells you, watching as you trail your middle finger through your folds, "If I stop, you stop. If I tell you to stop-"

"I stop," you answer for him, throwing him a smug smile, "Same rules as always."

He stares at you without speaking, just waiting. You get the hint and begin to slide your finger inside slowly, making eye contact with him under your lashes and smiling languidly. He fists himself just as slow, looking down at your finger and licking his lips.

"Slow enough for you?" you whisper, adding a second and grinning when his eyes darken, "Should I go a bit faster?"

"Not yet," he whispers, thumbing the head of his cock and fucking into his hand at the same pace as your finger, "Keep it nice and slow for me 'til I say so."

You obey, fucking yourself with your middle and ring finger at the slowest pace you can muster. No matter how annoying his orders are you always do as you're told, not because you're afraid of any sort of consequence, but because you like seeing him enjoy himself, seeing him take control. You've only known him for about six months but you've known for a while that he's been lacking any sort of control in his life for a long time; you're glad to be the one who can give it to him.

"Add your third," he whispers and you oblige, slipping your index inside yourself alongside the others, "Good girl," he breathes, "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod, your smugness immediately starting to fade. When he talks to you like this, praises you, it's impossible to keep your hard exterior up for much longer, feeling yourself submit to him. In any other circumstance you love to challenge him, to argue, but in these moments it's the last thing on your mind. You do as you're told, and that's the end of it. He needs control, you need submission.

"Tell me," he whispers.

"I'm your good girl," you breathe, shivering and continuing to shove your fingers in and out at his pace.

He smirks, "Yeah you are."

You continue to fuck yourself at his painfully slow pace, watching him fist his cock at the same speed. He likes to tease you, to build you up until you're begging for it. You thumb your clit and start to whimper, legs trembling.

"Okay, faster now," he tells you, voice low and sultry, "Not too fast, though. Watch me," he tugs at his cock at a bit quicker of a pace, still much too slow for you but you can't do much else but obey him, mirroring him with the thrust of your fingers, "That's it, like that."

After several more thrusts he suddenly stops stroking himself, stilling in his palm. You groan, halting your movements, following the rules.

"How is it that you follow orders so God damn well when you've got your panties around your ankles?" he asks, voice rough, "Yet when we're actually patrollin' you don't listen to a word I say?"

"I'm not your good girl when we're patrolling," you reply with a teasing smile, "But I could be, you know."

He rolls his eyes, "Enough, it's not happening," he nods to your hand, still motionless at your core, "Play with your clit for a second, give me a chance to breathe."

There it is, the line he won't cross. You've already told him that you're willing to give yourself completely over to him, be exactly who he needs, but no matter how many times you try he just won't budge. It's disappointing, truly, because you really do like him. Sure, he's a bit of an ass, plus he's about thirty years older than you, but you've seen the side of him he doesn't show to others. Maybe only hints, but you've seen it. And you care about him.

"I don't do this with anyone else, you know," you whisper, pressing your index finger against your clit and rubbing small circles into it, "You're the only one I'd let treat me the way you do."

He looks at you curiously, raising an eyebrow, "I treat you good, don't I?"

You nod, whimpering a bit as you rub yourself harder, "You do, but you're the only one I'd ever submit to like this, you know that, right?"

He hums, brushes the wide head of his cock with the tip of his thumb, "I know, baby. But it feels so good, doesn't it? You like being my good girl, don't you?"

You bite down on your lip, core aching as your fingers lay still against your folds, save for the index that continues to furiously stimulate your clit, "I do," you whisper, cheeks warming, "I fucking love it."

"There you go," he murmurs softly, then begins to move his fist again, "Use your fingers again, baby, get your pussy all full for me."

You don't need telling twice, your three fingers plunging deep inside yourself without any hesitation. You whimper when your fingertips brush against your favorite spot, so close yet so far. You eye Joel's cock and try to imagine what it would feel like for it to really be inside you, the fat tip of it pounding relentlessly against the deepest parts of your cunt, his girth stretching you out so much your whole body would be shaking. You feel your mouth drop open involuntarily, brow furrowing.

He follows your gaze and frowns at you, pumping himself a bit faster, "You can't have it," he whispers, like he can read your mind, "I know you want it, pretty girl, but you can't. I'm sorry."

"Why?" you mewl, sounding absolutely pathetic as you keep fucking yourself, "I want it so bad, Joel."

"I know you do," he closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Don't ask me why, you just can't."

You'd pout, tease him a little, but he's not looking at you anymore and it physically makes you ache, the way he avoids any allusion to actual sex, an actual relationship. You've asked him so many times and it's always the same answer, never a real reason. You wish you knew why, wish you knew if there was anything at all you could do to make him open up to you.

Instead you mirror his position, tilting your head back against the arm of the sofa and fucking up into yourself, listening to his labored breathing and the slap of skin whenever his fist hits his belly.

"Fast as you can now, baby," he mutters gruffly, close to the edge, "Need you to come for me, need you to be good."

"I'm always good for you, aren't I?" you whimper, opening your eyes to peer at him again, "I always listen, I never break your rules."

"That's right."

"So why can't you fuck me?" you sit up suddenly, yanking your fingers out of yourself and looking at him angrily. He sits up just as quickly, eyes narrowing as he releases his cock and stares at you, "I'm serious, Joel. I want an actual answer."

"You just broke a rule," he mutters and you sigh exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry for breaking the rules," you genuinely mean it; you know how important this control is for him, but you can't help it, "I'll submit again if you just tell me why you won't fuck me. Do you...do you not want me? Is that it? 'Cause I can accept that, I just want to hear you say it. I'm sick of not knowing."

He stares at you incredulously, hand coming up to squeeze the space between his brow and nose, "Jesus, of course I want you, but it's not that simple."

"Yes it-"

"It's not," he interrupts you, shaking his head, "I can't...this isn't..." he exhales deeply, "This isn't the time for this conversation, okay?" You hear raw emotion in his voice, buried deep but still present. Fuck, you didn't mean to make him feel bad.

"...Okay," you finally whisper, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," he runs a hand through his hair, "Look, we can stop-"

"No," you lean back and open your legs wide again, putting yourself on display for him, "No, I wanna be your good girl again, please let me."

"We don't-"

"Joel," you whimper, slipping your fingers back inside, "Let me be your good girl."

His hard expression fades, eyes softening as he peers at you, watching you fuck himself for him.

"It's all yours, even if you won't touch me," you whisper, using your other hand to pull yourself open for him, showing him how full you are, feeling your orgasm start to build in your tummy, "It's yours," you repeat, whimpering.

He nods, stroking himself again hard and fast, brow furrowing in pleasure as he keeps his eyes trained on you, "That's right," he murmurs, "It's mine. You're mine."

You close your eyes tight, "I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, pretty girl," you hear him groan, the snap of his wrist making you completely come undone, "Squeeze around those fingers, pretend they're mine, okay? You can do that, you can pretend."

You shudder at his words and feel your orgasm overtake you, the image of Joel's thick fingers pounding into you enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, crying out his name and tossing your head back as you come.

"Good girl," he groans, voice strangled, "Such a good fucking girl for me."

You close your eyes as you ride out the waves of your release, fingers still pumping gently inside of you until it's too much and you pull them out. Sighing contentedly, you open your eyes again and watch Joel relentlessly fuck into his fist, belt buckle still jangling against the couch as he gasps. You want nothing more than to reach forward and take him in your own hand, help him ride out his own release, but you don't. Because those are the rules.

Instead you just watch him, smile at him as he shuts his eyes tight and groans deeply, coming into his fist. You watch the thick white liquid cover the sides of his fingers and you involuntarily salivate, jaw going slack.

"Fuck," you breathe, "Wish I could taste you."

He groans again, hand stilling as he breathes heavily and starts to come down, eyes closed. You sit quietly, panties still hanging off one of your ankles. You'd usually already be putting your clothes back on at this point, but something tells you to stay still, don't move, he's gonna do something different.

He swallows and looks up at you, stares at you for a few moments. You're unsure whether the regular Joel is about to come back, tell you it's time to go back on patrol, grab your gun and be quiet. Or is this still your Joel, the one who tells you you're pretty and good, makes you feel less alone in this shitty world.

"Here," he says, shaking his head and bringing his come-coated fingers up to your mouth, "If you wanna taste, you have five seconds."

Your mouth pops open in surprise, hesitating only for a second before you lean forward and wrap your lips around his fingers, feeling the salty taste of him flood your mouth. Your cunt begins to throb again, your eyes closing as you suck and lick and take everything he's giving you. When you open your eyes again he's still looking at you, but his expression is soft, tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

this is now a series, and other parts can be found on my masterlist.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #*#this was so fun to write #i like this dynamic a lot and might end up writing more for them who knows #fic: soft!dom joel

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zyafics · 7 days

Text

finish line | rafe cameron

masterlist (one shot)

pairing rafe cameron x maybank! female reader

summary when your little brother has to forfeit a race against rafe, he seeks your help to replace him and win. what he doesn’t know is your own relationship with the kook prince, and what it means if you win. — reader type bitch(!), bike-savvy, intelligent, protective of jj, head-strong and stubborn, uses a dab pen!

content (10.0k words) 18+, smut, dominance play, handjob, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), spitting, face riding, unprotected p in v sex, position(s): cowgirl and doggy style, creampie, edging, bulge + size kink, lots of banters and arguments, lots of moments between jj and reader!

dedication to @sadfury for inspiring me with ur maybank! reader <3 sorry this took me ages 😭

lıllılı If We Being Reäl by Yeat and ONE CALL by Rich Amiri

You were painting your nails when JJ barged into your room.

"What?" You look up from your desk, the cherry-red polish dripping from the brush to the bottle, while your little brother fills the entryway. He's wearing a white tank top, the fabric stained with oil grease because of how much time he spends tricking out his motorcycle.

"I need your help."

"Not surprised." You hum, resuming your paint job as you reach your pinky finger.

He lets out a groan. "I'm serious."

"Heard that one before."

"Come on." JJ pouts. "You're not listening to me."

You turn, your brother slumps his shoulders and puts both hands in a prayer. "I am. Have you ever heard of multitasking?"

"Since when did you learn to do that?"

You grab the nearest object—your expired dab pen—and chuck it in his direction. It hits him square in the chest, which is odd considering he often dodges your attacks, before falling to the ground with a small thud.

"What do you want, you little bastard?" You snarl, finishing off the last coat of your polish. When you do, you twist your focus back to JJ, giving him your undivided attention.

He lets out a boyish grin. "Y'know how you're my favorite sister?"

"I'm your only sister."

"Y'know how you love me?"

"On my good days."

"Can you just be agreeable for once?"

"Spit it out." You let out a growl of annoyance, waving an impatient hand in his direction at his pathetic attempt at beating around the bush. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Classic."

"I mean, I'm not in any trouble. Yet."

The yet is worrisome. JJ is notorious for landing himself into trouble, more times than you can take him out. You gave up on telling him not to get involved in stupid activities because it's in the Maybank bloodline to gravitate towards drama. But you told him that if he continues to do so, he has to handle his own. To not rely on you too much. He listened—begrudgingly.

The first couple of times after your warning, he would contact you for any misdemeanors he caused with the local police and when you stopped answering the calls, he got the message. The only time he asks for your help is when it comes to your father and that's the only exception you make.

"I entered into a race." He begins slowly, running a hand through his blond hair, which has gotten lighter from his time spent under the sun.

You consider his words with caution. "Right."

"And y'know how they have those stupid fees for entry?"

"You mean to make a profit?"

"Yeah, that," he nods, rolling his eyes at you as if you were the dumb one. "Well, I took Luke's stash in order to do it."

"You did what?"

Standing from your chair, your brother flinches at your abrupt motion, hitting his back against your door. It's so unlike him.

There's a rule when it comes to money: don't mess with Luke's. He uses it for whatever self-mediating bullshit he can get his hands on: drugs, alcohol, even the occasional gambling bets. However, one good thing about the bastard is that he leaves you alone. Let you do whatever you want if it doesn't involve his money.

But if it does?

You're fucked.

"'Swear I was gonna win it back. He wouldn't even noticed it was missin' in the first place."

You inhale a sharp breath, staring daggers at him while you devise a solution. You could pick up an extra shift at your job to pay the difference, but it depends on the amount.

"How much?"

He hesitates before answering. "$750."

"Seven hundred—" You had to turn away. You were going to strangle your brother to death if you looked at him any longer. There's absolutely no way in hell you would be able to cover that. Not before your father notices the missing dent in his stash that he weekly partakes from.

