Honorable Man (Kento Nanami X Intern!F!Reader)

dlz ; jake lockley.

track ten of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; jake lockley x gn!reader

synopsis ; jake lockley wasn't your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just... he was just there. a ghost living in your house.

words ; 3.5k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au

warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3

main masterlist.

Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatingly fresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze. 

He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Muse, Nothing But Thieves, Radiohead—were you singing them on purpose just to annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.

He especially hated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.

When Jake fronted, he slept in the guest room. Marc had convinced him not to blow more money staying at a hotel—and Steven was trying to persuade him to at least sleep in the same bed as you. After all, they were married to you. 

But Jake wasn’t your husband. Steven and Marc were. Jake was just… he was just there. A ghost living in your house.

The very thought of sharing a bed with you made a chill dance down Jake’s spine. He could never. As appealing as the thought of having you slotted between his arms, sleepily recounting how your day went to him, sounded, he couldn’t ever have that. Jake Lockley wasn’t a domestic man.

His hands would always be dripping with blood that wasn’t his, no matter how hard he tried scrubbing it away.

There were times Jake felt a morsel of regret. He was nowhere near nice to you, and yet you still spared him that infuriatingly patient, sweet smile, always telling him to stay safe before he left to drive his cab around (or do Khonshu’s dirty work), and never failing to whisper good night before slipping into your bedroom. 

Sometimes he had a queer, niggling feeling scratching at the pits of his stomach one would commonly refer to as jealousy. He knew that Marc and Steven got to hold you, kiss you, tell you they loved you as they pleased. 

Jake couldn’t do that. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he was capable of loving someone. 

What made it even worse was that Jake learned about you through them—not because he ever actually tried to get closer to you.

He knew you loved apricots, but not as much as peaches. He knew you loved lighting scented candles whenever it rained. He knew you named each one of your house plants. He knew you were only slightly ticklish. He knew you had a tell; your nose would twitch and your eyebrows would quirk upwards whenever you lied. He knew from Steven to kiss just above your pulse point against the column of your throat to make you melt into him. He knew you had a birthmark between your thighs from when Marc—

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that one.

Jake knew you cried a lot—that one he learned on his own. He could hear you through the walls, but you probably weren’t aware of that fact. 

One night, Jake sat in the living room, staring into nothing, heart twisting angrily at himself until he couldn’t take it anymore, storming out of the apartment after shoving his hat onto his head and grabbing his cab’s keys. Steven and Marc had yelled angrily at him the whole time, but he learned to block their voices out. 

He wasn’t very good in the emotional department, that was abundantly clear.

When he came back home hours later, having driven around the city several times to clear his head, he tried to be as quiet as possible. At an hour as late as this, you were bound to be asleep, right?

But alas, there you were, curled into the corner of the couch, head uncomfortably lolled onto your shoulder. The house was entirely dark save for the dim glow of the television, casting a blue luminescence over your dozing form. Long shadows kissed the slopes of your features, softened with sleep. He noticed that there were tear tracks faintly outlined over the skin of your cheekbones.

Jake froze at the doorway for a moment. Were you waiting for him to come home?

He pushed down any and all intrusive thoughts, begrudgingly shrugging off his coat and hanging up his hat. A calloused palm carded through messy, coffee-hued curls. 

Heart dipping heavy within his chest, Jake stalked forward to turn the TV off, setting the remote down on the coffee table. He stood over you for a moment. A frown twisted at the corner of his lips, drawing his brows together.

Jaw clenching, Jake stepped away from you, slipping into the hall. He leaned against the door to the guest room for a moment, huffing out a low groan. Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

After another minute of frustrated hesitation, Jake willed himself to make his way back into the living room. You were twitching in your sleep, eyelids fluttering with what he could guess were the beginnings of a harsh nightmare. 

Gently—or, as gentle as a highly-skilled mercenary could be—Jake hooked an arm beneath the crook of your knee, the other looping over your shoulders and neck. When you stirred, Jake could only quietly make hushing noises, wincing at himself. Thankfully, you didn’t fully awaken, a soft noise falling from your lips as your nose turned to press against the fabric of his shirt obscuring his chest, just above where his heart scratched at the walls of his ribcage.

He kicked the door to your bedroom open none too silently, eager to set you down. Get as far away from you as possible. The sound of the doorknob thwacking against the wall behind it made your lids shoot open, and you groggily mumbled incoherent phrases under your breath before peering up at him with confused, watery eyes. He cursed internally.

“You’re back,” you said, voice hoarse with disuse. “You okay?”

There were lots of things Jake wanted to say to you at that moment.

No, I’m not okay. Were you waiting for me to get home? I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. Am I an asshole? You shouldn’t ever wait for me again. What were you dreaming of? Was it a nightmare about me?

Instead of any of that, Jake merely set you down onto the mattress with a grunt, dusting his hands onto his pants. He glared down at you as if he was angry—and he was, but not necessarily at you. 

But wasn’t he, though? He was angry that you were just so… so kind to him. He was angry that you were patient. He was angry that you were so easy to love. 

“Go to sleep, peach,” he gruffed. A hot flush coursed over his face at the nickname that had unintentionally slipped out. To his relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your sleepy expression seemed to cave in on itself and you dazedly nodded, head falling back into the pillow. 

If only he could slip in beside you, entangle his legs with yours as you kissed softly over his tense face, call you his.

Jake nearly slapped himself to get his head screwed on straight. He spared your already-sleeping form one last glance before trudging out of your room. Hurriedly, he threw himself into the guestroom, ripping off his shirt and pressing a palm flat against his chest to quell the racing thunder of his heart.

You were not good news for him. 

You didn’t see Jake for weeks after that incident. 

A part of you was glad—you were beginning to miss the sound of Steven’s sweet voice, his tender touches, his passionate kisses. You missed Marc’s back hugs, his strange fixation with your bare legs, his lopsided smiles.

The other part of you, however, wondered about Jake.

“Does Jake ever… say anything to the two of you?” you asked Steven one day, stirring sugar into your steaming tea as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Your husband looked up from the novel he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose while considering your question. 

“Sometimes. Mostly stays to himself—quite the quiet bloke, innhe? Why, love?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you glared into your tea, as if it was the source of all your troubles. Steven was immediately out of his seat, tugging you close until your forehead rested upon his clavicle bone. You sniffled into him, crushing your eyes shut with shame. 

“Does he hate me?” you asked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to make him—”

Steven immediately held you all the closer, crooning out, “No! No, of course not, silly. He’s just… he’s just having trouble with himself, that’s all. Doesn’t really talk to us much, either. It’s not you, love, I promise. In fact, I’m nearly certain he fancies you.”

“You’re not just saying that?” you said, scrutinizing him with wide, glassy eyes. “I don’t need him to love me like you and Marc do. I just… it’s hard when it feels like a man with the same face as your husband hates you.”

Steven’s expression crumbled, and he kissed over your left eyelid softly. “I know. I’m sorry, darling, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Rubbing soothing circles over your back, he urged you to take a seat next to him, leaning over to move your mug of tea from the counter to the kitchen table. “Come on, I’ve got an amazing poem I want you to read.”

It was only two days later that you saw Jake again. You strode through the door, juggling grocery bags in one hand and a stack of books you borrowed from the library in the other. With a huff, you set the groceries down in the kitchen, turning around to see Jake quietly observing you, leaning against the fridge. You bit down a startled scream, flinching at his unexpected presence. 

“Oh,” you said after a second of flustered silence. “Hi, Jake. Didn’t see you there.”

He was observing you with such a sharp gaze that it felt like his irises were cutting straight through your flesh. Finally, he pushed away from the fridge, slowly moving towards you until he stood just in front of you, about an arm’s length away.

“Jake, what are you—?”

“I don’t hate you, peach,” the man said, all gravelly and brusque.

It took you a moment to fully register what he was saying. “Oh,” was all you said, parroting yourself from five seconds ago in a rather poignant manner. “Well… I don’t hate you, either, Jake. Far from that.”

You could see the struggle in the dark depths of his irises. Turmoil raged behind those narrowed lids, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to look away, not even if you tried. 

Feeling bold, you shuffled forward to slowly raise your hands, cupping Jake’s face within your palms. His glare seemed to harden at first, always so angry at things for not going the way he expected it to go, muscles tensing beneath your touch—but when your fingers gently scraped over his stubble, he could feel himself letting go, practically liquefying into you.

“Why are you like this, Jake Lockley?” you murmured, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The action made his eyelids flutter shut. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of you before. He wasn’t prepared for his walls to come crashing down around him so quickly—so easily. “Did I do something to upset you?”

All previous inhibitions thrown out the window, Jake grumbled out a small, “Yeah. All the fuckin’ time, peach.”

You quirked a brow. “Go on, then.”

One of his eyes opened before sliding closed again. “Where do I start? You smell too good—I can never concentrate around you. You’re always singing my favorite songs and it’s buggin’ the hell outta me. You’re always so nice to me—even though you know I’m not like your precious Steven and Marc.”

Something akin to a guffaw fell from your lips. “Well, first of all, thank you? Somehow you managed to compliment me in the rudest way possible, and I commend you for that. Second, I know you’re not like Steven and Marc. But I still love you all the same.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, Jake could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

His heart began tripping over its own gallop of a pace. You’d said it so easily, so swiftly, as if loving him came as naturally as breathing. 

Jake found his eyes falling to your mouth, slightly puckered to the side in thought. 

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, you started saying, “Jake—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupted, glowering at you with a newfound fire crackling behind his eyes. 

You blinked once, then twice. Then you nodded.

A small sigh of content that made Jake far too excited for his own good escaped your lungs as he dove forward and melded his lips with yours, dipping you backward ever so slightly in the midst of his vigor. 