"The payout was gonna be triple that amount. And you know how good I am with a bike, I was gonna win—easy. I thought it was a good idea."

You give him some leeway. He is a good racer, as much as it pains you to admit, and he entered in a couple of smaller bets before which he won in a landslide.

"So what's the problem?" You ask with an edge to your voice. If JJ had this entire contingency plan, the only reason he's coming to you isn't the money. Or Luke. It's something much worse.

"I can't ride."

Your expression breaks. Your first instinct is to scan his face and figure, checking for any bodily injuries. To make sure your little brother is okay. When you don't discover anything other than surface-level scratches, you turn back to him with a raised brow. "Why not?"

"I haven't gotten off my high."

"What?"

You cross the small room in two strides before grabbing his face, tipping his head backwards, and pulling his eyelids open with your thumbs. There you discover the problem: his pupils are dilated, pitch-black. “What did you take?”

“Something new at the Chateau with John B. 'Thought it was just another blunt, but it hit much harder. I can’t balance and my vision is shot. I can’t drive tonight.”

You inhale a steady breath, letting him go. “It’s tonight?”

"Yeah, and I know you don't do that anymore, but I need your help. Dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I lost his money."

"I'm gonna kill you."

"Can it wait until after you save my ass?"

A few hours later, you find yourself on an empty road with the other contestants, adjusting the headset the organizer gave you. You scan the layout of the familiar course: surrounded by dense mangroves, the road is mostly flat, layered thick with moisture from the nearby marsh, with discarded branches and leaves scattered across the ground.

You're using JJ's signature bike, helmet and donning a similar attire to what he wears whenever he races. A black jacket that cloaks your figure, dark-washed jeans and fingerless gloves that allows you to have a better grip on the throttle.

The helmet is on, hiding your hair, and the visor is tinted with a thick coat that forces you to adjust for the loss of light. You've ridden before, but each motorcycle is different. Shifting your weight on JJ's bike, you try to remember the exact curves of the machine and stabilize it as an extension of you—rather than you and the vehicle.

"Hey, Maybank!" A familiar voice calls out over the roaring engines churning out clouds of thick smoke. You turn to find Rafe Cameron—Kook prince, entitled asshole, and someone you hooked up with, once, drunk, at a party.

You hate to admit he was one of the best lays you ever had.

"Surprised to see you here. Didn't think you could afford the cover." Rafe greets, his tone dripping with condescension.

You hum thoughtlessly, adjusting the gloves over your palms. Rafe huffs at your lack of response, rubbing his upper lip with his own gloved hand.

"I saw you rocking on your bike; you scared or something?" He jeers, attempting to catch you in a moment of relapse. "I mean, your bike's a piece of shit, so I'm not surprised."

You say nothing, scoffing into the headset where you know Rafe can hear. Since the track is long and wide, it can't connect everyone on the same frequency and is mainly used to connect you to the nearest player.

Without sparing Rafe any more attention, you move closer to the start of the line.

You do a mental headcount to tally the payouts. These things vary by race and entry, but each person has to pay the same fee. The person organizing the event takes a 30% cut out of the pot, which makes the stakes heighten with more competitors. With a brief overview of the crowd, you recognize there's more than what JJ anticipated. It isn't triple. Fuck, it could be six times the amount of your initial entry.

"Don't tell me that little comment already got under your skin. I haven't even gotten to half the shit I wanna say to you yet." Rafe announces into the fuzzy audio of the headset, coming up to the empty lot beside you. "How's your sister, by the way?"

You roll your eyes. Of course, Rafe would resort to you when it comes to pissing off your brother. It's good ammunition for getting him off his game.

But you're not JJ.

You had a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you decided to play it smart. Rafe thinking you're JJ could be an advantage for you.

A girl with a checkered flag steps in front of you. She sashays across the road, earning some wolf whistles, before holding up the banner, counting down. The moment she descends into one, you speed off.

The thing about riding is that you have to know your leans. More specifically, your physics. The goal is to reduce air resistance and friction—that's what slows you down. The best way is to tuck closer to the bike, tilting at an angle that minimizes the amount of contact your wheels have with the surface, thus removing the airflow hitting your profile.

You do just that.

Despite a shittier bike in comparison to your competitors, you ride past a couple of drivers, inching closer to Rafe leading at the front. He's utilizing the edge of the curve, another trick in the books, and when he discovers you on his tail, he turns in shock.

"How the fuck did you get here?"

You stiffen a laugh, shrugging your shoulders and sparing him a short glance before you accelerate. You admit, Rafe's bike is better—a sleek red model with stronger engine power and gear shift, but you had other conditions in your favor. You had your physics, the memory of the roadmap in the back of your hand, and a riveting spite that refuses to let Rafe gain victory.

Accelerating around one of the turns, you drive closer to Rafe to gain control of the edge, tilting your bike at a dangerous angle. You knew it would be a risk that could get you injured—especially on this specifically slick road—but it cuts off your surface contact by a significant amount, allowing you to speed up ahead of him.

You hear a muffled fuck over the reception.

That's how the rest of the race works. Rafe picks up on your little tricks and tries to mimic them, but they don't replicate well because he doesn't know the foundation. You speed ahead. He speeds ahead. It's a neck-and-neck contest that can be anyone's game.

"Come on, Maybank, you know you ain't gonna win," Rafe sneers with heavy breaths through the shared audio. "You're gonna fuck up your bike at the rate you're going."

You want to talk back. Desperately. But you hold onto your anonymity.

"You really think you're gonna win against me, Pogue?"

Silence.

Rafe's goading you, but you're not taking the bait. Your concentration is sharp, your focus paid straight. He'll never admit it, but it makes him nervous.

Ditching the vocal approach, Rafe decides on action. He leans closer, hoping to cut you off. You have since taken the edge from him, utilizing it with your mechanics, and he made it his next mission to push you off the tracks.

You aren't blind, you noticed. It's not illegal in the game—since this is an illegal race itself—but it's a dirty trick. Something you pull out when you're desperate.

That gives you a reading.

Rafe's so focused on making JJ lose, he's not even trying to win anymore.

Instead of chasing a direct route to the finish line, you decide to go off-road into a thin strip that can skim a few seconds off but is more dangerous. The construction site is still up, with scattered loose asphalt and split rock thrown across the narrow path, marked by a caution sign that reads slow down.

Tough luck.

Rafe concentrates on your wheels, trying to predict your next moves. When you change routes, he barely questions it and follows. You pull to the edge of the restricted path, luring him with an opening, and just as he's about to cut through—you tuck inwards and accelerate, twisting your bike in a quick curve that leans into your centripetal gravity.

This causes a torrent of loose pebbles, gravel, and rocks to be thrown at Rafe's direction, deflecting off his helmet but forcing him to slow to a stop. You take a few seconds of respite to increase your speed and turn back around, moving out of the tightly-wounded spot and onto the original path.

The more you ride, the larger the distance grows between you and Rafe until you cross the finish line.

Pulling to a halt, you park. While you wait, you check your nails to see if anything messed up.

Not a scratch.

The familiar roar of a strong engine closes in and the red motorcycle announces its arrival with a glaring headlight. Rafe crosses the finish line—second place—and does an awful parking job before throwing off his helmet, marching over to you.

"What was that, Maybank?" He snaps, closing the distance as he reaches for the collar of your jacket, lugging you towards him till you're face-to-face with your helmet still on. His hot breath fans against your visor. "Think you could pull that bullshit and not have to pay the consequences?"

You scoff, unfazed by his aggression and move to release your strap, his steel blue eyes following your every move.

He sees your nails, the recognition dawning slowly, before you pull off your helmet.

And the look on Rafe's face is incredible.

"Wrong Maybank," you correct with a smirk while his grip around your collar loosens. You set the helmet on your seat. "And next time, if you don't wanna play dirty, don't start something you can't finish."

"It's you."

His voice is indistinct, and his expression is unreadable. You don't know if his observation is a good or bad thing. Sure, the last time you two saw each other, you didn't exactly leave on the greatest terms. You left in the middle of the night after your one-night stand. He didn't call. You didn't try either.

"Yeah?" You challenge. "And what about it?"

He doesn't answer, the only show of emotion is the subtle tick in his jaw.

"Speechless, Cameron? Come on, you were talking my ear off during the race. What happened to that guy?"

You're taunting him but it feels good to deliver him a taste of his own medicine. Does he know how many good quips were lost during your race?

He doesn't say anything, his jaw wired shut.

"Don't tell me you're a sore loser," you tease, tipping your head up to meet his hardened gaze, lifting your hand to brush a strand of his hair—when he catches your wrist. A warning. Your smirk broadens. "Don't be like that. There's some consolation in watching my ass."

He doesn't answer, and you laugh, pulling your arm from his grip. The rest of the racers make it across the finish line, the murmuring of their engines signaling their defeat. You divert your attention to the organizer, who is declaring the winner.

"Gotta go, Cameron. Have to collect my prize." You say, hopping back on your bike.

Before you leave, you glance over your shoulders to Rafe, who hasn't moved from his spot, his piercing eyes following you.

"A little word of advice, next time, you should pay attention to the hands." You declare, flashing your nails to reveal the cherry-red polish. He says nothing, not even a compliment. "Watch what they can do."

With those parting words, you ride off, flipping your middle finger as you return home with your winnings.

The following day, you replace the stolen cash in your father's hidden canister and pocket the rest. While you thought it would be the end of it, JJ's trying his hardest to convince you to split the loot.

"Come on." JJ whines, sliding into a booth in your section. You're lucky there's barely any customers today, saved for a couple of locals in the middle of their lunch. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have the money."

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have almost killed myself trying to win." You retort, claiming the seat in front of him.

He scoffs. "Tell me about it, you cleaned out my tires."

He's referring to the fact that due to the advanced techniques you used during the race, his bike wasn't able to handle the pressure and smoothed out the ribs of the tread pattern.

"It’s your fault you didn’t invest in better wheels."

"Maybe with the money I can,"

You scoff, pulling your dab pen from the pocket of your work apron and taking a long hit, exhaling the strawberry-flavored smoke.

JJ says your name with a pout.

"No." You declare firmly, irritation bubbling in your chest. "I won it. I keep it. It's as simple as that."

"You're such a bitch," he slumps back against his seat, toying with the salt-and-pepper shakers on the corner of the table. "No love for your baby brother."

Even though he's guilt-tripping you, a part of you is considering it. Not because you want to concede to his manipulation, but rather because you do have an obligation to take care of him, no matter how annoying he can be. Before you reach a decision, the bell dings to signal the arrival of a new customer.

Rafe surveys the diner before he lands on you.

"Why is one of the Powerpuff Girls coming over here?"

You shrug, unable to provide him with a sufficient answer, when Rafe stops just in front of your booth.

You raise a bored brow, exhaling another puff. "Table for one?"

"Like I would be caught dead in a place like this."

"Yet, here you are." You wave a hand out to the open diner. "Would you like to try our takeout option?"

JJ stiffens a laugh behind his closed fist and Rafe glares at him. "Don't you have someplace to be, Pogue?"

Your brother clears his throat. "Yeah, actually, haven't you heard? I was with your mom last night—"

"Hey," you snap your fingers in front of Rafe, dragging his attention away from entertaining your loose cannon of a brother who's itching for a confrontation. You know topics about Rafe's mother are a hushed topic around the town, and you'd rather not deal with it. "That's enough. What do you want, Cameron?"

Rafe's objective was to talk to you alone, in private, but seeing as you won't be willing to move, he had to settle on the open discussion.

"I want a rematch."

"Really?" You pretend to consider the offer. "No thanks."

"It wasn't a fair race."

"For me or for you?" You turn your body to him, tilting your head. "If I remember correctly, you tried to push me off the road."

"And you led me astray and drove rocks at me," he retorts, flicking his eyes to catch a subtle peek of your short work attire. He grits down on his teeth, returning his focus back to your face. "Look, it doesn't matter. I just want another race with you."

You shrug. "I don't care."

His jaw ticks.

You would consider the deal if there were any appealing proposals he could give, but there are none. You have no skin in the game. You have no reason to engage. You chalk up Rafe's reaction as his inability to accept a no once in his life.

"Anything else?"

He doesn't respond.

Without anything substantial to add, you turn back to your brother. JJ sends a look across the table, one only a sibling can read, and you return a silent gesture that says later.

Rafe says your name.

Another customer enters the establishment and this time, it means you have actual work to attend to. With a reluctant sigh, you stand from the booth, raising a brow at Rafe's refusal to step out of your way. When he doesn't move and you're about to walk around—he grabs your arm.

"Don't ignore me."