He kissed differently than Steven or Marc did. Steven was languid, careful, and tender whilst Marc was feverish, calculated, and explorative.

Jake Lockley, however, kissed like a mad man. He was all tongue and teeth, desperately furious with his motions, kissing you as if it was the very last time he’d have the chance to do so. His nose slotted against yours, brushing against your cheek as you caved into him, arms winding over his neck to pull him ever so close. 

His fingers immediately clutched at your waist, one moving upwards beneath your (Marc’s) shirt to lightly scratch over the skin of your ribcage and the other shifting lower to tug over the back of your thigh. 

Gods, you just felt so right. 

“Mmh, peach,” Jake growled into your skin as he traversed down your neck, biting at the spot just above your pulse point, which made a low, desperate noise scratch at the back of your throat. He’d do anything to hear that noise over and over again.

“Why do you call me that?” you panted out, fingers threading through his haphazard curls to haul him away from your neck and back onto your lips. 

“You like peaches,” he breathed into you, a groan of agony rumbling from his chest when you nipped at his bottom lip with a hum of approval. “Don’t you?”

A choked sound was all you could let out when he shoved you none-too-gently against the counter, bending over to accommodate for his eager lips over yours.

“I love them,” you whispered once he parted away to catch his breath. 

There it was again. The L word. 

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Suddenly, as if snapped back into reality, Jake halted any and all ministrations, nose only a hair's breadth away from your neck. You smelled so damn good, so tantalizingly tempting, lips raw-bitten and skin flushed with heat.

But Jake couldn’t. You didn’t belong with a person like him. With Steven? Yeah, of course. With Marc? The idiot loved you too much to ever let you go, even if he tried to. 

Jake would bring you nothing but pain and misery and the thinly-veiled threat of danger. 

“This is a mistake,” he said, voice rough with tremendous restraint.

He thought that if he kissed you, all these stupid feelings would wash down the drain, as if you’d be able to suck it all out of him like a goddamn love vacuum. But, no, it was as if just having a taste wasn’t enough. He needed the rest of you. He needed all of you.

But he couldn’t.

“Jake…” Your voice was quiet, breaking off slightly when he let go of you, stepping back while glaring a hole into the ground. 

With the maturity equivalent to that of a prepubescent teenager, Jake stormed out of the kitchen and into the hall, slamming the guest room door behind him so hard that the picture frames of you and Steven and Marc on the walls rattled. 

A week passed by until you saw Jake again.

You were in bed with Marc, shivering as he ran his palms down your waist, swatting his hands away while gritting out, “That tickles, Marc!”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing kisses down your shoulder, nosing your cheek affectionately. 

“Tell me about this one,” he whispered into you, taking your hand to trace a thin scar over the inside of your wrist.

“I was seven,” you whispered. “This boy pushed me off a swing in the playground. I threw my hands out and a rock got me bad—fractured my wrist, too. I don’t remember much, but I remember there was a lot of blood. I’m pretty sure the poor kid was the one that ran screaming for a teacher to come help.”

Marc regarded you with a look of pure adoration, thinly laced with amusement. “Did you really just call the bastard who pushed you a ‘poor kid’?”

You barked out a laugh and he pressed a lasting kiss over your faded scar.

“Alright, your turn. Tell me about this,” you playfully pressed your thumb between his brows. “You got a little divot here. Been furrowing your eyebrows too much, huh? And you wonder why I call you the grumpy eagle muppet.” When he rolled his eyes, you chuckled out, “What? Listen, it’s not my fault Khonshu got rid of all your scars! I gotta work with what I’m given, here!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Marc bit out, though you could tell he wasn’t really being serious with the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, turn around. Sleep time, baby. Love you.”

You hummed in mild contentment, turning around so your back molded perfectly against his chest. “Love you, too, Marc.”

The rise and fall of his chest was deep, rhythmic, so calming that you were just on the brink of sleep—

Until it stopped.

You could feel the body wrapped behind you stiffen. Immediately, you knew this was Jake.

With a lump lodged in your throat, you hesitantly turned around, only to be met with Jake staring back at you, wide-eyed. It was dark, so you could just barely make out the upset tautness of his features.

Jerkily, he started moving to clamber off the bed, all but shaking you off of him like you were a pesky insect.

No. No, you wouldn’t stand for this.

“Jake,” you said firmly, reaching out to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Mute, the man shook his head, legs slipping out from beneath the blanket. 

Desperate, you sat up, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pressing your cheek into his back as you said, “You deserve love, Jake. You deserve my love. Please, stay.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’d just push you off again. Disappear into that guestroom you were too scared to venture into when he left for work. Just when you were on the near precipice of relinquishing any and all hope, you could feel Jake’s shoulders sag. His head hung low as he sighed.

Wordless, he shifted around and you let go of him so he could slip back under the covers. 

Tentative, you laid down next to him, shifting so your head could rest over his chest. His arm jostled around to rest comfortably beneath your neck. 

Jake held you differently from Marc and Steven.

Jake held you as if he was afraid you’d break apart. Jake held you like he had to be ready to let you go at any moment. Jake held you like he was afraid to show you just how much he loved you.

You craned your neck upwards to press a light kiss to his stubbled jaw, then settled back down.

You heard Jake sigh, but this time, it was one of pure relief—utter bliss. It was quiet, but it was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, nose tucked into your hair. “I’ll try to be better with you. I’ll try, peach.”

Nodding minutely, you intertwined your hand with his free one, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “I know.”

Just before your breaths evened with sleep, Jake could only barely hear you drowsily mumble out, “I love you, Lockley.”

He knew you were already asleep, which made the feat of saying it back somewhat easier for him.

“Love you, too, peach.”

Sending so much love to my good friend. Such a joy watching him thrive. It’s so well-deserved. Happy birthday #PedroPascal! 🥳

Bad Knight, Good Knight

Pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (feat. Steven Grant)

Summary: Give Marc a certain look and he’ll give you his all. In the condition that you’re gonna be good.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Unprotected and rough p in v penetration, overstimulation, slight D/S dynamics, sir kink, creampie

A/N: I caught up on Moon Knight yesterday and who would’ve thought that it’d be Marc Spector to give me my groove back LMFAO thanks @soldatspet and @bemine-bucky for the push 😘😘😘

MAIN MASTERLIST

“You have got to stop giving me those eyes in the middle of a job.”

You felt Marc trail closely behind you as you both stepped inside the elevator of an old motel. Unable to help yourself from smirking, you bit down on your lip as you turned around.

“What eyes?” You innocently asked, blinking up at Marc while slightly tilting your head to the side.

The soft yet low grunt that Marc made was almost inaudible. He rolled his eyes before towering you, making you walk backwards until you felt the cold wall of the elevator against your bare shoulders.

“Those eyes,” Marc hoarsely whispered as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning your cheek as he teasingly nosed your skin. “…the kind of look you give me when you want to get fucked.” He said, pulling back just to take in your look.

He hasn’t even laid a finger on you and yet your eyes were already so glassy. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you breathed, your mouth parted and lips glistening.

“That what you want?” Marc asked, his tone teasing as he tipped your chin up with his fingers.

You merely nodded, whining softly when you felt Marc’s knee slot in between your legs to tease your mound.

“Want me to fuck this cunt until you’re begging for me to stop?” He asked again, this time moving his knee back and forth to rub at your aching pussy.

Marc didn’t even let you answer because the way you were arching your back against the wall was enough to let him know how much you needed him to use you. He took a step back from you and smirked in amusement when you whined at the loss of contact.

“Tell me you’re gonna be good.” He demanded, voice louder and firmer this time around.

You panted and almost sagged against the wall, your need to feel his cock almost rendering you weak in the knees.

“I’m gonna be good.” You whispered.

Marc snickered, “Louder, princess.”

You groaned, “Gonna be good for you, Marc!” You exclaimed just as when the elevator reached your floor.

A satisfied smile tugged at Marc’s lips as the doors slid open behind him, “As soon as you step out, you’ll only do what I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

-

“Is my princess getting tired? Thought you were gonna be good?” Marc asked, the patronizing tone of his voice giving you a new sense of vigor to keep going.

He had already fucked an orgasm out of you as soon as the both of you reached the motel room, but of course, Marc was an overachiever. One climax wasn’t enough for him, he needed more so he sat on a chair and had you straddle him, with your hands tied behind your back.

“‘’m not tired…” you panted, slowly getting your rhythm back as you bounced on his cock

Marc chuckled as he watched you with lidded eyes, so desperate to please him like the good girl you said you were. He licked his lips as he looked at your tits bouncing with every movement.

“You’re gonna have to try harder, princess. I fucked you good earlier, didn’t I? Made your pussy cum so hard it had your eyes rolling back to your head. If you want another reward you’re gonna have to ride my cock better.” He mocked, gripping your neck with both of his large hands to pull you closer for a messy kiss.

You moaned against his mouth, feeling his tongue slip into yours. He kissed you roughly, slightly canting his hips upwards before he completely stilled in his seat again.

“Go on, princess. Ride me harder, you can do it.” He encouraged before letting you go and leaning back against the chair to watch you.

Taking in a sharp inhale, you ignored the way your thighs were burning and sped up your pace. You kept your gaze on Marc as you rode his cock, sometimes sliding back and forth instead of bouncing up and down.

Marc’s face scrunched into pleasure when your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock, parting his mouth to let out a soft grunt.

Moans continued to spill out of you; the girth of his cock stretching your cunt out deliciously. There was a slight sting to it but god, you loved the pain.

And you loved how Marc was looking at you like a predator eyeing his prey.