"It's not like it's the first."

Irritation seeps through his chest. "God, why are you being so difficult?"

Your nostrils flare at the accusation, meeting Rafe's gaze head-on. "Let go."

He doesn't listen.

"If I had known you were in the race, it would've turned out completely different."

"So, what? You're saying you would've been worse if you knew you were racing a woman? Such a gentleman, Cameron." You announce, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"That's not what I said."

"No, it's what you're implying."

He groans. You're twisting his words. Riling him up in a way that makes him incapable of explaining himself. "Don't be a bitch, Maybank."

Your brother lets out a protest from the insult but you remain unaffected. You heard worse and you learned to take pride in that label.

Rafe exhales a heavy breath, trying to regain his composure. Especially with you. "Listen—"

"JJ." You call, hearing him shuffle from his seat. Rafe glances at the blond, standing obedient and tall behind you, and once he determines your brother isn't about to ambush him, he turns back to you.

"It doesn't have to be much. We can settle for it."

"I don't want to settle. You lost. There's nothing else to be said."

Frustration creases his features, and he snaps. "Do you have no sense of integrity? Is this what it's like for all you Pogues?"

Now you're getting annoyed. "You talk a lot of shit for someone who won't accept defeat. Did daddy see you come home empty-handed and remind you of what a disappointment you are?"

Rafe doesn't respond and you knew you took it too far when his grip around your wrist tightens to a painful exertion of force. You push through the sting, refusing to give him a reaction.

"JJ." You hum in sing-song.

Rafe cuts another look to your brother, his expression unnerved by his inactivity. "Why the fuck do you keep calling out for him? He's not going to help you with this; he's too much of a little bitch."

That's enough.

"Jay." You confirm, swiftly dodging to the right as your brother comes up from behind and shoves Rafe back—hard. He surrenders his grip and Rafe knocks back against a couple stowaway chairs, startling nearby customers.

Rafe recovers and attempts to swing when JJ ducks, grabbing his midsection and tackling him to the ground.

When the brawl reaches a limit (as in you had enough), you grab your brother by the shoulder and haul him off the Kook, forcing him back on his feet. Rafe quickly rises, about to charge forward for another round, when you step in front of JJ.

He stops centimeters from your face, heaving with staggered breaths, anger darkening his expression while his sharp gaze lands on you.

"That's enough." You assert coldly, your skin pricks with charged electricity from the closeness the two of you share. You should step back, but you refuse to be the first one. "You got your little fight. It's time for you to leave."

His voice is low. "I'm not done with you."

"It doesn't matter." You declare, moderating your apathy. But when you tip your head to meet Rafe's awaiting stare, you falter slightly. "Leave before you make a bigger fool of yourself."

Rafe glances around the diner, at the terrified group of customers watching the commotion from the back, and knew it wasn't in his best interest to continue his behavior. Not in public anyways. Even if he still needs to talk to you, this isn't going to be the place to settle.

Rafe steps back.

"This ain't over, Maybank." He huffs, and this time, it isn't referred to your brother in scorn. It's you.

You wave it off, watching his figure disappear out of the exit.

When you turn back to your brother, you hold your fist out in camaraderie. JJ bumps his roughened knuckles against yours.

"You gonna explain now?" He asks, pulling a couple of chairs back on their hind legs. "Or did I just get into a fight with Rafe Cameron over some petty shit?"

You scoff at his melodramatics. "Don't you always?"

Eventually, you settle down and reveal to JJ what happened during the race, detailing everything from top to bottom. When you conclude, your brother reminds you of Rafe's closing remarks but you brush off the threat as an all-talk, no-action situation.

That appears to bite you in the ass the following weekend.

JJ decided to enter another race, with the money you sponsored to help upgrade his bike, and he made sure not to smoke anything the day of. Since you had an early shift, you decided to swing by after work to watch.

The track is different from the last. It's an open arena, barren of any trees and moss, stripped down to a dusty, dirt path with mountains of solid soil sectioned off at different areas. The only addition, made by the organizer, were heavy floodlights that marked the circuit, illuminating the way for drivers.

While you're paying a small viewing fee at the entrance, Rafe notices you. He should be running through his final inspection for his bike, but his eyes stray to check you out: from the fabric of your miniskirt that barely covers your ass to your top that leaves little to the imagination. The only consolation to the entire outfit is your racer jacket. If it wasn't there, he'd bet all the guys here would be giving you an eyeful.

He didn't need that.

Feeling the heat of a stare, you twist your head in search of the source before connecting your gaze with Rafe. It's been a couple of days, and you've since cooled off from your last interaction. Enough where you merely raise a brow in his direction, and he juts out his chin in greeting.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the little flutter in your stomach. It's such a fuckboy move and you're falling for it.

The race begins with the blow of a whistle. Your eyes follow your brother's bike, the blue-and-red motorcycle decorated with an assortment of stickers and scratches, zooms across the path by tucking into his vehicle, reducing his air resistance.

You gawk. He actually listens to you for once.

Engrossed by JJ utilizing your techniques, you didn't even notice Rafe trailing dangerously close behind. Despite having good openings to pass, Rafe forfeits them for a chance to cause trouble, roughly slamming into JJ's taillight.

The viewing crowd releases a gasp, reacting to the aggression played out on the course. You knew the organizer wasn't going to do anything about it—if anything, it ups the stakes and increases the entertainment value—so you could only hope JJ takes the time to play it smart and move out of the line of danger.

He doesn't.

He reacts—driving the side of his bike against Rafe's.

"Fuck." You mumble, leaning against the barbed fence that separates the audience from the race. The prickly edges weathered down to a dull touch and you thread your fingers through the gaps.

Rafe draws back to add distance and falls a few seconds behind JJ. You can only assume it's to regain his control over his engine power and you were proven correct when Rafe takes the last shot and revs against the back-half of JJ's bike.

It knocks him over.

The audience lets out a startled shock as you cling onto the fence, digging your palms painfully into the spikes. JJ doesn't move, his body and bike rolled out on the ground while the rest of the racers maneuvers around.

No one is going to help. He has to do it himself.

"Come on, JJ." You mumble with a bated breath. "Get up."

As if he could hear you, he wills himself off the ground and rises to his feet. A sigh of relief escapes you when JJ goes to retrieve his abandoned bike and hops back on to continue the race.

But you already knew the results.

By the time everyone crosses the finish line, you march down the racing course, heading straight for the arrogant Kook leaning against his bike. A satisfied smirk plays across his face when he spots your incoming figure.

You shove at his chest. "What the hell was that?"

Rafe feigns nonchalance. "That was me finishing shit you started."

You recognize your words being used against you. It's aggravating. You can handle it when it comes to you, and you alone, but when he puts your little brother in danger, he crosses a line.

"You son of a bitch—" You're about to lunge forward but JJ quickly grabs your waist and holds you back. You stare daggers in Rafe's direction.

He remains unaffected by your emotional outburst. Rafe can't help but revel in the fire behind your eyes, the anger coursing through you; no longer able to dismiss him with your icy demeanor.

Stepping closer to you, Rafe shoves his hands into his pockets. "Let me tell you something, Maybank. That's gonna be the least of your worries. I can always do worse."

Your jaw tightens. "Goddammit, Rafe. You're rich; what the fuck do you need the money for?"

"I never said anything about the money. I said I want a rematch."

You're heaving. Adrenaline pulsing through your veins. You haven't been this riled up since, well, the last time you spoke to him. He always manages to push your buttons, make your heart race. Even if you try to maintain your cool, Rafe always breaks it.

JJ's mumbling something in your ear, informing you he's fine, that there's barely any damage to him and the bike, but you know that's not the issue. You know he'll bounce back, he always does.

This is a whole separate conversation.

Once you calm, JJ releases you.

You consider every possible scenario. You couldn't ask JJ to stop racing, it's his pride and joy, and you don't want Rafe to hold that power over you. But, god, is that man an irritating piece of work.

Rafe watches as you mull over the finer details, your brain working overtime to produce a move. It's not going to work. Not when he has a chance.

"Come on, Maybank." Rafe challenges with a smug look, knowing he has you where he wants. "You scared?"

You scoff, refusing to stand down. "That's cute. Next thing you're gonna do is goad me into thinking I won't win against you when we both know that's not true." You scowl. The corner of Rafe's lips curves into amusement. "Stop it."

"I'm just waitin' for you to give me an answer."

He knows exactly what you were referring to but Rafe refuses to give you the satisfaction of acknowledgement. You purses your lips together. His eyes flick down to them.

"What do I get?"

The fact you're negotiating means you're willing. "What do you want?"

Your eyes glaze over to his motorcycle. "Your bike."

Without hesitation, Rafe agrees. "Deal."

"And you leave JJ alone."

He rolls his eyes at the add-on clause. "Fine, whatever."

You suck on the inside of your cheek, contemplating the meaning behind all of this. What does Rafe want from you? Why is he so determined to get this rematch? Is it pride, ego? Or something else?

It's a puzzle you can't seem to solve.

Rafe clicks his tongue, drawing you back to reality. "Not gonna ask me what I get when I win?"

You merely shrug.

Rafe scoffs and approaches you, stopping a breath away. He gives you an opening to step back, to back down, but you refuse—as he predicted. His dark blue eyes meet yours and you smell the faint scent of his cologne waft in your direction. "I get one night with you."

JJ's behind you, firmly shaking his head, refusing the deal on your behalf. "No fucking—"

"Shut it, JJ." You silence your brother before turning back to Rafe with veiled curiosity. "Why?"

He shrugs, not revealing anything, mimicking your mannerisms in a way that adds onto the allure. Fuck, now you have to take it.

"Fine," you nod, taking JJ's helmet from him and exchanging it for your jacket. A couple of wolf whistles are heard around the course, especially from the other male racers watching the interaction, but your attention is set dead on Rafe.

His eyes trail over your body, unabashedly taking you in. When Rafe hears the catcalls aimed at you, his expression sharpens, and he rubs his jaw with the palm of his hand.

"You can keep it on."

"Why? Can't handle a little skin?"

You hop on JJ's bike without another word and Rafe shakes his head at your comment, the ghost of a smile plays on his lips. As you admire the new screen your brother installed at the front of the motorcycle, which tracks your progress, a headset piece invades your vision.

"Don't forget this." JJ reluctantly offers.

You turn over to Rafe, who's since gotten on his own vehicle, adjusting the strap of his helmet under his chin. "Should I use this or am I gonna hear you bitching in my ear again?"

Rafe shouldn't tolerate the amount of disrespect you're giving him right now, especially in public, but he's too worked up with the adrenaline from you accepting his deal. He doesn't worry too much, knowing he can always punish you later.

Instead, he flips you off, and you smirk, putting on the headset.

When you pull up to the starting line, a thin strip etched across the dirt, you rock against JJ's bike to find your position. Rafe slides into the slot next to you.

"Ready, Maybank?" Rafe asks over the static channel. "You can talk. You don't have to pretend to be mute now."

"Maybe I wasn't pretending." You declare, cutting a glance over him through your helmet. "Maybe I don't like talking to you."

With a small smile concealed under his headgear, Rafe counts down. You flip down your visor, and when he arrives at one, you bolt off.

You use your tricks; Rafe takes the edge. You discovered the improvements JJ made to the bike allows you to switch lanes with fluidity, granting you the power to swerve left-to-right with little effort.

This is both good and bad because while you can maneuver better with a slight tilt of your handlebar, the dirt path of the circuit is something you're not used to. It's JJ's forte. The ground has less traction, especially with the wheels JJ owns, which means you have to be more cautious with your leans.

Rafe uses the cut of the edge to propel forward, but once you angle your bike to a safe degree, tucking in, it allows you to bypass him.

You exhale a deep breath. It felt like you almost tipped over.

"You got some good moves." Rafe compliments, just as you sprint past him.

A smile curls on your lips. "You could do better."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he twists his throttle to increase his acceleration.

Rafe tries to mimic your techniques, tilting his bike, but it leans a lot more than he intended, and he has to quickly pull back to flat surface. You notice the earnest attempt from the corner of your peripheral vision.

"You good?" You ask, sparing a glance over your shoulders as you make a wide turn.

"You worried about me?"

"Never mind."

Rafe chuckles into your headset, saying something you don't pay attention to. You know you could win this, without a doubt. Rafe is a strong rider, with a stronger engine, but he lacks confidence in his moves. He uses mediocre turns to match and, with a larger central gravity mass, it's harder to control his tilts.

The bike would be an honorable prize you can give to JJ. Or, you could use it yourself. You haven't decided.