Sweat trickled down both your bodies, mixing together with your wetness that was pooling at the base of Marc’s cock.

“That’s it, fucking my cock so well. Good girl.” Marc praised, opening his legs wider and pushing your thighs even farther apart.

You keened when you felt the tip of his cock hit your cervix when you slammed down on him, your body trembling at the surge of pleasure that coursed through your veins.

Marc choked out a chuckle, “That hit the spot, princess? Felt your cunt clench around me tightly. Squeezing me so fucking good, getting me all wet from your juices.” He said.

“Marc, please…” you whimpered, feeling that familiar tightness in your abdomen.

“What does my princess want?” Marc asked, brushing your hair away from your face.

You swallowed hard and tried to keep your eyes open, “Touch me, please. Wanna cum so bad.” You moaned, rolling your hips against his harder and faster— needier.

Marc hummed before cupping your face with one hand and holding your waist with the other. He held back from touching you that when you felt the roughness of his palm against your skin, you almost felt like your entire body was burning.

“Need my help to get you off, huh? Can’t cum without me touching you?” Marc teased again, running his thumb along your lower lip.

You nodded, “Yes, sir. Please, please. Need you to touch me, need you to make me cum.” You sputtered out your words.

Marc grunted and shoved two of his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to suck on them before he reached down between your bodies to rub on your bundle of nerves.

The action made you moan out loud and your legs quiver from the pleasure. Tears welled in your eyes as you neared your release.

Marc knew your body perfectly, he knew the little cues it would give each time you were about to explode. He firmly planted his feet on the ground and gripped your waist tighter before finally thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

The pleasure from Marc’s cock fucking into you and his fingers rubbing at your clit was overwhelmingly good, so good that made your entire body tremble as you finally came.

A silent scream left your mouth, your nails digging into the palms as you tried to hold onto something but to no avail. The restraints had already left marks on your wrists but you couldn’t care less because you were too focused on how his cock kept on fucking into you to prolong your orgasm.

Tears tainted your cheeks as you went limp and fell against Marc’s sweaty chest, your body jolting from aftershocks as his cock slowed down from slipping in and out of your abused cunt.

You might have lost your consciousness because when you opened your eyes, your wrists were no longer tied behind you and Marc was soothingly rubbing your back while whispering praises into your ear.

“You back?” He laughed as you straightened up to look at him.

His face was red sweaty, with some of his curls sticking onto his damp forehead. You breathily chuckled as you kissed him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You still gonna be good for me?” Marc whispered against your mouth as he stood up from the chair, hoisting you up with him.

You squealed at this sudden movement, feeling his hard cock continue to throb inside of your swollen pussy.

“I asked you a question, princess. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Marc warned as he walked to the bed.

You nodded and kissed him again, “Yes, sir.” You responded.

“Good.” Marc said and wordlessly dropped you on the bed, manhandling you and roughly turning you around before kneeling behind you.

He lifted your ass up and pressed down on your nape, pushing your face against the mattress as he slid his cock back inside of you with no prior warning.

You cried out at the friction, your pussy absolutely overstimulated and begging to breathe. But you’d do anything for Marc Spector, so you took in every thrust no matter how abused your cunt felt.

His grunts and groans filled the air as he fucked you to his liking, landing a spank on your ass every now and then. Your fingers gripped the sheets tightly, your toes curling from the tension slowly pooling in your abdomen yet again.

Two climaxes in and yet your body was begging for more despite the exhaustion.

“God, your pussy’s so fucking tight. So fucking greedy for my cock, aren’t you?” Marc said, thumbing your puckered hole.

“Mhmm!” You hummed, arching your back even deeper.

Marc slapped your ass again before squeezing it playfully, “Could feel you getting close again, can you cum again for me?” He asked, gripping your waist tightly.

You nodded as you drooled on the sheets; your eyelids fluttered as you neared your third orgasm, you were already incoherent and babbling— just the way Marc wanted.

He loved it when he’d fuck you dumb like this. You were so helpless and so willing to surrender everything to him.

Marc lifted his knee up and planted his foot on the bed to find a better angle before he fucked you relentlessly, barely pulling his cock out of your cunt.

You cried his name out like a prayer, cumming hard after one particular thrust that had you seeing stars. Marc groaned out loud when your pussy clenched around his cock, pushing him to his own orgasm.

Marc bent down to press kisses along your spine as he spilled inside of you, his warm release filling you up to the brim.

His sweaty chest was pressed against your back as he pressed a kiss behind your ear, “Did so good for me, princess.” He whispered, allowing your pussy’s contractions to milk his cock until the last drop.

“Hold it in for me?” He whispered as he straightened his back, pulling his softening cock out from your pussy.

Following Marc’s instruction, you clenched hard to keep all of his release inside of you as you caught your breath. Keeping your ass up in the air, you sighed in comfort when Marc started caressing your ass.

“Let go, princess.” He said.

You relaxed your entire body and allowed Marc’s cum to spill out of your cunt. You whined at the feeling of it dripping down the insides of your thighs.

“Beautiful.” Marc praised, landing a gentle spank on your ass as he watched his release continue to drip out of your puffy pussy.

He licked his lips and gently helped you lay down on your back. He crawled over you and smiled proudly, “God, you’re gorgeous. You satisfied now?” He teased, pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

You chuckled and forced your eyes to open despite the exhaustion, “Hmm yeah. Thank you, sir.” You whispered, slowly feeling yourself doze off.

You still heard Marc praising you, making you smile before you completely succumbed to sleep.

-

The shaking of the floor and the loud noise of the tracks as a train passed by woke you up. You were still slightly annoyed that the motel Marc chose to laylow in was near the railway. However, memories from the previous day quickly changed your mood despite the noise.

Your body was sore all over, especially in between your legs. Shifting on the bed, you realized that you were in one of Marc’s shirts already. He must have helped you clean up last night while you were dead asleep.

Smiling, you turned to the other side and was met with Marc’s face, peacefully asleep. Carefully, you reached over to fix a stray curl away from his face.

Marc stirred and scrunched his nose making you laugh, “‘’m sorry, did I wake you?” You softly asked when he opened his eyes.

His eyes met your eyes and it didn’t take him more than a second to let out a scream as he jolted out of bed. You panicked and jumped out as well, asking Marc what was wrong.

“Who are you?! Where am I?!” Marc exclaimed fearfully, eyes wide and seemingly disoriented.

His accent changed too.

“Calm down, Marc. It’s just me.” You coaxed.

Marc’s shocked expression was immediately replaced by that of worry. His shoulders visibly relax as he sat back down on the bed, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Oh no, oh no.” He murmured to himself, “Not again.” He added before realizing that he was merely clad in a pair of boxers.

Marc hurriedly covered himself up with the blanket. His sudden change of demeanor made you realize what was going on.

You cautiously approached the bed and sat down, allowing some space in between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Marc continued to talk to himself.

Steven, rather.

“It’s okay, Steven.” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Steven turned to you quickly, “You…you know me?” He asked incredulously.

You nodded, “Steven Grant.” You said.

“Marc told you…about me?” He asked again, still unable to believe.

“He mentioned you a couple of times. Steven…with a V.” You explained.

You’d known about Steven for quite a while now, it was something that Marc thought he needed you to know. With the kind of relationship you two had, it was important that you knew about these things.

It left you quite confused at first and to be honest, you didn’t understand Marc’s situation. He was patient enough to explain everything to you and after a while, you felt like you already knew Steven.

Now that you finally met him, it felt surreal but nothing’s really changed with how you felt about Steven’s existence— he really was a lovely lad.

Steven let out a sigh, “I must apologize, I must have frightened you.” He said, finally calming down.

You laughed and shook your head, “It’s alright. I figured I’d meet you one day, just didn’t expect it’d be right after…” you trailed, feeling your face heat up.

Steven was quick to understand what you meant and felt just as awkward. There was a pause for a brief moment before he cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you—“ he trailed, squinting as if he was recalling whether Marc had told him your name.

You quickly introduced yourself and extended your arm for a handshake, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” You said.

Steven glanced down at your hand and noticed the marks on your wrists, “Oh my, you’re hurt.” He worriedly said, mindlessly taking your arm to take a close look at it.

You felt your body heat up even more, “No, don’t worry. Those are…” you said, figuring out how to tell Steven where those marks came from.

“Marc and I…last night…” you stammered.

You saw the embarrassment in Steven’s eyes the very moment he caught your drift, “Ohhh, oh. Must have been a fun night.” He said and immediately regretted his cheeky remark.

You laughed and nodded, “It was indeed a fun night.” You affirmed.

The awkward atmosphere turned lighter thankfully. Steven glanced at you again, “Did Marc…take good care of you after?” He carefully asked.

Your eyes softened up as you looked at Steven. You smiled and nodded, “He did. Thank you for asking, Steven. He did leave me quite hungry though.” You admitted.

Steven chuckled, “Well then, I should get Marc back.” He said, preparing to stand up until you stopped him.

“Why don’t we get breakfast together, Steven with a V?” You asked with amusement.

“Marc did tell me that I’d have to get to know you at one point. Perhaps we can do that over coffee?” You hopefully asked.

You could see the gears in Steven’s head turning before he looked down and scratched at his neck, “I’m not sure Marc would like that.” He said.

Smiling, you stood up and grabbed his shirt on the floor before handing it over to him.