Yet, the what-ifs hang thick in the air. You can't help but wonder why Rafe wants to spend the night with you, what drove him to make this deal, and what could happen in the quiet, intimate space shared between the two of you.

If you win, you'll never find out.

To you, your curiosity outweighs any materialistic possession.

Rafe uses a narrow opening to circumvent you, speeding ahead with the obnoxious roar of his engine. By the time you catch up, he made it across the finish line.

You park, throwing down the kickstand as you pull off your helmet and headpiece.

"Don't get too cocky." You say to Rafe, who got off his bike to approach you.

"I'm not. You will, though."

You tilt your head at him. "Still talking a big game? Remember the last time you tried that?"

Rafe scoffs but he can never say he's not entertained by you. Intrigued by you. It's one of the reasons why he wanted this bet so badly. His hand circles your wrist, gently tugging you along. "Let's go."

You don't move. "Don't you have to collect your prize?"

"I am."

Butterflies spread through your stomach at the implication, even if it's possession. You say nothing in response, sucking on the inside of your cheeks, before glancing over to JJ.

"I gotta get my jacket first," you say, hauling yourself over the seat, noticing your skirt has hitched up over your hips. Before Rafe receives a free show, you tug it down over your ass and stroll over to your brother, taking your jacket in exchange for his keys. A silent interaction shared between the two of you, knowing what's about to happen next.

“He has a faster bike.” You explain simply.

When you're about to follow Rafe over to his motorcycle, JJ catches your bicep.

"Don't fuck him."

Despite being younger, JJ still reserves a sliver of protectiveness over you. At times, it can be irritating but you knew it came from a good place in his heart. So much so, you couldn't lie.

You merely shrug.

Arriving at the familiar red bike, Rafe extends his helmet for you. You doubt he kept a spare, so since there's only one, you push it back into his chest. "You're driving. You'll need it."

You always push back on him for everything. A tick of frustration flashes through his expression. "Don't be difficult and take the fucking helmet, Maybank."

You truly despise that label. Snatching the helmet from his hands, once you adjust the strap under your chin, you wordlessly mount over the seat and wrap your arms over Rafe's waist, squeezing tightly as a form of rebellion.

When you arrive at Tannyhill, you hop off first and Rafe leads you into the empty estate. He informs you that his parents and sisters are gone for the night and he has it all to himself.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" You ask, raising a brow.

He shakes his head, dropping his keys on the designated bowl. "No, it's to let you know you can be as loud as you want."

You flush at the crude suggestion, but you don't let him see. Instead, you ascend the flight of stairs to reach his bedroom and, when you slip through the cracked door, it hits you how long it's been since you were last here.

Everything remains the same but there's an air of difference. An edge you can't put your finger on. You decide to separate yourself from the memory, taking a seat on his desk.

When Rafe walks in afterwards, he scoffs upon noticing the seat you've chosen. "You know there's a bed right there."

You shake your head, crossing your legs while you shimmer out of your jacket. The room is oddly hot. "No thanks. Don't want you to get any ideas."

"Yeah?" Rafe pulls out the desk chair from underneath you, flips it around, and takes a seat on it backwards, his legs straddling the backrest. "What ideas would those be?"

"You tell me, Cameron." You say, taking a hit from your dab pen, needing something in your system to loosen you up and calm your nerves. "What am I doing here?"

He shrugs, keeping you in the dark a little longer. It's driving you crazy, but your skin prickles with anticipation, eager to see how it unfolds.

"I expected more." You admit, leaning back against the back wall, uncrossing your legs. Rafe catches the sight of your panties underneath your skirt and he swallows hard. "I thought this would be more satisfying."

He ignores your comment. "You're doing that on purpose."

"Doing what?" You glance down, following his line of vision before a smirk rises to your lips. "Oh, that?" You spread your legs further apart, inviting the space, and causing Rafe to inhale a sharp breath. You snap a finger in front of his face, forcing his gaze up to yours. "Eyes up here, Cameron."

His jaw flexes and you notice the small tent in his pants.

"Stop teasing me."

"I'm not doing anything." You raise your hands in defense, the motion exposes your cleavage a little more. This time, it's intentional. "I'm here because I lost a bet."

Rafe stares at you, needing some sort of a distraction. With your presence in his bedroom, he can't help but remember the last time you were here. When he was inside you and how perfectly your cunt wrapped around him; he'll never admit he's been fisting himself to that image. You splayed out across his mattress. The sounds of your needy moans.

Fuck, he wants you.

And you knew that too.

"Where'd you learn to race like that?"

You chuckle to yourself, taking another hit, the weed slowly taking effect and making you feel all woozy. "You took me here to ask for some tips?"

Rafe lets out a low groan. "Can you be serious for once, Maybank?"

"Can you be honest?" You remark, closing your legs and leaning forward on the desk. "Why did you bring me here?"

Rafe stands from his seat, kicking the chair aside. He closes the distance between you, tucking a hand under your chin to meet his gaze. His voice is low. "What do you think?"

You hum in consideration, blowing out a small ball of smoke from your pen. It bursts upon his face. "I think you have terrible negotiation skills."

"Wrong." His free hand slides up your exposed thigh, tracing absent circles on the inside of your legs. "Try again."

You swallow hard, his gaze piercing and demanding. You keep your voice steady as you come up with the next excuse. "You're terribly lonely at night."

Rafe scoffs, amusement ticking at his features. His hand closes in on your aching core, brushing a knuckle against your dampened panties in a way that causes a small whimper to escape you. "I think we both know what I want." He murmurs. His lips graze against the open curve of your neck, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. "Do you remember the last time?"

You pretend to rack your brain for the distant memory, but you knew exactly what he was referring to. A shuddered breath leaves you as Rafe plants a phantom kiss against your neck, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

You need to remain in control.

"Oh, yeah. It's been a while." You muse, your voice softer than intended. "I almost forgot. How big is your dick again?"

Rafe scoffs again. He knows you're messing with him, pulling at any strings to strike a blow to his ego, but he decides to entertain you. His hand departs from between your thighs to catch your free hand on the desk, guiding it up your exposed stomach before stopping just below your naval.

"Here."

Warmth flushes your entire body and the ache between your legs is getting harder to subdue. You are close to admitting defeat but you can't let him win. You're enjoying this little game too much.

"Hm," you lower your hand down your belly, his hand sliding along. "I remember it being here."

"You're wrong again." He shakes his head with a tsk. "We have to do something about that memory of yours."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head up, realizing how close Rafe's face is to yours. "Maybe I need a visual reminder."

Rafe smirks. "If you want to see me naked, Maybank, all you gotta do is ask."

He's giving you an opening.

"Okay."

His brows knit together. "Okay, what?"

"Take off your pants. I don't have all day."

Rafe laughs. He can't believe he's with someone like you right now; blunt, rebellious and thrives on the adrenaline of playing mind games. His type usually follows along the line of submissive, willing to do whatever he likes, whenever he wants, but he loves this cat-and-mouse game he has with you.

And only you.

He unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants and boxers, his cock springing free. "Enough?"

"No." You shake your head immediately, salivating at the sight of his perfect cock. Truly, it's been a while and you cannot believe you've been missing out. "I forgot I'm more of a hands-on learner."

Spitting in your hand, you lean forward and wrap your manicured fingers around the base of his length. Rafe lets out a low groan as you stroke him, feeling all the thick veins underneath your palm, pumping him with increasing speed.

You feel good. Too good. The way you're touching him, he could come right there. His dick twitches beneath your hand and Rafe lets out a little shudder, squeezing his eyes shut. When you lower down to cup his balls, a bit of precum spills at the tip. “Fuck, baby.”

You could no longer handle it.

You draw back, leaving the emptiness of your pressure and his eyes snap open. Brows drawn together in confusion. "What happened?"

"Back up." You slide off the desk, placing your hand on his chest, pushing him back. Each step of yours is met with a backward step of his. When he falls onto the bed with a soft thump, you haul him into a sitting position.

Before Rafe gets a chance to question, you push your panties to the side and sink down on his cock.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, feeling the sheer size of him stretch you apart. Rafe releases a thick groan when you straddle him, the new angle allows him to push in deeper, and your walls wrap around him with a familiar pressure. Just like last time. "God, I feel so full."

He grins. His hand lowers between you and presses down on your lower stomach, feeling his bulge. You whimper, your head spinning. "Don't do that."

"Just remindin' you."

You're tight is what Rafe realizes. He doesn't know if he's imagining it or because the last time you hooked up felt like a dream but it almost feels as if no time has passed. "Do you keep this pussy tight for me, Maybank?"

"God, Cameron, do you think I revolve my entire life around you?" You ask, throwing your arms over his shoulders, connecting your gaze with his. "Do you think I sit around waiting for you?"

His answer is immediate. "You should."

You scoff, looking away. The loss of engagement irks Rafe, so he does it again, pressing down on your lower stomach, causing his bulge to press against your sensitive walls and you arch into him in response.

Your breath shudders. "I told you not to do that."

"I guess we both don't listen to each other."

It's true. You're always arguing, bickering, doing something that rivals one another. It shouldn't work. You shouldn't be here to begin with, but the consolation has always been physical. The sex is just so much better.

Rafe's breathing is heavy, his body aches for some friction. "Are you going to move?"

You bite your bottom lip, contemplating your options, before shaking your head.

His jaw ticks. "What are you doing, then?"

"Being difficult."

Rafe recognizes his words coming from your pretty mouth and, judging from the tone, he realizes it's not meant to be a good thing. You look at him with a raised brow, challenging him to speak. And he's not one to back down.

"You are difficult."

You huff in indignation, expecting a different outcome, especially when you have his dick in a vice grip. You decide to raise yourself off his cock, inch by inch, as punishment. But Rafe's hands are quick to grab your hips, slamming you back down with a moan. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

The sudden motion leaves you lightheaded. You try to keep it together. "Thought I was too difficult for you."

"Stop putting words in my mouth." Rafe commands, frustration flashes through his handsome features. He can play your games but when it comes to an unreasonable attitude, that's when he has enough. "Why'd I put this much fucking effort to get you here if I didn't fucking want you?"

You turn away again but Rafe grabs your face. "Look at me when I talk to you."

You try to will your defiance but something in his expression makes you falter. Step back. His fingers dig into your cheeks, not to a painful degree, but as an act of dominance. "You think I forgot about all the times you mouthed me in public?" He scowls. "At the diner? The race course? You think I'm gonna let that shit slide?"

You gulp, your body flames at the way he's addressing you. The way he's handling you. You don't refute in opposition, allowing him to hold control. "Move."

You roll your hips on command, guided by his hand on your hips, and the pleasure is instantaneous. Rafe releases a moan, dropping his hand from your face to steady your movements, while you tip your head back to feel how good his cock is inside you.

"Come on, Maybank, go faster." Rafe instructs and you nod with compliance, quickening your speed. Your hands clap around his shoulders for stability. "That's my fucking girl."

While you rock against him, Rafe plants wet kisses against your open neck, sucking on the sensitive skin in a way that draws out your needy moans. The moans he's been thinking about ever since he saw you at the first race. His hand slides down between you, rubbing your swollen nub with his thumb.

"Oh, fuck, Rafe, fuck," you whimper, arching into his hand when Rafe finally captures your lips and swallows your little sounds with a drawn-out kiss. His tongue swipes over your tender bottom lip, making your head spin.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he groans, as you rise closer to your peak. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close."

You pull yourself off.

It was with reluctance, but you knew what you needed to do. Your pussy is aching, dripping, but the look on Rafe's face almost made up for it. The loss of contact infuriates him, and as he's about to grab your arm and drag you back, you shake your head. "Take it off."

You're referring to his shirt. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Take it off or you're not coming."

Rafe shakes his head. "You first."

You don't protest, knowing it'll slow down the process and you're throbbing too much to let that happen. Your fingers hook under your top before pulling it over your head, exposing your perky tits. Rafe's eyes follow your movements as you remove your skirt and panties next.

Rafe easily tugs his shirt off his body, throwing it across the room, before impatiently leaning forward to grab your wrist—pulling you right back to him.

You push him onto his back. Rafe obliges as you crawl over him, your legs straddling either side of his torso, your wetness dripping all over his chest. He doesn't understand this new position, but before he gets a chance to ask, you lower yourself to kiss him.

Your hand draws up to cup his jaw, nails digging into his cheeks as you leave bruising and demanding kisses against his swollen lips. When you pull back for air, Rafe's eyes are hungry, desperately needing more.

Your lips against the shell of his ear, you ask. "Do you wanna taste me?"

He nods.

"Stick out your tongue."