“Marc was right about you, Steven with a V. You worry too much.” You said with a slight chuckle, “I’m absolutely sure he wouldn’t mind.”

hobie x fem! reader

thinking of hobie brown rn…!

hobie who knows you love the height difference between you two and uses it to his advantage. is constantly angling his head upwards, which causes him to purposely peer down at you through his thick eyelashes. you always get flustered each time he narrows his eyes and tilts his chin, and him being the ever so perceptive spider he is, takes notice of your heated cheeks and continues to do so.

whenever he’s near a doorway or a thick frame he lovesss to lay a palm on the top of it, trapping your body beneath his as you ramble on about whatever it is you’re rambling about. he makes sure to nod along while effectively moving a hand towards your plush waist, bringing your figure flush against his own. he plays with the seam of your shirt, and urges you to keep going when you stutter from the sudden change in position.

hobie who loves to annoy you with his British slang. it’s not necessarily because he uses it often that irks you, it’s the fact that you have no idea what he’s saying and he never makes an effort to help you understand. (he actually finds it amusing each time you attempt to guess what he means and is completely off base every single time).

“babe, I’d love ta get ya that shirt you’ve been beggin’ for, but I’m skint right now. try me next week, yeah?” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the railing next to your bed.

“skint? I feel like you’ve used that one before..” you muttered, huffing in irritation by the smug look on hobie’s face, his lips quirked in amusement.

“told ya what it meant last week. thought ya said you could ‘se context clues?”

“whatever bee, maybe you should speak english.”

“‘aint that what ‘m doin’?”

hobie who always has a blunt neatly rolled on his dresser, his ash tray placed gently to the left of it. he often smoked before running off to whatever it is he did when he wasn’t home (he was very unpredictable as he switched it up weekly to “fuck up consistency” whatever the hell that meant).

hobie inhaled gingerly before tilting his head towards his peeling painted ceiling, his fingers lingered tightly on the wood before lifting it to your lips, “want a go?”

you shook your head, nuzzling further into his shoulder, “mhm no, too tired.” hobie chuckled before greedily puffing the joint, shuttering at the burning feeling it left.

“suit yourself love, more for me.”

hobie who you introduce differently to your friends each time you bring him up. one day he’s your boyfriend, the next he’s your significant other, and the next he’s your ‘close friend’. they always question the constant switch ups, but you don’t ever seem to mind. you know where you stand with the man, and to him that’s all that matters.

“so what’s up with you and…..” your friend trailed off, stirring the ice in her drink.

“hobie?” you questioned.

“yeah him, so is he your boyfriend or what?”

“it’s complicated, he hates labels, makes him feel confined.” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as you lay your head on your palm.

“that doesn’t bother you? is he like scared of commitment or something?”

you scoff, lightly shaking your head, “no, he just doesn’t want to contribute to the system.” you answered bluntly, taking another sip of your lemonade.

“the system?” your friend asked, eyebrow raised at the quip.

“nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

hobie who subtly brags about you to his people. loves to show you off, and has no problem admitting he does.

“yeah bruv, my girl jus’ got into her dream fuckin’ college. been workin’ hard for that shit all year, man.” hobie boasted, pushing his hands out in order to bounce off the wall next to him.

“oh my goodness how wonderful! when do we get to meet this companion of yours?” pavitr questioned, flinging his body upwards to keep up with the male to his right.

“eh, don’t know yet, when I feel like it, yeah?”

all in all hobie is so cute and I literally am in love with him!!

  𝓈ℴ𝒻𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝒹 .ᐟ

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 6.3k word count , fem reader , soff’ dom nanami , bimbo / hyperfeminine reader , sex in a tent ( semi - public ) , meanie gojo , you and nanami are engaged , reader’s twenty four ( 24 ) + nanami’s twenty six ( 26 ) , pet name usage ( ex. baby, little one ) , thigh fucking , fingering , tummy bulgin , cervix kissing , daddy kink , squirting .

maisie’s note to you .ᐟ . . . hai hai haiiii :p i wrote dis like over a year ago so ,, take it easy on lil ol mi<3 i noticed dat my writing style has changed a bit ! minors do not interact !

“do you have everything?”

the sharp clicks of your five inch, baby pink, platformed jimmy choo heels are rhythmic as they tap quickly against the curved, grey cemented footpath in front of your home that leads towards the driveway as you saunter towards your fiancé’s big bodied mercedes-benz gls class truck. you can hear the shuffles and shifts of duffel bags and the wheels of your pink, vintage, dior suitcases and carry ons rolling that nanami had been lugging behind you.

retorting through a gentle coo, you give a, “i have everything nanami,” watching him haul all of your luggage towards the trunk of the car. his muscles flex and constrict underneath the silk, cranberry red button up shirt he wore as he stacks them all atop his two duffel bags like a complex game of tetris and you tilt your head in interest when a piece of blond hair falls across his forehead within his moil and effort.

you can’t help but notice it. he’s so handsome.

releasing a weighty huff from his chest before slamming the trunk closed, nanami dusts off his hands and fixes you with a calm, albeit subtly knowing, honey-brown eyed stare that makes you nibble on the tip of your tapered square acrylic and give him a delicate, innocent smile.

“do you have everything?” he repeats more slowly.

your smile lessens into puffed cheeks and a pout, “yes, i have everything. i think i’d know if i missed something, ‘m not dumb kento—“

“—the minute this car,” he points to it. “leaves this driveway,” his finger flicks downward to the cement, “i’m not turning back. so,” his steps are idle and steady once he starts to walk closer to you. he brings with him an air of effortless authority and sway that makes your knees almost buckle. he smells delicious, too — like, a tinge of burnt vanilla and woodsy tobacco. your eyes are hazy and unfocused when you have to lift them to look up to his tall, six foot height.

nanami notices this and it doesn’t take him by surprise. it’s often more than not that he has to snap his fingers or grip you by the chin with two fingers to center you back down to earth’s gravity. you’re a mess. “do . . . you . . . have . . . everything?” he asks you softly with his index’s knuckle holding your chin up to demand your full, undivided attention. your soft nod is more than enough for him. but you’re his mess.

his voice is still gentle when he mutters, “okay.”

he should probably let you go and open the door so that you two can head out on the road, nevertheless, still, nanami can’t exactly help it. with you this close, he gets a good look at your pretty, no, fucking enchanting face — from your plush lips glittering with your favorite, piña colada scented gloss and the pearls studded along your eyelids that fall into half lids into your irises. “why are you so perfect, hm?”

you grow flustered. you give a tiny squeak and giggle, throwing your arms over his strong shoulders and kick a leg up as you do. the kiss you press against his lips has a bright smack of lipgloss transferring onto them which, oddly, nanami is used to by now. he doesn’t bother to wipe it off, just opens the passenger side’s door so that you can hop up and slide inside the fine, leather interior, then shuts it so that he can round the car and slip into the driver’s.

“i’m so excited,” you’re babbling to him while fluffing your hair and gazing at your reflection through the sun visor’s mirror. “we’re gonna eat s’mores and sing songs and . . .” your words trail off.

nanami thinks it’s because you don’t know what else there is to do. this was your first time going camping — it’s to be expected. “uh,” he rotates the wheel with the heel of his palm while turning onto the freeway’s ramp entrance. “i think you’ll like catching fireflies . . we can go out on a midnight swim in the lake, stargaze—“

“—no,” you whine and fold your arms. “baby, w-wait, i forgot my phone — oh, god, and my lipgloss . . .”

nanami should’ve known. no matter how many times he asked did you have everything, and no matter how many times you answered yes, he should have gone, combed through the house and checked himself. he shakes his head, eyes steady and focused on the road. “i’m not going back,” is all he tells you.

“but nanami—“

“—what did i tell you?” he spares a quick glance at you, not shocked to see a precious, little face full of dejection staring back at him. “i asked you did you have everything, three times. no,” his head shakes again and leans back to start to steer the wheel from atop with one hand while the other arm leans on his door’s armrest. “i’m not going back.”

“. . . kentoooo.”

nanami tells himself that he needs to put his foot down with this one. he won’t give in. he won’t. he won’t.

but you’re something else.

there’s something about you that makes the man bend and succumb to your every desire and wish, no matter how far out or bizarre. he’s aware that not much of anything resides within that pretty head of yours. you weren’t the smartest, or if you could have put it, ‘the sharpest light bulb in the shed’ ( point proven ) but you were his and nanami adored you even so. it’s why he slid a twelve carat diamond ring on that little finger of yours only two years after meeting you for the very, first time.

you had came from a very affluent and well-fixed family — father was the chief financial advisor of a banking corporation and your self-acclaimed hippie of a mother owned a line of essential oils that both housewives and single men alike adored. you had grown up with a golden spoon in your mouth to put straightforwardly, and upon first encounters at a charity gala, nanami had only spoke two sentences to you before he was calling you a spoiled brat with a vacant, impassive expression steamed upon the sharp lines and ridges of his gorgeous face.

you threw a little tantrum, of course — told your daddy on him which, let’s face it, was the most ridiculous and yet, amusing, thing he’s ever seen in all of his, then, twenty four years on earth. ditzy you. you hadn’t known that nanami had met your father before, albeit a few times, and the two of them had formerly established a nice and civil relationship between one another. your face dropping into one of dumbfoundment when you had saw the two shake hands and pick up a conversation on stocks and rising taxes still replays in nanami’s head from time to time.