Rafe does as he's told and you spit in his mouth, the string of saliva connecting you to him. "Don't swallow." You declare, rising to your knees as you hover over his head, your dripping cunt just centimeters from his face.

You try to go slow, descending down, but Rafe grows impatient and hooks his arms over your thighs, pulling you down on his face.

"Shit," you moan out as Rafe laps over your slit, sucking on your swollen nub like a starved man. Your legs tremble at the act, holding onto his headboard. "Oh, fuck, Rafe, that feels so fucking good."

Rafe Cameron can eat pussy, and you struggle to hold yourself together as you shake under the pressure he's giving you. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you're so close to coming, and Rafe recognizes that. Before you can reach your peak—and just like you did to him—he pushes you off and flips you over.

The change in position surprises you, your profile digging into the mattress while your wrists are pinned behind your back. Your thighs shaking, your cunt needy.

"Ass up." He commands, as you will your knees to follow orders, lifting your cheeks in the air. His hand admires the firm curve of your ass, before his fingers finds your sensitive and still-aching clit, teasing you with a pinch that causes you to flinch out of his touch.

You let out a pathetic whine.

"Do you wanna come, baby?" He taunts, his cock is red and swollen, aching for some release. Your entrance is dripping and welcoming, but he refrains from doing anything until he gets some words out of you.

"Yes, yes, please."

He fucking loves that word.

Rafe lines his slick cock against your wet folds before pushing in with a hard thrust. You let out a little yelp at the intrusion, clenching around him in a way that leaves him groaning at the sensation.

He thrusts in hard and fast, pacing himself to pump out all the desperation he needed for the past hour. You moan and whimper against his sheets, slobbering at how rough he's going into you. The room echoes with the sound of skin-on-skin, the squelching of your wetness from the continuous pumps.

"You feel so fucking good, Maybank," Rafe grunts, his hips snapping against yours, skin bruising. "This is why I wanted a rematch with you. I couldn't stop thinking about this fucking pussy."

You warm at the confession. With a labored breath, you proclaim. "Fill me up, Rafe. Make me feel like it's worth my time."

He scoffs, shaking his head as beads of sweat form against his brows. "Such a fucking slut."

"Yes,” you moan, “now use me like one."

His pace is brutal, his cock sliding in-and-out of you, while you can do nothing but moan and claw behind bounded wrists. His free hand holds down your hips, keeping you still as Rafe pushes you towards your climax.

The familiar tightness coils inside of you, and you mumble your upcoming release to him, which does nothing but increase his ferocity.

You come with a scream, his name rolling off your tongue like a god. Rafe continues to abuse your sopping cunt, using you until he finishes inside, his hot cum spurting between your walls, filling you up as promised.

When he releases your reddened wrists and pulls out, you immediately slump against the wrinkled sheets, fucked out. Rafe drops to the space next to you with heavy breaths.

You take a minute to gather yourself. Your legs are shaky and sore, his cum leaking out of you, and your eyes flutter close from exhaustion.

When you finally will yourself to get up, on wobbly knees, you move around to find your things. Once you spot your underwear, you slide your panties over your hips, searching with more confidence for the rest of your clothes.

"Maybank, where are you going?" Rafe props himself by the elbows, watching as you spare a glance over your shoulders.

"I'm going home." You say simply. "You got what you wanted."

"I said the night."

You stop, facing him. "I assumed that was just sex talk."

“Yeah, but,” fuck, Rafe rubs under his jaw, unable to explain himself once again with you standing there, naked, waiting for him to answer. “I meant the night too.”

You raise your brow at him. "You want me to stay the night, for real?"

His jaw clenches. "Is that not what I just said?"

"Why?"

Rafe shrugs. He doesn't answer. He doesn't know if he even has an answer for it. All he knows is that he didn't work that fucking hard to win a race just for you to leave after sex. Not again.

"Cause you lost a bet."

You roll your eyes but abandon your search for your clothes. They’ll turn up eventually. You saunter over, straddling his lap as your hands cup the underside of his jaw. You tilt his head, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with me.” You tease. Rafe rolls his eyes.

"With that attitude, it's hard to."

You feel a bit more secure. "Good. I like our fights a little too much to lose them."

"Yeah?" His arm wraps around your waist, "does it get you hot and bothered?"

"Yeah, actually," you tilt your head, brushing your thumb against his jawline, his breathing slightly hitch under your touch. "One of my favorite parts of our interactions."

"Better than the sex?"

"Nothing's better than the sex."

You end up staying the night, falling asleep in Rafe’s arms as he cuddles you. That was a surprise. By morning, you took the opportunity to use his ensuite, showering and cleaning yourself up. When you finished your routine, Rafe’s awake and offers to drive you home.

It’s still early when you arrive back at the Maybank house, so you didn’t expect anyone to be up. Luke was knocked out on the living room couch, nursing bottles of beer, and JJ’s bike was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he spent the night at the Chateau but when you slipped through your bedroom, you were surprised to discover your little brother camping out on the middle of the floor.

He wakes up when the door creaks.

"You're back."

“Yeah.” You hum noncommittally, shrugging off your jacket and hanging on the back of your closet. “What are you doing in my room?”

You knew the answer was because he was waiting for you to arrive home safely. But it went unspoken. JJ shrugs, rising to his feet as he announces he had something important to share with you.

“I checked the monitor on my bike.” He begins, as you cross your arms over your chest. “And it was… interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well, it tracked your race with Rafe.” JJ explains, which you knew already. “But it recorded you going under the bike’s speed limit. Like, you weren’t maximizing your accelerations.”

You press your lips together, saying nothing.

“Did you let him win?”

Your eyes connect with JJ’s blue ones, and he discovers the answer without you offering your words. “Why?”

Then, it finally hits him.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”

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etfrin · 3 months

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— ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴘʟᴀɴꜱ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ? | ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ ʀᴇɪᴅ

✧— ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: NSFW | subby to soft dom! Spencer, fem! Reader, insecure Reader in the beginning, Spencer gets punched once, oral sex (male receiving), blood kink if you squint, praise kink if you squint, no use of y/n, uses of nicknames such as baby, sweetheart etc, fingering (female receiving), squirting, pussy slapping, overstimulation if you squint | lmk if I forgot something!

✧— ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: A blind date with Dr. Spencer Reid ends in a surprising manner, including a spilt lip and a thief

✧— ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.6k

✧— ᴀ/ɴ: probably one of my most favourite work I ever wrote, please give it love <33

「ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ」

You were on a blind date with Dr. Spencer Reid.

Penelope had set you both up, and you had agreed to the date because there was no harm in it. The man himself was punctual meanwhile you were unfortunately ten minutes late. In your defense, you had to keep redoing your eyeliner.

You won't admit it to him when he asks why you were late. Instead, you said dismissively, “Oh, it's the traffic.” The stare he gave you assured you of the fact that he knew you were lying.

“The rush hour shouldn't begin in this area for another hour. Even then if you were truly stuck in traffic, you would have come even later,” he said as a matter of fact.

You raised your eyebrows in shock, your lips parting as you scoff. “Ah.. yes.. well..” You decided to let him know the truth, “It was actually because my eyeliner kept getting messed up and I had to redo it. I am sorry.”

“No need to apologize. The average woman spends about 22 and a half minutes getting ready when they go out,” he said, his fingers tapping on the table.

“Oh,” you said, taking in the fact, you suppress the urge to Google it to see if he's correct. “That's cool,” you smile softly at him.

The rest of the date goes averagely well. Spencer told you as much as he could about his work and you did the same. You learned about the man's IQ, and about the fact he was a genius. The longer the date goes on, you seem to realize you're not for someone who has achieved so many things at such a young age.

Your whole life was a mess. And Spencer noticed that you were hesitant to talk about yourself after finding out more about him. The date ended on a polite note. Despite the fact, you decided not to call him back, you liked him. He was sweet, a bit dorky but you liked hearing his random rants about things you never even thought about before.

The man insisted on walking you home and you agreed. It was a thirty-minute walk. As you both started walking, it was hard to keep pace with him. He had slowed down for you, and your hand kept brushing with his. But neither of you made the next move of simply holding hands.

You wanted to though.

Both of you continue walking in silence. You notice the full moon in the sky and grin. “The moon is so pretty,” you whispered.

“Yeah, very pretty,” Spencer mumbled back while looking at you.

You looked at him, and asked, “Wanna hold hands as well? It's kinda chilly.”

“I don't see how holding hands would help with the fact you're feeling cold. Would you like my jacket instead?”

You don't say anything, smiling at the agent so he would get the hint. He doesn't. You shake your head at yourself and state the obvious, “I would like to hold hands with you as we walk. Can I, Reid?”

He flushed, crimson covering his pale face. He stutters, “Ye- yes I would like that. And please call me Spencer.” He offers you his hand and you tangle your fingers with his. Within the next second the sweet moment is ruined.

A thief had come out of nowhere and had snatched your back. You stand there gaping at the figure that seems smaller by the second. Spencer didn't take a moment to react; he sprinted after the unsub. You get out of your stupor, your legs make you run towards the thief albeit slower than Spencer.

Spencer catches him. The agent gets punched but he quickly takes control of the situation. He twists the thief’s arm while you take your purse that was now on the street. You take out your phone and call the police. The police arrive soon.

Spencer handles everything and the thief is taken away. You notice that Spencer had a split lip and he was bleeding. “Hey,” you said, taking his attention away from the police. You raise your hand and you touch the cut. He winces.

“Sorry,” you mutter, “My house is right around the corner. I have first aid.” You add, knowing that he doesn't know how to take hints, “Come up?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. Fuck, he's adorable. Even with his perfect hair now a complete mess. He looked much, much better as a mess. You had to suppress the urge to lick the bead of blood on his lips.

“That would be nice,” he mumbles.

You bring the man to your apartment, Spencer has taken care of everything. You'll have to go to the police station tomorrow to give a statement. Right now, you focus on the pretty boy instead. You make him sit on the couch.

You bring out the first aid. You wet the cotton with the antiseptic, you sit in front of him. You already liked him. There's no denying that. But seeing him messy with blood turned you on to no fucking end. He was pretty before, now he's sexy to you. Your poor panties were suffering because of it. Completely utterly soaked with your arousal.

You act normal as you sit in front of him. You tilt his head and he lets you. Fuck. Even that made your cunt clench around nothing. You swallow as you press the bud onto his cut. He lets out a whimper. And... you felt yourself going insane, wanting to hear that sound on repeat.

You clean up the wound to the best of your abilities. You sit back satisfied. You grin at him, your hand musing his hair up because you just couldn't control yourself. “All done, pretty boy.”

You can't help but feel disappointed that it was over. He will leave. You'll drown in your own insecurities to ever ask for a second date. “You didn't like me much, did you?” Spencer asked. His hand is in his hair desperately trying to fix his ruined hairstyle.

You scoff playfully, “Why would you think that?”

“Most people I meet find me… overwhelming. Weird,” Spencer said, “I agreed to this date expecting nothing different. It was to satisfy Garcia. But… you were certainly nicer than the people I have met before. I would like to thank you for that.”

Your heart aches as you hear his words. You lean in, both of you sharing the same air now. Your hand is on his cheek, your thumb caressing his skin. “You're not weird, Spencer. You're unique. And you're out of my league. I am sorry if I made you feel bad-”

“No, you didn't,” he cuts you off, leaning in even closer. His eyebrows are furrowed as if he doesn't understand his actions. It was like you were gravity-pulling him in. Your lips brush with his, your breathing heavy. You can hear your heartbeat thumping against your ribcage.

“I never felt this way before,” he murmured, his hands getting tangled in your hair. His eyes were dark, and he closed them. He tried to pull back, trying to have a bit of self-control. He couldn't, he only leans in further, trying to close the gap between both of your lips.

“What way?” You whispered, wondering how you could make this man feel anything.

“I have an urge to kiss you. I have had that urge since you had bitten your lip nervously when I called you out in your childish lying. I have wanted to kiss you since you smiled at me genuinely as I was talking about things you as an average person couldn't possibly be interested in nor were you paying attention."

“Hey!” You chuckled, finding your way to his lap. “I was paying attention,” ‘To your lips’, you didn't add.

“Were you?” He challenged.

“Hmm,” you hum, your hands around his shoulders now. Your fingers twirling his hair near his nape.

“Liar,” he giggles. “I never thought I would find it endearing.”

Your heart warms as you hear his words. “Kiss me, Spencer,” you whispered, forgetting about his split lip. Spencer doesn't seem to care about the cut because he pressed his lips to yours as soon as he got your consent. You moan, your lips parting to welcome his tongue.

The kiss was clumsy. Wet, and sloppy and you loved it. The faint taste of blood coates your taste buds and you love it. Your tongue caresses his, trying to engrave his taste on your lips. You bite his lower lip, opening his cut. He hisses but doesn't break the kiss.

The kiss turns bloody but neither of you cares.

You rather enjoyed it more than you should. You lick the cut before kissing him again, he sucks your tongue tasting his blood on you. Both of you break the kiss before your lips meet his lips again in haste.

He groans into your mouth. You break the kiss and whisper, “Want you.” Your hands were on the hem of his sweater. “Can I?” You asked. He nods and you take it off. You then begin to unbutton the brown dress shirt he wore.

As soon as you get him undressed. Your hands begin to explore his body. He was lanky, and you loved it. He shivers when your finger tweaks his nipple. He sighs your name and you can feel his cock, hard and eager for attention beneath you.

“You like that, baby?” The nickname falls naturally from your lips. Your tongue ghosts over his neck, the hollow of his collarbone. He doesn't reply but you can feel his cock twitch. That's enough of an answer to you.

Your lips find his sensitive nipple. And you suck the hard pebble, enjoying his gasp. You smirk, as your tongue twirls against his sensitive flesh. Your hand gives his other nipple the same attention. You drag your tongue further down his stomach, your lips pressing wet kisses all over his heated skin. “Can I taste you, genius?” You whispered, your mouth took a bit of his skin to bite. You leave a mark of your teeth on his skin.

The mark looks good on him.

Spencer whines, “Yes, please.”

You unzip his pants, tug the cloth down, and free his legs of it. You were going to do the same for his boxers. But you decided to do something else. His boxer briefs were dark due to the pre-cum, one spot more prominent than others.

You place your lips there, and you suck his pre-cum that has seeped into the fabric. He groans at the sight, his eyes getting closed shut as his chest rises up and down. Spencer was breathing through his mouth. You find his cockhead, and suck harder, the material of the boxer getting darker and wetter because of your saliva.

Spencer moans your name, all loud and unabashed in the living room. With his moan comes a plea, “Don't tease, please.” You don't listen. Your tongue flicks over his clothed slit coaxing out more of his pre-cum. Only when you are satisfied with the mess you created, do you pull back. You snap the man back to reality by pulling the hem of his boxers and letting it snap on his skin. He whimpers, and you wonder briefly if he was as freaky as you. You wondered if he liked pain.

A discovery for another day.

You set him free from the confines of his boxers. His cock springs up, the cockhead hitting his stomach. The cockhead was a dark pink, bordering on a painful red. His cock was begging to cum with the way the veins were bulging, and his slit kept letting out beads of pre-cum. He was long enough to stretch out your cunt perfectly, he was thick enough to roll your eyes back.

He was… to describe this with a single word was impossible. All you knew was that you wanted his cum in your mouth, you wanted his cum painting your pussy walls. You wanted him. You wanted him ruined by you. You don't let a single thought of insecurity creep into your mind.

You distract yourself with his cock instead. You use your hand to squeeze more pre out of him. You enjoy the way the pearly white liquid drips onto your hand. You press a kiss to each of his balls. He gasps, both of his hands in a tight fist. His eyes were closed.

“Look at me, baby,” you whispered, “Look at me as I have my meal, baby.”

You lick all over his cockhead. You don't care if he opened his eyes or not. You were too busy moaning as you tasted him. Salty, and thick, you loved it.

Spencer Reid is now your favorite flavor.

You begin to take more of his cock in your mouth. Stopping halfway through his length because you didn't want to choke. You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose before you hollow your mouth. You begin to suck, not giving a fuck about your technique. You're hungry. You're eating him up.

This was as simple as that.

Your tongue runs all over his shaft, and the corners of your lips have saliva and pre-cum oozing out. Making you look like an absolutely pathetic mess. Spencer whimpers as he looks at you, his hand coming down to gently wipe away the mess. Even when his mind was numb with pleasure, he managed to be sweet. You reward his sweetness with a harsh suck causing his hips to thrust forward. The action made you take more of his cock, and you choke.

He tries to pull out but you stop his ministrations with a sharp slap on his thigh. You glare at him despite the fact your view is blurry with tears. Spencer tenses before relaxing. “Sorry,” he groans, “I didn't mean to do that. Feels so good, sweetheart.”

The nickname is a melody to your ears. You begin to bob your head upside down. You blink, letting the tears fall, you see the way his knuckles were turning white from the fists he made. You put your hands over his fists and pry them open. You intertwined his fingers with yours. His nails now dig into your skin, and yours does the same. You both have crescent-shaped marks on each other's hands.

Your nails dig into his skin a bit harder as you slowly take more of his cock down your throat. You take him down to the hilt, your nose pressed into his mound and you breathe in his primal scent. It drives you fucking insane. It reminds you of your sopping wet cunt that is aching to be filled.

Your eyes roll back as you continue. You move a bit and find yourself between one of his legs. You pressed yourself against the shin of his leg. You moan, the vibration of the sound sends jolts of pleasure to the boy. He cums, all thick and hot down your throat without a warning.

You let his cock slip out of your mouth, you couldn't manage to swallow all of his cum. It coats your lower chin, you rest your head on his thigh as you begin to ride his leg like a deprived whore. Your soaked panties weren't much of a textural pleasure against your pussy. But you would take anything you can get.

You wanted to cum. That's it.

Your actions are interrupted by a sharp yank of your hair. You moan from the pain and the pleasure that comes along with it. Your blurry eyes focus on Spencer, looking at you with wide brown eyes. “Come up, darling,” he said, gently, “Let me take care of you now.”

You whimper, hating the way you were interrupted but listen. You find yourself on his lap again, your back pressed to his chest. The brown-haired boy kisses your nape. “You were so good to me,” he praises, “Thank you.”

You wanted to reply, but instead, you let out a soft noise. Your head resting on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good girl,” and you nearly cum from the praise. His eyes are curious as he sees your reaction. The man is memorizing your reactions so he can play your body like a fiddle in the future.

You were giving him all the answers.

Good girl indeed.

He unbuttons the blouse you were wearing. It reveals your bra, and your nipples straining against the silk material. Spencer pulls the bra up, freeing your breasts. Spencer hums in satisfaction as he uses both of his hands to knead the soft flesh. You moan as he pinches your nipples, he plays with your breasts effectively.

You were so wet, you could feel your juices had coated your thighs. “Spencer,” you whine, “Do something please.”

He stills, “You want more?” He breathes down your neck, and you shiver as you feel the exhale of air on your skin.

“Yes,” you beg.

“What do you want?” He asked, his hand sprawled over your tummy. He pressed his hand softly, his fingers tapping on your skin in the similar way he tapped the wood at the beginning of the date.

“Anything,” you gasp, “anything you give me, Spence.”

He chuckled, and it was a bit mean to your ears. “And to think you didn't like me. How wrong you have proven me, darling. One of the few to ever do so,” he whispered, his tongue peeking out to lick the shell of your ear. You moan as you feel the wet muscle on your skin.

His hand travels further down your body. His finger snapped the button of your jeans open. He slides down your jeans alongside your panties down to your knees. Exposing your glistening pussy to the cold air. You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes closing as you melt into his touch.

He was looking at your pretty cunt, his fingers pushing your pussy lips aside to see your cute clit and your slit. “Beautiful,” he whispered. And he watched your cunt clench around nothing. He pressed his palm onto your slick sex, he began to slowly soak his palm onto your arousal. The pressure of his hand is delicious.

But you needed to be ravished.

He pulled his hand away before he brought it back to your pussy in the form of a slap. You jolt in his hold as he slaps your pussy, once, twice. The wet sound ringing in your ears as you nearly cum from this.

“You're really wet,” he notes, his fingers swiping up and down your folds. His digits were glistening with your arousal. You don't say anything, feeling your body burning with lust.

His thumb finds your clit, he plays with the bud. Flickering it with his fingers, even going as far as pinching it. He makes the poor bud all swollen and sensitive, you let him do all that, getting closer to your high from the simple yet mind-blowing touches.

“Spencer,” you moan, as you feel his fingers playing around your slit. Teasing you with the hint of going in but never venturing inside of your walls. “Come on,” you whine.

He tuts you, his fingers finding your clit to pinch the bud rather harshly making you see stars. “Don't be impatient,” he said.

His finger finds your entrance again, this time he pushes his middle finger in. The slide is extremely easy and wet. You moan as you let yourself be filled. The single finger pressed deep inside of you, and he twisted the finger making you see white.

“Warm,” he mumbles, “Tight too…” He pressed his ring finger in, and soon he was knuckles deep inside of your pussy. “You can take it,” he whispered, as his other arm was wrapped around your stomach keeping you caged.

“Yes,” you agreed with a loud whine, “I can!”

He begins to slowly fuck his fingers into you. The squelching sounds made because of how slick your pussy was spurring him on. “So wet for me,” he groaned near your ear, as his fingers found your spongy spot.

You gasp he expertly curls his fingers to the spot, his fingers rubbing the soft, yet hard sensitive muscle. You begin to squirm, feeling entirely overwhelmed. His arm tightened around you. His fingers begin to thrust inside you, faster and faster by each second.

You cry out his name. He doesn't stop. He won't stop. “Please, please, please!” You beg, but you don't tell him to stop so he continues. His lips were pressed to your neck, his tongue licking your pulse. “Good girl,” he groaned, as his fingers got soaked in your juices. Your slick walls clenched around his digits like a glove as you feel closer and closer to the edge.

He pushed a third finger in without warning. And it burns, but it burns so good that your eyes roll back. The coil that had gathered in your stomach snaps, and you feel yourself relax as your mind lets go. You don't even realize you're squirting, your cunt spasming around Spencer's fingers.

It feels so, so good.

You feel your eyes getting droopy, you feel yourself completely content and your mind breaking away from reality. You think you hear Spencer softly calling your name out. And you swear you whispered a coherent response.

You feel a pair of lips kissing your forehead.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of you.”

Suffice it to say, that wasn't the only date you and Spencer went on.

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d10nyx · 3 months

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don't hold your breath(nobody's home)

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, uncle-niece incest, non-con, loss of virginity, very minor blood description, forced alcohol consumption, alcoholism from leon ofc, reader gets slapped, age gap, guilt, one threat, fingering, p in v, non-consensual creampie, crying, idk leon feels entitled cause his brother sucks, reader hinted at having nice tits idk

a/n: sorry if this sucks ass... my motivation for writing has been non-existent w real life stuff n all the drama so... i feel like this is awful but here we are. title from razzmatazz by idkhbtfm... not proofread i'm sorry </3

word count: 1.9k words

Leon knew he had a drinking problem. He just hadn't realised it had gotten this bad. He couldn't even get his dick up with viagra anymore. He frowns as he looks down at the brunette he was planning to fuck, tempted to try and just push it in soft.

He ends up just kicking her out to drown his sorrows. He wasn't dealing with this shit tonight, not when he was seeing his asshole brother tomorrow. Pretty wife, perfect kids. His job pays better than Leon's ever will, and he didn't need to undergo years of trauma. Lucky bastard.

Leon does what he does best that night and drinks enough whiskey so he can pass out without worrying about the nightmares coming to ruin his night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He hasn't seen you in a good six years. You were still playing with dolls and shit when he last visited. Makes him feel stupid when he brings you a plushie as a gift. Clearly he forgot how time worked, cause he still expected you to be thirteen. You still hug him and say thank you, sweet as ever. When his brother said he'd be watching the house and looking after you, he didn't expect to see you so... grown. Too old to need a babysitter, really. Even if your parents are gonna be gone for a week.

He gulps as his hands settle on your hips, trying to prevent you from pressing against his hardening cock. Down boy. At least his dick still works. It just took his college-aged niece to get it up. Doesn't help that you've got your tits smooshed against his chest.

Therapy was gonna be a doozy this week.

He could only pray that this doesn't turn into anything. The last thing he needed was his dick being the thing that got him thrown into prison for doing something stupid to you, no matter how cute that body of yours is. That's a new one, he thinks, mentally slapping himself for even thinking about touching you like that. He'd never do it, of course. That's sick, and he knows it. He's just so frustrated. And you're hot. A total babe. Somehow, you managed to get a better rack than your mom. Must be the Kennedy genes coming in. Leon's got tits for days.