“you’re the best!” you’re leaning over the middle console to smack a soft kiss into the light scruff of ashen blond hair making home along his jawline when nanami’s climbing back into the car thirty minutes later with your pink iphone and three tubes of lipgloss in hand. “thank you, my love.”

he gives you a simple sigh, “this is the first and last time i’m turning back, do you hear me?”

the hour and a half drive up to the state’s forest is spent with the two of you listening to your customized, ariana grande playlist and you pointing your finger against the window and gasping with glee when you happen to pass a field of cows or horses — tiny, “nanami, nanami! look, look!”s pushing past your lips and him humming and giving you a nod with a slight, “i see, baby.”

having nanami’s big hand clutch your thigh and getting to sit pretty beside him are the only reasons why you enjoy car rides. usually, you’re insufferable. it’s hard for you to keep still sometimes. at home you’re always in the kitchen whipping up new recipes you found on pinterest, irregardless of the fact that you have to run back and forth between it and nanami’s home office to ask him what two thirds of a cup was and what was the point of following the recipe step by step. it had indicated for you to bake the cake at two hundred degrees but you wouldn’t be anything if you weren’t impatient. cranking the heat up to four hundred wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? it’ll speed up the process.

safe to say, there’s been more than a few instances where all of the windows within your home had to stay opened all night to allow the smell of burnt batter to air out, and nanami keeps a fire extinguisher on hand underneath the sink.

you get to stare at him, too — get to sit and admire his flawless side profile and how his favorite, bronzed rolex wrapped around his wrist gleamed a bright flare into your eyes each occasion the sun’s rays hit it when he happened to turn the wheel. and within the smattery cosmic of your mind upon staring at him for too long, you’re always reminded that you hadn’t known what love had felt like until you met nanami kento.

the words he whispers to you underneath the silent comfort of your bed sheets gives sweet, candied fruit and glacé sorbet a run for their money. the way he kisses your temple when he gathers you within the opulence of his arms is incapable of comparison, nonetheless still, the feeling that blooms within the gates of your heart when he does reminds you of a steaming hot trill of jasmine tea sliding down your throat during a cold day in december. he’s simply everything to you and he makes sure you know that you’re everything to him and more.

“oi! nanami, you’re almost two hours fuckin’ late.”

the sound of shoes scraping against loose pebbles and gravel doesn’t mix well with your whines and aggravated huffs. you’re struggling to walk up the short hill that surfaces out into an open, even plane of dirt that spreads out about five yards length and width — surrounding your campsite is nothing but tall trees of cedar and pine.

gojo had lifted open the flap of the dome tent that had been assembled near the entrance of the trail. he lets out a long, low whistle upon the view of nanami lugging up three duffel bags and two carry ones over his back and arms and places his hands on his hips. gojo gives a bright smile. “that’s what i like to see. you’re working the hell out of him — ah, nanami would you like some help?”

before nanami can cut his eyes at him in annoyance, gojo’s blatantly ignoring him and offering you a hand to help you not twist an ankle on a random stone. he’s laughing when he asks you, “any higher heels and you could’ve broke your neck.”

your eyes are full of fear when they look up into his at the simple thought of that happening, “you think so? should i . . should i have not worn these? but all i brought were heels.”

“you’re fine,” nanami lets the baggage fall to the ground with dull thuds and scowls at gojo. “i’ll carry you on my back if we happen to walk a long distance.”

utahime’s exiting the pop up tent that had been constructed a few feet away from gojo’s and she’s smiling upon the view of you two and immediately pulling you in for a warm hug, “it’s always so nice to see you,” she sighs. “oh!“ her eyes widen upon her first view of an influx of pink suitcases and bags while nanami crouches low to unzip a duffel to start constructing the tent. “you brought a lot.”

“i had to,” you bite your bottom lip over a pretty grin. “you didn’t? but . . — nanami am i the only one who brought so many things?” your eyes are cutely wide with the new revelation.

gojo nods, “yes.”

though at the same time nanami tells you, “no,” he even looks up at you from what he’s doing to assure you that. “you brought just enough, angel.”

and his word is always right. your pretty face brightens again and you clap your hands quickly, “okay, good,” you giggle. “can i help you build the tent?”

nanami’s giving you the go ahead, allowing you to walk over and grab the pamphlet of instructions. upon first opening it, you’re greeted with black and white pictures of what was supposed to be in the kit and there’s arrows pointing to where and how you’re supposed to assemble poles and hooks. your brain quickly goes haywire. “hm,” you bite your bottom lip.

gojo’s calling out, “ah, don’t stress yourself out too much, sweetheart.”

you huff a pout and nanami’s letting a small smile lift his lips as he gently pries the pamphlet from your manicured fingers. truthfully, he just wanted to see how you’d react to them, see if you’d try to stick it out and try to understand them or not. he knows that you will, you always try to, however, “i got it,” he takes one of your hands and pulls it close to stow a sweet kiss upon your knuckles. “why don’t you go rest your pretty feet in utahime’s tent while i get finished with ours, huh?”

the sugarcoated pout that takes over your lips has nanami’s heart in a vise. “but . . i want to help. i’m not dumb, kento—“

“—i know you aren’t but, still this is hard and i don’t want you fussing over this, beautiful. gotta save all that intellect for later on in our trip.”

he always knows what to say. your pout starts to lift into a smile which you try to fight but he sees right through it. as much as you know you can be a little dense headed, you try just as hard to power through it. nanami thinks it’s cute. his eyes glow akin to seas of liquid gold when he smiles and kisses your knuckles again. “go on.”

you sigh a little, “fine.”

the minute you’re inside the tent with utahime, nanami’s smile is falling upon first look at gojo. “one more slick comment and your head’s going to be floating in that fucking lake.”

there’s a big, gum-showing smile stretching his cheeks as the man leisurely walks over to nanami who starts to separate the materials into separate piles. “two years, man . . and you’re engaged to her,” he sucks his teeth and crouches down beside him. “gotta give you your props, nanami.”

“just admit it, satoru,” nanami doesn’t need the instructions. he flicks them away with a finger and starts to assemble the tent as if he had done it dozens times before. “you’re mean to my fiancé because you want to fuck her.”

the splutters that follow nanami’s words are loud however, both men know that they are true. gojo acknowledges that there’s no point in lying. once nanami kento has his mind made up about something, there’s no point in trying to change it. “so what?” is all he says while childishly flinging a pebble nanami’s way so that it hits his arm. “she’s pretty . . and she’s dumb. what more can you ask f—“

gojo prides himself on having quick reflexes . . and nanami does the same.

the second the blond reaches out to snatch his neck up and around so that his arm is wrapped around it and gojo’s in a headlock, the other man is tilting his body weight back so that nanami falls flat on his back and he has his arms wrapped around his legs to keep him from kicking.

“let me go.”

“you let go first.”

gojo digs his fingernails into nanami’s forearm but his grip is only tightening. he’s hardly able to breathe, let alone talk. “. . f-fuck, alright! sorry, sorry!”

“for what?”

gojo holds his tongue and nanami pulls his arm tighter around his neck by tugging at it with his free hand. “s-shit!” gojo hisses. “damnit, nanami! your girl—“

“—wife,—“

“—alright, your fucking wife! i won’t act like a dick anymore.”

both men release each one another simultaneously. gojo rubs his neck with a slight smirk on his face while nanami goes back to assembling the tent calmly. “what kind of pussy does she own?”

the sharp, thunderous crack of nanami’s knuckles colliding into the bridge of gojo’s nose is loud enough for a flock of birds perched a few trees away to squawk and quickly soar away with heavy wings flapping against their bodies.

you had thought that camping would be like how it was portrayed in movies and television shows; with everyone in the group circling around the fire singing songs, eating hotdogs, just having a grand time.

you hadn’t expected this.

it’s only day two of the trip and you’ve been bitten at the ankle and collarbone of all places by pesky mosquitos, your hair’s been frizzing up due to the humidity of being so high up in the forest, and you’ve barely been sleeping the past two nights because all you hear are cicadas and the constant, piercing shrill of crickets. sometimes, you think they’re going to slither underneath the protective flaps and layering of the tent and crawl inside of your mouth.

you’re sobbing to nanami come evening of day three, “baby . . baby, look at me! i’m a mess!”

nanami’s clicking his tongue fondly and pulling you by the waist so that you stand between his legs. he’s seated on the full sized cot inside of your tent that you had cutely decorated with plush throw blankets and fluffy pillows layering the flooring. you’ve never missed your california king sized bed more than you did now. “no, you don’t—“

“—these bites are itchy,” you reach up to scratch at the stupid nip focused right near the edge of your left collarbone that seemed to be growing and becoming more irritated by the hour. “and . . and as much as i like showering in the pretty waterfall, i miss bubble baths and eating steak and steamed lobster and caviar with crackers.”

nanami’s looking up at your pout and he tries to fight it, he does, but he can’t help but break out into a smile which he quickly hides by bowing his head and clearing his throat. unfortunately, you still catch it. you smack his shoulder, “can you stop laughing at me?”

“i’m not, i’m not. look at me,” he’s gathering your attention and grabs you by the waist to pull you in again and kiss your tummy softly. “i told you to stop scratching them. you’re only going to make them bleed.”

you watch him reach for the first aid kit he had placed underneath the cot to unfasten and grab a small tube of benadryl which he opens and dots a good amount on his finger. “c’mere.”

you have to take a seat on the thigh of one of his legs so that he’s able to rub the cooling gel over the bite and massage it in. it’s so comforting — the feeling of the sharp sting slowly dwindling and ebbing away into nothing, as well as nanami’s palm, slightly calloused from past years of sorcery work rubbing into your skin. unknowingly, you melt into him and nanami notices. “feels good?” he asks you delicately, watching you pout and nod and lay the side of your face against his shoulder. “i think you just had a long day, sweet girl,” he sighs.

you have a feeling that he’s right . . nanami always is.