He knew he had a drinking problem, but he never thought he'd lose himself this much. He never thought about hurting anyone. He's not a bad guy. It's just that every time he tried to be with someone, he just couldn't get his body to react the way he wanted. That's what the oxytocin was for, he thought, already thinking about taking a swig of whiskey from the flask in his pocket. If only that fucking stuff worked on him. The part of his brain that controlled his cock seemed to be permanently on vacation, and his wires clearly got crossed somewhere if he wants to fuck his own blood.

Whatever. He could get through a week alone with his niece without any trouble. He's faced worse monsters than the ones making themselves present in his mind right now. He'd keep his distance, and all would be okay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That didn't work. Of course it didn't. You were just as clingy with him as you were when you were a kid, following him around like a lost puppy. He's convinced he's clutching the glass of whiskey in his hand hard enough to shatter it as you curl up against his side. His cock is throbbing, and he seriously hopes you don't notice how the fabric of his jeans is getting a little strained.

You really need to stop with those tits. He's gonna lose it if they brush his arm one more time. He's not sure what it is about you, particularly, that has him acting like a teenage virgin again, but his self-control is wavering by the second. He hasn't paid a single second of attention to the movie he was meant to be watching to keep his mind off of you.

Fuck this.

He takes a swig of whiskey that drains half the liquid in his cup in one gulp. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe he'd drunk a little too much while he was here, ‘cause his brain clearly isn't working right. Not when he's pinning you to the couch, kissing your neck despite your protests.

“Leon… Leon, what're you doing?” You force out, small hands pressing at his chest as if you'd be able to knock him off. Cute. He'd fought creatures six times your size. You didn't stand a chance.

He starts undressing you, and you start writhing and crying, hitting his chest with clenched fists. He swallows the lump that builds in his throat, wiping the tears that fall down your cheeks.

“Shh… it's okay, I'm… I'm gonna take care ‘f you.” He murmurs, his voice slightly slurred from how much he'd drunk. You cry even harder when he presses a finger into you, making the guilt rise up faster in him. That's not fair. He's being nice. God didn't bless him with much, but at least he gave him a fat cock. You should feel lucky he's prepping you. Not making him feel bad.

“Hey.” He warns, shoving another finger in just to shut you up. You finch when he scissors you open. Poor thing. “That's enough. One more complaint for you, and I'll just force myself in.”

Shit. Now he really does feel like a monster. He's not drunk enough to handle the pure terror on your face at his words. He fumbles on the coffee table with his free hand as he lazily pumps into you with the other. Glass? No. Bottle.

Maybe you need some, too. Get you nice and pliant so you'll take his dick without bitching. Not a bad idea. He twists the cap off with his teeth, gulping some of the liquid down himself. He takes another mouthful before leaning down to kiss you, spitting the liquid into the back of your throat. He keeps your mouth on yours even as you try to jerk away, making sure you swallow it.

You really are adorable as you start coughing and spluttering. Such a sweet thing, you probably hadn't even drunk before. He lifts the bottle to your mouth, pouring some more into your mouth before setting it down, covering your mouth. “Swallow.”

He starts thumbing at your clit as he fingers you, relishing in the ways your whimpers turn into soft moans, your hips bucking against his hand. He manages to coax an orgasm out of you with a few more touches, a big smile spreading across his face.

“There we go, sweetie. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?” He coos, unbuttoning his jeans. The sound of the zipper has your eyes widening in horror, and he tuts softly. “What're you giving me that look for? It's your turn to take care of me now.”

There goes the begging and pleading again. It has his brows pinching together as a frown tugs at his lips. You really are his brother's kid. So goddamn ungrateful. He just took care of you, and now you just want him to… what? Fist his dick in the guest room?

He smacks you so hard your head snaps to the side, your breaths coming out in short gasps. You look better like that, tears stinging your eyes but your body completely limp. He can see the fight draining out of your eyes.

“I was gonna be nice.” He mumbles, brows furrowing as he lines his tip up with your entrance, forcing himself inside in one thrust. He groans loudly, shuddering as your tight heat envelops him. His eyes look down, locked onto your cunt as he fucks into you with long strokes. He freezes when he notices blood. He's not sure if he's happy or disgusted that he's your first. No wonder you put up such a fight.

You keep weakly begging him to stop, but your pussy is gushing all over him. It's not his fault he can't stop – you're giving him the hottest look he's ever seen, and your puffy cunt is so fucking greedy for his cock, sucking him back in everytime he starts to pull out.

“S-sorry… I'm so sorry…” He grunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts, groaning at the sound of your punched out moans as he drives into you with as much force as he can muster. You almost sound like you're enjoying it, but you're still fucking crying and he can't take it. His heart hurts.

“Baby, please…” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the betrayal on your face. His arms tremble as he holds himself up, sloppily fucking into you. “I'm sorry… just stop cryin’, please…”

Every time his hips smack the fat of your ass, you're moaning out a ‘please’. With his eyes shut, he can pretend you're begging for more. That you like this. That is, until you start saying ‘stop’. He winces, but the movement of his hips doesn't falter.

“Fuck, baby… please stop begging.” He pleads, throwing his head back as his tip kisses your cervix. He whimpers as it makes you tighten around him, angling his thrusts to hit that spot each time he fully sheaths himself inside of you.

“I-I can't stop…you feel so… fuck. So fucking good. M'so close.” He groans. He can't even find the strength to pull out anymore. He buries himself balls deep in your cunt, grinding himself into your tight heat.

“L-Leon… please.” You say weakly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as panic sets in, your hands pushing at his chest. “Y-you gotta pull out, you can't… you can't.”

“What?” He breathes out, cracking his eyes open to look at you again. He looks genuinely confused. Why would he ever pull out when you felt so good? He can't bring himself to. “Baby, no. I'm cumming inside of you. Can't pull out now.”

That seems to bring your fight back. You start struggling under him again, punching him with all your strength. Luckily, that's not a lot. Especially when you're sluggish from your first time drinking and getting fucked. It's Leon's lucky day.

“Shit, baby. Don't look at me like that.” Or do. He's gonna cum if you keep staring up at him with that wide-eyed expression. “No need to be so scared, princess. I just… shit. Can't help myself.”

Doesn't take longer than a minute after that for him to finish. He buries his face in your neck, whining as he cums. His cock kicks inside of you, the warmth of his release filling every inch of you. You start sobbing all over again, slumping weakly against the couch.

He lies on top of you, his weight pressing you down into the couch. He pets your hair like you're a doll, his fingers carding through your hair.

“I'm sorry, baby. Forgive me. I'll be so good. Do whatever you want. Didn't mean it.” He murmurs, kissing your cheek over and over as if he's trying to get you to relax. He keeps it up until you fall asleep, wrapping you up in his arms.

When you wake up in the morning, you're fully dressed in your bed. You almost think it's a dream until you feel the dull throbbing between your legs.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy #tw dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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gglitch1dd · 1 month

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Listen yall, I know we hate Enji right. Totally hate him.

But like... 👀

Sugar daddy?

Imagine being Enji Todoroki's sugar baby, because my friends say I'm crazy when I say this AND I'M NOT CRAZY!

Warning: Some smut towards the end, INTENSE daddy issues (Glitch starts sweating), Age Gap.

Big bad fire lord Enji who's a father who's children don't trust him. He views himself as a father who failed and considering they are all old enough that they have their own careers, they don't want to rely on him anymore.

Enji who has enough money to burn because his kids wont let him spend it on them.

Divorced, Enji Todoroki who doesn't even want to attempt entering the dating scene because he just knows how that is going to go.

Enji who's still Number One, just waiting for Shoto's generation to finish being sidekicks and burst into the ProHero space and take over the ranks..

Enji who gets dragged to meet and greet one day with Hawks (who only has like a handful of people actually wanting to meet him since everyone is scared of him), and one of them just happens to be you.

You aren't afraid of him, nor do you seem to care that he is a giant muscular man, over twice your size with hands big enough to cover your entire face.

You talk too much, you flutter around him excitedly asking him about how it is as Number One, he isn't your favourite hero by any means but you respect his career and what he's had to do to get there.

He finds you annoying, but he can't help but crack a smile when you attempt to make him laugh.

Enji who finds himself thinking about you at the end of the day, in his empty home wondering whether you would smile as big as you did today.

Enji who meets you a few days later while at a coffee shop by pure coincidence. Who actually gets the courage to talk to you and ask about you.

The two of you talk for a few minutes, you telling him about what course in varsity you were in and what exactly you were doing.

He honestly wanted to throw in the towel when he found out you were nearly twenty years younger than him. That sounded like his next scandal.

However, you managed to make him feel as if time just ran by.

Somehow, between getting to know you better and managing to actually get your number, he found out that you were struggling financial. Your average student that was just trying to make enough money to survive and pay off the student debt you were in.

So Enji decided to help. Not because he wanted anything back, but he had the money that you could use.

That's how Enji became your Sugar Daddy, although he hated the term. He was something like a boyfriend but not really. A Sugar daddy but not really.

The both of you grew close, your own issues and traumas fueling your relationship. He was a failed father and you felt like a failed daughter.

He found pleasure in the little things. In having you hold his hand and drag him around the mall, your eyes catching on clothes that you would love to wear or him buying you a new laptop because yours was old or buying you a new phone because you got a good grade, or him sitting you down for a nice meal because you deserved to taste good wine more than ten times older than you.

However, Enji wasn't expecting to have you come into his home and wind your way into his bed.

Enji was not weak by any means. His self control was impeccable and so was his own strength.

However, having you hold onto his shoulders as you struggled to take his fat Coke can of a cock, was a type of rush he didn't expect to find again. To have you whining, telling him how big he was, how warm his skin was and how nice he felt inside you, all around you. He could encage you so easily too.

He wasn't rough at you the first time. He was slow and methodically, watching you undo yourself on his cock in pure bliss. You whined as you held onto him for dear life, almost as if you were afraid he would disappear. But Enji didn't disappear.

He was right there, and he held his large arms around you. He would rather die than have you, his little flame, disappear and be snuffed out of his life.

-Glitch1d

(random thought honestly)

#enji todoroki x reader #enji x reader #enji todoroki #enji todoroki x reader smut #enji todoroki smut #endeavor x reader #endeavor smut #todoroki enji x reader #todoroki enji x reader smut #todoroki enji smut

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scribbledghost · 7 months

Text

Heard y'all wanted some more Neighbor!Simon headcanons, so here we are!

He gets your number under the pretense of "having a way to contact you in case anything happens at the house".

It's not an "excuse", per se, because that's really what he originally wanted it for. If he saw something suspicious or noticed something off, he wanted to be able to get ahold of you to let you know.

Not the type to leave you on Read unless the conversation is clearly finished, but is a VERY dry texter lmao. Like, "I sent you a paragraph and you responded with "ok"" kind of dry.

Sometimes you notice that he'll be typing for ages, only to give you a one-word response. This is because he regularly spills his guts over text, but goes back and deletes it because he doesn't want to come off as too intense and scare you away.

When he's home, he's only Simon. Ghost is nowhere to be found except for a certain mask he keeps hidden in a go-bag somewhere.

In fact, I headcanon that this Simon especially refers to Ghost as a completely separate person.

"He keeps me alive long enough for me to get back home. Mean motherfucker though."

It helps him sort of... compartmentalize the things he does/sees while he's deployed. Those things didn't happen to him, they happened to Ghost. Is it healthy? Probably not. But it keeps him afloat.

He notices when your lights are on at odd hours and messages you. Most of the time it's just a quick "Everything okay?"

If you tell him yes, he won't push. If you tell him no, he'll ask if you want to talk. If you don't, he won't pry. If you do, he's more than happy to do it through text, phone call, or (if it's really severe) coming by to keep you company.

Do the same for him, and he's putty in your hands. In fact, it's how he first realized he had a crush on you.

You sent him a text. Told him you hadn't seen him around for a few days. Asked if he was alright.

"You don't have to respond, but I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

He let you in a little that day. Called you. Told you some of the things he'd done for work were haunting him. He couldn't give details, but your soft voice soothed him better than anything else he'd tried up until that point.

As soon as he finished that call, he knew. He didn't admit it for several more weeks, but he knew then.

(I'm still on the fence as to whether or not I want to make him retired/discharged in this AU, but just imagine for a second that he's out of the military and spends most of his free time volunteering at a local animal shelter. Just. Imagine that with me)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost scribbles #neighbor simon

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l1tw1ck · 3 months

Note

dean winchester consumes my mind LAWDDD I beg for anything with that man, surviving off of scraps looking for more top male reader x dean 🤕

- 🛸

No Longer a Mentor

Sub!Bottom Dean Winchester x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,512 ☆

After spending his young adult years with you, his mentor, more than his father, Dean found himself falling for you. He eventually made a move and forever changed the dynamic of your relationship

🕯️: well luckily for u, i just finished this draft :3

CW: Age Gap, First Time Bottoming, Blowjob, Fingering, Frottage (Sort Of), Creampie

Dean’s known you for a couple years, you're a friend of his dad’s and a fellow hunter. You became his mentor in place of his father, who often hunted on his own and left Dean in your care. You liked to stay in your state since the area was basically a supernatural magnet while his father preferred to travel the country so he chose you to finally allow Dean to stay in one place for more than a week. If you were anybody else, Dean would've been annoyed that his dad didn't take him along despite his age and experience. Instead of going to college, Dean spent those years learning to hunt with his father and mostly you. Thanks to all the time you spend with each other, his allegiance to you is almost stronger than his allegiance to his father. He hangs on your every word and treats you like a god. It's thanks to you that he finally accepted his bisexuality. But he doesn't want to tell you that.

He first started feeling differently towards you when you started to become more physical with him. You often hold onto his shoulder with your strong hand or pull him out of the way by his waist and it drives him crazy. He so desperately wants to feel your hands on other parts of his body and vice versa. Your voice makes him weak in the knees and you sound especially attractive when you've found your prey. You're much older than him but he can't get rid of his feelings for you. He tries his best to be content with just having a crush.

After you two had dinner, you decided to drink with him. The two of you laughed and talked over a few cans of beer and deepened your relationship further.

“You ever been in a relationship, [Name]?” Dean asks, slightly tipsy.

“A few. I mostly slept around in my college years and experimented a bit with other hunters but in the end I decided to marry my job instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to marry someone I could tell everything to so I tried dating within my circle but none of the hunters seemed to click with me in the ways that really matter.”

“That makes sense…then you probably haven't…” He trails off.

“I probably haven't what?”

“Had sex…lately……”

You laugh. “No, I haven't. Honestly, I think getting laid would really help me. It's been a rough couple weeks.”

“I…” Dean gulps. “I could help with that….if you don't mind…….being with a guy..”

You look at him in surprise. “You're drunk.”

“I’ve only had two cans and a half…You know I don't get drunk that fast.”

You look at him differently, no longer with the eyes of a mentor. “You’ll bottom?”

Dean nods.

You smile in amusement. “I might be a little rough, can you handle that?”

He nods again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Come here.” You motion for him to come over to your side of the table. He stands in front of you. “Kneel.” You order. Dean immediately kneels, his cock steadily growing in size. You unbuckle your belt and pull down your underwear. Dean stares at your cock in awe, body heating up as he watches you jerk it to its true size.

“Fuck. You’re big.” He breathes out.

“Too big?”

“I can handle it.” He says, licking his lips.

“Attaboy.” You run your hands through his hair. Dean blushes. “Ever done this before?”

“Never..” His eyes are trained on your length.

“Is this your first time with a man?”

“Yeah…”

Your gaze changes. Dean shivers in arousal. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A long time…I’ve been…fingering myself, in case we….” He looks away.

You grin, turned on by the thought of that. “You'll have to show me that some day.”

Dean’s face gets redder.

“Now, let me see how you suck cock.”

He's so hard right now. He opens his mouth and slowly swallows your length. He makes a dragged out moan in pleasure as he feels your thickness enter him. Pre cum leaks out of his cock as he imagines how it’ll feel in his ass. He bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, mimicking his past girlfriends by simultaneously swirling his tongue around your shaft.

“Fuck–” You moan. “That's it– good boy.”

Words can't express how happy Dean gets when you praise him.

“You're better at this than I expected, baby.” You smile at his cuteness. He can't hide how pleased he is. “You like sucking dick, don't you? I never thought you’d be a cock slut, Dean.”

He moans. He’ll happily be your cock slut. He pulls away and licks your length in a very sexy way, gaining more confidence thanks to his elevated horniess. “I love your cock, sir.”

“Of course, you’re my cock slut.” You press your hand against his cheek. “Stand up and take your clothes off, I wanna use your other hole.”

Dean’s cock throbs even more. He stands up and quickly removes his clothes, shivering under your hungry and lustful gaze. You pat your lap and he quickly sits on top of you, your shafts pressed against each other.

You grope his ass. “I don’t have any lube..” You trail off, mesmerized by his soft butt.

“I already fingered myself earlier.” He smiles.

“Good boy.” You praise him. “Then spit’ll be enough. Say ‘ah’.” You bring two fingers into Dean’s mouth. He sucks on your fingers in the sluttiest way he can before you take them out and gently push one of your saliva covered fingers inside his soft hole. You give him a moment before adding the second, then you start to finger him.

Dean lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. “[Name]~” He arches his back and subconsciously thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against yours. “Your- yours feel so- fuck~” He groans. “So much better!”

You moan as well thanks to the sudden friction. You bring him into a sloppy kiss, the temperature between the two of you steadily rising. Dean pulls away first, more desperate for air, and presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Don't stop– mm- gonna come~” He whimpers. Your fingers find his prostate, an immediate gasp of pleasure leaving Dean’s lips. He throws his head back. “There! Yes!” He moans, grinding against your cock even faster. The combination of his moans, his expression, and his cock against yours all contribute to bringing you to closer your orgasm.

Dean comes first, cum splattering over the two of you. Yours comes second thanks to the amazing look on Dean’s face.

“You're so fucking sexy, Dean, you know that?” You take your fingers out and knead his ass.

“I know.” He gives you a kiss. “I want you inside me.”

You lift Dean up and slowly lower him down on your cock. You both let out noises of pleasure as you penetrate him. He bites down on his lip, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate your girth. Once you bottom out, you give him time to get used to it. “Your cunt feels fucking amazing.” You groan. It's hard to hold yourself back but thankfully for you, Dean has no intention of waiting any longer. He places his hands on your shoulders and starts riding you. He quickly loses his momentum as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. You help him out by grabbing his waist and doing the work for him, allowing Dean to fully enjoy himself.

He knew anal sex would feel good, especially because it's anal sex with you, but he never really had an idea of how good it’d feel until now. Now he's completely blissed out and only able to moan like a slut. It's especially thanks to your quick and rough speed that he's unable to think properly. You couldn't get yourself to go slower even if you tried. His ass just feels way too good.

“Your ass is perfect, Dean–” You groan. “So fucking good-” You hold him and stand up then gently place him on the table after clearing it of the empty cans. You rut into him like a monster, so horny that you feel like you could fuck him all night. You can never get enough of him.

Dean arches his back and shakes as ropes of cum spurt out of his dick. You know you should stop, or at least slow down, but you can't. “‘M sorry baby, fuck–” You moan, hanging your head low as you find your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside, okay? Gonna fill up your tight fucking cunt with my seed–”

Dean’s conscious enough to understand you. “Ye- yes!” He grins. He's been wanting to know what it feels like to get creampied. “Co- come inside!”

Encouraged by his words, you spill your cum into his warm and welcoming hole. Your thrusts come to a stop and the two of you start to catch your breaths.

“That…was so fucking good.” Dean says, leaning back.

#wicks🕯works #top male reader #male reader #dean winchester x male reader #bottom dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x male reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #bottom male character

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hxnbi · 23 days

Text

ღ blue lock boys and their love language

₊˚Ꮺ pairings: nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, mikage reo, itoshi sae, bachira meguru x gn. reader (separate)

♡ NAGI SEISHIRO◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

NAGI, even for his age, is extremely clingy. Whether it is day or night, busy or not, you will see a messy, white-haired teenager clinging to you like a needy koala. It was cute at first, you thought, that is, until you had to do your typical mundane tasks like washing the dishes, cleaning up, or even just doing something as simple as lazily looking at your phone in bed, for crying out loud. You're watching something? Oh well, now its we, all the while, as Nagi collapses next to you, holding you by the waist and pouting about how you didn't invite him.

“But Sei, I thought you hated gore?”

“I like it when I’m with you.”

“Uh huh…”

Though he loves games more than anything else, above all, he adores holding you in his arms, all the while he rambles on in short and scruffy murmurs, complaining about school and the supposedly awful cafeteria food. And keeping you while he's playing games in bed, with you watching him do so? That is Nagi's idea of a perfect date. What more could he ever want? All that he desires is right here in his arms.

♡ ITOSHI RIN◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

The dude doesn't have a colourful bone in his body. To those, even just imagining RIN having a significant other is enough to make those aware drop to an early grave. But, unbeknownst to most, Rin is extremely protective over you. To him, you are his other half, and he is willing to do anything in order to secure your safety above all else. And to also stay the hell away from his brother? Now, that's just a delightful bonus. To you, his sincere actions were his way of showing that he cared.

He considers himself to be your protector, and he will ensure you know this about him. You don't have to lift a finger; he's already on it. His presence alone makes your cheeks flush pink. The things that Rin does, whether it's to help you study for an English test or walk home together late at night, he goes out of his way to show his love and devotion to you and you only, even if it means taking on responsibilities and burdens.

♡ ISAGI YOICHI◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

ISAGI is a pure, earnest, kind-hearted boy—that is, when he's not on the field. But that's beside the point. But that's beside the point. Isagi is aware of his shortcomings and flaws, but he's not about to let that stop him from telling you all about him. Isagi is, undeniably, a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy with his unabashed display of affection towards you. For better or for worse, Isagi will let you know what he thinks. His love language becomes apparent. Isagi cherishes the intimacy of being close to his loved one.

He's all about being utterly and completely transparent with his feelings about you. Not even the most oblivious of people could see the way that Isagi looked at you and assume it was anything but pure adoration. Meanwhile, the others in Blue Lock would watch on from a distance with envy and possibly awe as you and Isagi were together. Or just plain disgust at the sight of romance in their vicinity. Everyone, regardless of what side they were on, had one thought in mind.

'Is this really the same guy from on the field…?'

♡ MIKAGE REO◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

When you're with REO, no day is complete without Reo taking you somewhere lavish, using his influence. You would often find yourself being showered with gifts and luxuries, but nothing is done without your consent, and Reo made damn sure that you were never uncomfortable. He has money, and he is not hesitant to use it. Nothing pleases him more than to spend money he believed to be mere pocket change in exchange for your happiness.

Reo is a busy guy with not only his studies but also being the heir of the Mikage Corporation and then Blue Lock. There's a lot Reo can obtain with money, but there are just as many things he can't—time. Interestingly enough, nothing screams fulfillment to him more than quality time, and utilizing his wealth to create those moments with you holds great significance to him—more than you could imagine—rather than merely simply buying material possessions.

♡ ITOSHI SAE◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

Itoshi SAE is famous, there's no doubt about it. Not only is he prided as the best player in Japan, but he is also recognized as one of the youngest. But that level of attention also comes with immense scrutiny. Sae takes pride not just in his football playing but also in his cold, blunt, and aloof persona. He has only ever cared about becoming the best striker in the world, but despite his own ambitions, he felt a simmering rage ignite in him whenever the media dared to mention you. Because to him, you were his other half.

He hated the press—absolutely despised it—and he was disgusted how every move you made, good or not, would then be scrutinized by reporters and the public alike. No matter what you did, people would give excuses that you didn’t deserve to be with him. Sae would make sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that doubt would never be cast in front of your eyes again. Doubting his love for you is his biggest fear, and it's because of that fear that he tries to spend every possible moment with you. Quality time is hard for a person like him to come by, but that gives even more reason to cherish the little time you both have.

♡ BACHIRA MEGURU◞ ꞋꞌꞋꞌ

Now, unlike Isagi and Nagi, BACHIRA is a delightful blend of both. He's just as clingy as Nagi, and his words can be just as endearing as Isagi. He is all over you with his words, adoring and cherishing you like there's no tomorrow. And to him, there really isn't. For his significant other, there is no point in hiding how he truly feels. This boy is unapologetically honest and is not above engaging in PDA. And so, when the opportunity presents itself, he is all over you. His eccentric energy personality really is contagious, and physical affection is Bachira's way of expressing love; it's his way of expressing that he genuinely loves you with no doubt.

During Bachira's childhood, he was actively bullied, which made him terrified of being alone. You saw that fear manifesting in the instances when Bachira, in the middle of the night, would tightly clutch onto you, showing no inclination to release his hold, consumed by the dread of losing you. At times when Bachira would be back home, he would envelop you in his arms, showering you with affection and whispering endearments, before quickly dozing off with you right in his arms like a stuffed animal, only to then oversleep, even after his alarm went off. With Bachira's phone buzzing in your grasp, you swiftly silenced it, opting to allow him to remain undisturbed in slumber as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. Perhaps, you can let him sleep peacefully by your side. Just this once.

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