“how about you get some rest, hm?” he kisses your temple after he rubs the medication into the bite on your ankle. you don’t bother to fight.

you slip into your pajamas on your own and climb underneath the comforter to lay your head on a pillow. it has been a long day. usually you fight your sleep however tonight, it washes over you without a blink missed. even so, you don’t overlook the soft kiss your fiancé presses against your cheek as you let the dark cloaks of slumber enfold you.

with you going to sleep so early, the end of your last rem cycle wakes you up at approximately 4.17 am, giving you a good nine hours of sleep you hadn’t even known you needed — furthermore proving that nanami knows best.

the man lays beside you, fast asleep, facing you with a bare arm thrown over your torso, keeping you close against his own chest. in the quiet of the early morning, you’re able to lay and stare at him without shying away from his eyes that always seemed to bore holes into your own.

you’re able to carefully lift your hand and trace invisible lines around the natural, soft arch of his brow, the strong, straight, downward slope of his nose, and across the plush dip of his cupidsbow with your small fingers. he’s so . . . pretty, so . . . strong. he always manages to make you feel protected, even so with just one arm wrapped around you. the joy that sprouted in your heart when he had proposed to you stays unmatched to this day.

him? he wanted you to be his wife? to love, to cherish, to hold past the end of time, to grow old with, to go on crazy, little adventures with, to have kids with? you?

the one who had always been the butt of jokes as a little girl, the one who had countless of men wanting to bed but not wed since the age of eighteen. you didn’t understand. in a way, you still don’t, albeit, you’ve learned to push those thoughts aside and focus on the now. you have him and he has you.

with a smile, you kiss his lips.

you keep kissing him until he starts to kiss you back, and though he’s making little grunts and grumbles at having his sleep disturbed, you ignore them because you just can’t help it. sometimes the happiness just hits you in your chest with a big surge and you have to let it out.

you drag your left leg up his hip to hold and tilt your body weight so that you flip him over onto his back and end up straddling him. nanami’s looking up at you through foggy eyes and you’re staring down at him with a big grin. “it’s . .” he reaches for his phone on the floor, powers it on then squints at the screen. “four in the morning, little one. what’s goin’ on?”

“nothin’,” you sing softly and slide your hands slowly up the rocky plane of his abs to his pectorals. “i just . . i missed you.”

nanami’s confusion is written all over his face. he’s not much of a morning person, you know this. “. . i’m right here.”

he is. all blond haired, brown eyed, six feet of him.

you sigh and lean down to capture his lips with yours once more, cupping the side of his face with one of your palms, feeling the scruff of his five o’clock shadow underneath it. you hope he’s able to feel the love you have for him pouring out of you with each click of your lips separating, and at the way you sigh out sweetly through your nose in content, and when your hips start to rock against his firm morning wood, hidden underneath his sweats. for what you’re unable to describe through words, you make sure he’s able to feel it.

“oh, i get it now,” he says. his voice is hushed.

surrounding your tent is nothing but silence, save for the slight rush of water from the waterfall a couple yards away. it’s deadly quiet.

nanami can see that his baby wants, though. can see it in the way your eyes go half lidded and you pull your thumb up to nibble on the nail when he grabs you by the hips, lifts his thigh up and starts to make you rub your needy, little cunt over it.

“a-awh!”

nanami covers your entire mouth with his palm. your eyes are big. “shh, shshsh,” he whispers. there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “i know it’s hard for you to understand words when you get like this. isn’t that right?”

you nod shakily.

“but you have to be quiet, you hear me?”

you nod once more. nanami trusts you. he drops his hand to have it grab your hips again to work you steadily back and forth, back and forth. his pace is unhurried . . he works you as if there’s a slow tune playing in the background that only he hears and knows. it feels good. the much needed friction of the lace of your panties and the cotton of his sweats rubbing up against your clit already has your eyes going bleary and unfocused as you look down at him.

“keep lookin’ at me — that’s right,” nanami still feels the tinctures of sleep passing through his veins. it has his own eyes growing heavy and his limbs feel like they weigh a ton, however if anything, the drowsiness makes this feel better. he’s able to slowly lower his thigh to instead shift you over his cock and you, already so dumb, simply sit on it, waiting for him to buck you back and forth again. “can you take this off for me?” he tugs at the button down you wore that belonged to him. it’s oversized — hangs off of your body like a duvet, stopping near the beginning of your knees and continuously slipping off of the hill of your shoulder.

your little fingers work hurriedly and your acrylic nails tap and click against each other as you do. with each strip of skin that’s shown, he feels his brain spiraling deeper and deeper into a portion full of nothing but you.

nanami prides himself on being an intelligent man. having gone to one of the top universities in the country, secured a job as a stockbroker, and he’s still on call for the occasional curse job here and there; he’s aware that he’s very well rounded.

but around you . . . sometimes, he’ll admit, he goes a little dumb, too.

“fuck.” it shows when he makes his hand fall down upon your ass with a loud smack that makes you yelp and he’s positive gojo and utahime must’ve heard it. “mmm.”

he groans, lifts up and plants a kiss right over your heart before he’s stamping a path to one of your nipples and collecting it inside of his mouth. you’re whimpering quietly, holding onto his shoulders and now beginning to swirl your hips over his cock to feel more. “daddy.”

nanami rolls the small bud over his tongue and lightly pulls it with his teeth until it’s hard, standing upright, and laminated with his spit. only then, does he turn to the other to give it the same attention.

you’re hiccuping now, bucking a little harder which makes the cot start to creak.

“mm — be still,” nanami’s voice comes out in a low gruff that makes you obey, even if you really, really didn’t want to. his tongue is clever and his teeth are sharp . . they nip and bite all over your tits and neck until bruises the tone of maroon and wine bloom all over the canvas of your skin. nanami can’t help but smack one, just to watch the flesh jiggle before he’s laying back down, pulling you with him, and rolling you over until you both are laying on your sides.

you don’t need him to ask, or rather, you’re too eager to do it yourself, but you push down his sweats just enough for his cock to spring up and out into the open air. it hits his lower tummy with a slap . . long, thick, and drooly; you scoot closer to nanami to grab it and carefully slide it between the small opening of your thighs, watching his eyes close at the feel.

“oh, shit,” he groans and carefully starts to thrust his hips while holding yours to keep you still. the tightness the smooth, soft skin of your thighs provide him with is heavenly. “already doin’ so good for me. just . . k-keep still, let daddy use you for a little while, huh?”

you’re letting out these little pants because with each thrust, your clit’s still getting stimulated by the roof of his cock and it’s just enough for your eyes to roll back into your skull as your mouth falls open. “feels . .” you swallow the glob of saliva pooling on your tongue. “f-feels s’good, daddy.”

hazy, lust filled eyes usually the tone of honey darken into a more muddy gold. they dart over your blissed out face, your bruised tits jiggling and squishing down into the bed with each movement of your arms, and the lewd image of his cock pressing in between the doughy skin of your thick thighs. nanami can cum from the sight alone.

“nanami . .” you’re gasping when he picks up a quicker rhythm, eyes lifting to look up into his.

“so fucking loud.”

his next movements are quick. he pulls his cock from between your thighs, snatches down your panties which don’t even make it past one of your calves; just stays wrapped and tangled around it, then he’s flipping you over and pulling your back into his chest. you’re panting, needy body wriggling and squirming against him. you want him . . . you need him. nanami kento to you is what pollen is to a bee, flame to a moth, gravity is to everything on fucking earth. “please,” you’re sobbing. “please, daddy. p-please.”

“fuck are you whining for, huh?”

his words are mean but his voice is gentle and sweet. he licks his fingers and carefully directs them between your legs, not surprised to feel you absolutely dripping. you’re a mess. two of his fingers are sliding inside your sticky cunt with a loud squelch when they bottom out and he watches your body shiver all over as you push your ass further back to somehow feel more. “so greedy,” he whispers, fucking them in and out to hear those toe-curling, mouth-watering squelches echo inside of his ears. “so, so good for me.”

his praise makes you simultaneously melt against his body yet tighten around his fingers as a new rush of slick gushes out of you.

you can’t describe the joy you feel when he pushes his arm underneath your head to give you some leverage, lifts your leg up with the other and starts to rub his throbbing dick between your puffy lips, giving you both some well needed friction. he’s overwhelming every single one of your senses.

you smell his cologne, feel his body all over yours, taste him underneath the musk of you when he carefully slides his fingers past your lips, hear him coo’ing underneath his breath at how pretty you look.

when he finally pushes inside of you, it’s like breaking down a dam. you’re crying at the ungodly pleasure it brings, no, he brings. your dumb, little mind can’t handle it. “thank you,” you’re babbling and hiccuping. “d-daddy . . daddy—“

“—i know, baby. i know,” nanami tilts his face closer to align his lips atop of yours to swallow each little gasp and whine once he suddenly slams in. “daddy knows.” he doesn’t want to torture you any longer. you’ve been so good for him these past couple days, so good to him. you deserve this. you deserve everything your airy little brain and big, lovable heart desires.

he fucks you slow . . . and deep. carefully pulls his hips back and alternates between driving them back forward leisurely and swirling his hips to angle up into that one, gummy bundle of nerves that has a pool of drool forming underneath your chubby cheek. “that’s my good girl,” he’s whispering, holding your shaky leg up by the back of your knee so that you both can watch his fat and heavy balls smack against your swollen clit with a sticky tap each time he bottoms out. “takin’ it so good . . does it feel good?”

your nods are slow as if they’re trying to catch up with your quivering body. you’ve gone non-vocal and now nanami knows that you feel especially good. it makes him smile atop your lips before he’s pressing one last peck against them and pulling his face back to get a good look at you once his pace and strength quickens.

your mouth drops, eyebrows furrow, and cute nose scrunches up.

“there it is.”

the smacking of skin is loud and distinct, and he knows that it’s evident what you two are doing by now and he knows that you two are a little loud but nanami can’t bring himself to care about that anymore. you just feel so good. you’re tight and you’re wet and having you so close makes him feel like his heart was going to burst out of his chest and swell bigger than a balloon at the same while.

“oh god,” you’re hiccuping and holding onto the ledge of the creaking cot. “oh my . . god, kento.”

the diamond encrusted anklet around your ankle dangles the letters K&N. believe it or not, you had actually been the one to surprise nanami with it eight months ago when you came home from one of your day-long shopping sprees. seeing his initials dangling off a piece of jewelry so dainty and pretty on you had woken something inside of nanami that he hadn’t even known was dormant. each time he sees it, he wants to break you, and coincidentally, you never take it off.

nanami bends your leg almost all the way back until your thigh nears your shoulder just to hear the way the letters jingle as they hit each other. “fuck,” he curses, eyes cycling back into his head. “f-fuck.”

your moans are so pretty — high pitched, breathy, and broken. you have his hips stuttering prior to him starting to fuck you harder. you hadn’t even known he could but he’s proving you wrong at the way you can feel your ass clapping back off of his slim hips with each push of them against it. you’re babbling shaky ‘daddy’s’ and ‘t-too much’ while he just keeps you still.

his voice is trembly and quiet when he says, “a-almost there, sweet thing. you’re almost there.”

you’re going to make a mess — you feel it in the way your pedicured toes curl and how your clit seems to pulsate harder by the second. “hhnnng,” your brain is driven so empty that you can’t even say it.

your cum gushes out of you in fast, long spurts that manages to hit the floor past the edge of the bed. the rest dribbles out in ripples and tides, getting all over nanami’s balls and both of your thighs. he powers you through it; never stops nor decreases his pace, he keeps you right where he wants you, forcing you into overstimulation. you’re squeaking, “ ‘nami — daddy . . w-wait — oh, stars!”

nanami feels his own edge getting closer. he slips himself over you so that he’s on top yet he keeps your one leg up and stretched and soon grabs the other to do the same and folds you into a perfect mating press.

you have a love hate relationship with the position. you love it because you get the perfect view of your fiancés fat, long cock dropping into and pulling out of your sloppy pussy. you get to see his tummy fold as he bends to keep his neck from straining and you especially love how you can see the print of his cock pushing against the skin of your stomach, further showing you just how big he truly is.

but, still, you’re always so easily overwhelmed because with this position he digs in deep. his tender tip bumps against your cervix, rubbing up against it and your g-spot. it’s a weird feeling. sometimes, all you can sob is, “h-hurts so good.” thankfully, he understands.

“doin’ so good for me.” pieces of blond hair fall across his forehead and jump in time against it with his thrusts. the way he’s staring down at you makes you shake. “can you give me another one?” he licks his thumb before pressing it against your clit and dragging tiny, quick circles on it. “give daddy one more, princess. please, baby. just . . one more.”

you’re so weak. you can only nod wordlessly and let your body give into his. you let him fuck you until his name is the only thing that rings in your brain, until your pussy’s aching with the stretch of him battering it sore, until you’re squirting again for the second time . . getting nanami’s lower torso and your own dirty with your fluids.

you make him smile. “there we fuckin’ go.”

his own orgasm creeps up on him slow. it starts from his feet, makes him curl his toes once he feels the thick flames licking at the base of his gut before it surges up to his calves — they tense, along with his thighs. and his jaw’s clenching tighter come the swelling of his balls filling with cum. he’s gripping your thighs until they start to bruise. “fuck . . fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he’s grunting, making his hips slam into your ass at the pace of his words before ultimately, it’s hitting him with a grand slam.

his balls draw tight before the first shot of thick, opaque white is bursting inside of your womb. nanami goes scarily still and throws his head back with the muscles in his neck straining as he fucks his cum as deep as it can go with jerky little tilts of his hips.

you mewl.

you feel warm inside . . and exceptionally full.

he’s pumping you swollen, filling you up with his thick seed until he can no longer fill you anymore. “fuck,” he’s breathing hard, dropping his head and looking down at you.

you’re so fucking cute. you just . . lay there with a stupid, little smile of content on your face and hazy eyes as you massage his thighs with your small fingers as if you weren’t the one, one move away from being folded into a fucking pretzel. nanami chuckles. oddly enough, he’s thinking back to gojo’s question from earlier in the trip . . . what kind of pussy do you own? for him to feel on top of the moon like this, he’s convinced you’re just a figment of his imagination.

however, upon leaning down, kissing your lips, and intertwining his fingers between the spaces of yours, nanami knows that you’re one hundred percent true.

❤︎ — all rights reserved ! © poutsiez !

yup… my final girls with the same vibe

Erotic and awkward is my forte.

spider kidz :P

Anything For You

Jake Lockley x f!reader

Warnings: Absolutely none, Jake Lockley is just a big fat cinnamon roll he is just so <3

A/N: Hi this was kind of self indulgent and written in like an hour or two to help feel better after school has officially ended. But it's also a little love note to @melodygatesauthor because Mel you're so special and our convo about this favourite boy made me think and you deserve a special treat because you're the specialest girl (Jake's words!! he has even confirmed it)

-Clem

Synopsis: Jake Lockley always takes care of his favourite girl.

Word count: 1336 (ahhh)

You shuffled into the lightly lit apartment, quietly closing the door behind you. You dropped your bag, rubbing your face as a yawn broke out of you and your shoulders sagged in exhaustion. There was no one to witness your tiredness but the moon as it peeked through the windows.

"Amor?" Jake's sleepy voice came, and soon he emerged from the bedroom, a soft sleepy smile on his face. "Thought I heard you," You smiled weakly. "Hi, didn't mean to wake you-" You started before he waved you off, wrapping an arm about you. "It's alright, amor. I was staying up but I didn't realise you were coming home so late," He kisses the top of your head, and immediately you melted into him, feeling the exhaustion and pain of the past few weeks bubble up and nearly spill over. Your eyes filled with tears but you were quick to press your face to Jake's chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as you breathed him in. He grounded you, all three of them always did- whether from an epic night out or a really bad day, they always helped bring you home.

Jake frowned, hugging you back tightly. "Bebita? What's wrong?" You shook your head. "I'm tired, Jake. I'm so fucking tired of everything," If you only listened close enough, you could hear his heart squeeze and shattered at your words. You were almost fragile, your voice heavy with worries and problems and you looked ready to collapse. He didn't like seeing his girl hurting so much. "Oh amor..." He pressed his lips to your head, gently rubbing your back. "Mi poor princesa. You've been working so hard haven't you? Coming home late every night and leaving so early, when was the last time you had a good sleep, mm? Or a proper meal?" You shrugged, too tired to answer. Didn't matter, he knew. He gently squeezed your hips, then hooked a finger under your chin and lifted it up to face him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and for a second, your mind emptied of everything- everything but him and you in this moment, lips locked together in such a soft, delicate kiss it made you ache. You missed him. He pulled away, peppering small kisses all over your face. "I'm going to take care of you, okay bebita? You're going to relax and let me make you feel better, sí?" You nodded, "Okay..." He nodded too, sweeping you off your feet and into his arms as he carried you to the bathroom. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay? And you're gonna sit in there and relax for at least an hour to yourself, while I make you something to eat. And then, we're going to sleep, and you're going to take the day off tomorrow," He stated as if all matters were already decided and sealed. He placed you down on the side of the tub when you reached the bathroom and turned on the hot water. "But- I have work tomorrow." "Like I said, take the day off," "I can't just do that," You frowned. He shook his head as he rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out your nice smelling candles and your favourite body oils and creams. "If you don't call them, I'm going to," "You wouldn't," He turned to you, grinning widely. "Sí, I would. And if I forget- which I won't- then Steven will. Or Marc. You don't want Marc to call them, would you?" That was an easy answer. Marc always get too angry if someone tried to deny you the day off. You nodded, sighing in defeat. "Okay. Day off tomorrow. Will you stay with me then?" He chuckled, kissing your temple. "Of course, princesa. Always," He smiled. "Now, off with the clothes," "Very demanding.." You teased, lifting your shirt over your head, followed by your pants, and then underclothes. He lifted you up, placing you very dramatically in the now full tub, and placing an equally dramatic kiss on your forehead. "I'm gonna wash your heart, bien? And then you can sit and relax until you want to come out," He knelt by the tub, smiling like the most precious man in the world as he squeezed out some shampoo into his hands and started carefully lathering it in your hair. You sigh in relief, feeling the tension slowly drift away as your body relaxes under his touch. Your mind began wandering as your eyes flutter shut while Jake rinses out your hair, humming quietly to himself. A while passed as he took care of you, giving you the treatment he always excelled at- pampering and devoting his full attention to every part of your body. He massaged your back and shoulders, working on the tense knots and helping melt away all the tension left in your body. You hadn't realised that you'd drifted in sleep until you felt him get up from beside you, and your body lost the warmth of his contact. "Where ya going'?" You mumbled, barely lifting your eyelids. He chuckled, "Goin' to make you some food, mi luna," He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. "You can come out when you're ready, bien? If not, I'll come find you when food is done," You giggled, sinking a little more into the water. "Okay...thank you, by the way it mea-" "Shhhhh," He pressed a finger to your lips. "Don't even start. Princesa you don't have to thank me for taking care of you, si? You're my girl, hm? I like taking care

don't make it sound like it's a burden," You kissed his finger, smiling a bit. "Okay. I love you," "I love you too, amor," He said, winking and then leaving the bathroom. You sighed, relaxing back into the warm water as your mind drifted back into a quiet hazy sleep.

You weren't sure how long passed before your eyes fluttered open again, your mind scrambling to get aware of its surroundings again. You yawned, slowly getting up and stretching out the fatigue. You had no idea how long you'd been in there, or if Jake had even come back to check up on you, but it didn't matter. You felt better, and that was that. You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around yourself as you stepped out of the tub and starting to dry yourself off. You hung the towel once done and put your hair up in its special towel, before pulling on your clothes. Well.. not your clothes, but Steven's comfy sweater and little shorts under. You waddle out of the bathroom, very slowly dragging yourself to the kitchen where you find Jake, in all his beautiful gorgeous glory, in a cute apron making a couple of sandwiches. You can't help but chuckle as you rush up to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face to his back. He stiffens at the sudden contact before relaxing when he realises it's you. "Hi bebita. Nice nap?" "Shut up, Lockley," You mumbled. He laughed as he finished off the food he made, smiling proudly to himself. He turned his body to face you, rubbing your sides gently. "Wanna watch a movie?" You shrugged. "Dunno," He hummed. "Bien, we can just eat and sit in silence," He kissed your forehead for what had to be the millionth time, before grabbing the tray of food and leading you to the couch. You sat down in Jake's lap, curling up as he wrapped a big cozy blanket around you.

You sat together in peaceful silence as you ate, watching some horrible National Geographic animal documentary and before long, the endless weeks started catching up to you as your eyelids grew heavy and you rested your head on Jake's chest, feeling his arms wrap tighter around you.

There was no doubting, you thought as you fell into a peaceful sleep, you knew your boys would do anything for you.

Wasted On You

AN: No one asked for this but it came to me, and I wanted it so, hope y'all enjoy lol.

(Un-beta’d)

In which Poe is a handsy, overly-affectionate drunk.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,863 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, frottage/thigh riding, semi-public sex, soft!Poe, sub!Poe (if you squint), fluff, PDA, cursing, Poe being the adorable menace that he is. AO3

———

The spotchka sloshes out of your glass as you clink it with the others at the table, the sounds of raucous laughter and general gaiety filling the room as everyone celebrates the Resistance’s latest win. It’d been a big one, one that had been fought for long and hard; years of sleepless nights and an innumerable number of undercover missions later, it was finally over. Everyone was thrilled, of course, but none more so than Poe Dameron. 

You take a sip and smile as you watch him cheer, his elation and relief obvious. He’d been neck deep in the middle of it all as the General’s right-hand man, taking charge of at least a third of the missions that had gotten all of you to this point; if anyone deserved to celebrate, it was definitely Poe. 

It’s why you haven’t tried to pull him away yet, why you haven’t stopped him from drinking jet juice like it’s water. You know you probably should but…he’s just having so much fun, and you can’t bear to be the one that ends it. He’s definitely sloshed, laughing at the dumbest things and stumbling around like a baby that’s just learning how to walk. It’s been pretty amusing to witness, if you’re honest.  

You watch as the people he’s been speaking with move on, clapping him on the shoulder as they head toward another group that’s taken up residence in the back corner. Once he’s alone, he sits quietly, smiling softly to himself for a moment, before his brow suddenly furrows in confusion. He looks around, an exaggerated frown on his lips as he searches for something. When his eyes meet yours, his smile returns, wide and a little dopey, as he stands to his feet and unsteadily shuffles over. 

You chuckle when he plops down onto the chair beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders as he leans in so close, his nose bumps against your cheek. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice raspy from all the cheering and screaming. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

An involuntary shiver runs through you at the roughness of his voice, conjuring memories of the other times he’s sounded like this for you (his forehead pressed to yours, breath puffing against your lips as he pushes into you again and again—). He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your cheek as his other hand falls to your knee. 

“Maker,” he groans, kissing his way over your jaw toward your ear. “Baby, you smell delicious.” 

You tilt your head slightly to better accommodate him, your chuckle a little throaty. “I do?” 

He hums, pushing his nose against the side of your neck and breathing in deeply.  

You chew your lip, eyes darting around the room as he resumes kissing you, this time on your neck, the hand on your knee slowly inching its way up to your thigh. 

“Poe,” you warn, squirming a little in your chair as you halt his hand’s upward progression with your own. “We’re in public.” 

He grunts, nosing aside the collar of your shirt to nip at your collarbone. “So?” 

Your chuckle morphs into a whine as he worries a mark there with his teeth, arousal pooling in your gut at the mild sting. He groans into your neck when your fingers find their way into his hair, curling around the soft, thick strands. Gently, you pull him off of you, his eyelids heavy, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the way he looks at you, so much unabashed love and adoration, so much want. Unable to resist, you lean in and kiss him softly on the lips. 

 As you pull away again, you say. “C’mon, flyboy, let me take you home.” 

The two of you say goodnight to everyone before stumbling from the cantina, Poe’s arm laid over your shoulders. Your arm wraps around his waist in an effort to keep him upright, only to have him lean heavily against your side, humming contentedly as he buries his face in your neck again. You manage to get him to the door just outside the living quarters hall before he starts trying to grope you, hand slipping not-so-stealthily toward your chest.  

“Stop it,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes as you swat his hand away. 

He snorts into your neck, his mouth once again exploring the area. “Stop what?” he asks between kisses, lips dragging over your skin. “‘m not doing anything.” 

You hum skeptically, pausing to key the entry code to the door. As you wait for it to slide open, he pulls your earlobe between his lips, his teeth nipping at the edges. Your breath hitches in surprise, and he must hear it because he smiles. You drag him into the hall once the door opens, silently thanking the Maker that everyone seems to still be out celebrating. 

Poe’s quarters aren’t far, and normally take just a few minutes to reach, however, what should be a quick trek is hindered by the fact that a certain drunk commander can’t seem to stop touching you. You fend him off without issue, though, biting back your laughter at the terrible pick-up lines he’s throwing your way. 

“You do know that I can’t carry you, right?” you tease, snorting as he knocks you into the wall with his weight again. 

He chuckles as he attempts to right himself, but only succeeds in making you even more lopsided. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help that I am trapped in the gravitational field of your smile.” 

You scoff, shaking your head fondly as you turn the corner to the hall that (blessedly) houses Poe’s quarters. “You’re an idiot.” 

He laughs again, and you grunt as he leans into your side yet again, his breath puffing against your cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” 

It’s cheesy, but the truth of the statement makes something warm lodge itself in your heart all the same. 

You’re almost there, can literally see his door as you both plod awkwardly down the hall. He’s quieter now, but you’re so focused on getting him into his room, you don’t think to ask why.  

Without warning, he leans into you again, throwing you off balance and pinning you to the wall with his hips. Before you can scold him, he covers your lips with his own, stealing your words as well as the breath from your lungs. He tastes like a Keshian spice roll, sweet and a little tangy, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep him against you. His tongue is warm, insistent, as it slides hungrily against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.  

He sighs, grinding against you clumsily as he devours your mouth. His hands are everywhere; on your face, your hips, your ass, his strong fingers gripping and pulling, manipulating your body like he would his ship. You whine as he slots his thigh between your legs, pushing it up against your core, mumbling something about wanting to see you fall apart. You moan at the friction, canting your hips as he pulls his mouth from yours to groan into your neck. Your fingers weave into his hair as you both continue to grind against each other, the pleasure building steadily in your gut.  

“Poe,” you sigh breathlessly, eyes flying open when you remember where you are. “Baby, your room is right there.” 

He grunts in response, his mouth latching onto your neck.  

You open your mouth to respond, then promptly choke on a moan when he shifts his leg, the movement pressing the seam of your pants against your clit.  

“Maker, I love all the pretty, little sounds you make,” he slurs, voice raspy as he pulls back to meet your eyes. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” 

The greedy look in his eyes sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as you cant your hips, seeking your release.

“Poe,” you whine, telling him that you’re close (so close), that you just need a little more— 

He shushes you softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his own hips still rutting lazily against you, and when you come, he kisses you, swallowing your moans.  

The first thing you notice when you come back to yourself is that Poe’s rock-hard cock is digging into your hip. When you open your eyes, he’s watching you, his smile soft, eyes heavy-lidded, still blown wide with lust. 

That’s when you remember where you are. 

Shit.  

Panic slices through you as you wriggle in his hold, trying to push yourself off of the wall (and his thigh). You’re mortified—had anyone seen you? Had they heard? You groan (and not in the pretty way Poe likes), eyes darting around in search of any onlookers. Poe chuckles, nose nudging against yours as he tries to reclaim your attention. 

As you return your attention to your menace of a boyfriend, you can’t seem to stop the laugh that escapes you, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. He laughs too, snorting when you place your other hand over his mouth. You smile at each other as your combined giggles subside, Poe’s eyes crinkling a little by his eyes.  

“Let’s get you to bed, commander,” you say finally, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his neck. 

He nods, a little glassy-eyed as he stares at you with a fondness and affection that makes your stomach flip.  

When you (finally) make it into his room, he attacks you with his lips again, licking into your mouth as his hands clumsily attempt to remove your clothes. He walks backwards, bringing you along with him as he untucks your shirt from your pants. You chuckle as he struggles with your belt, grunting in frustration when he can’t seem to get it unbuckled. He huffs after a moment, abandoning his attempts and slipping beneath your shirt instead.  

Suddenly, he grunts, tripping and falling heavily onto his bed and pulling you right along with him. You laugh softly, pushing yourself up on your forearms to look down at him; his eyes are glazed with want, dark curls splayed across his blanket in a messy halo, eyelids heavy. 

“Slow down, baby,” you whisper, smiling softly as you lean in to kiss him again. 

He melts into the mattress, moaning into your mouth as his hands slide up your back, hips pushing against yours. You grind down onto him slowly, gently, swallowing every sigh and whimper that falls from between his lips. He comes with a choked moan not long after, fingers digging into your skin as his hips stutter against yours. 

You pull back when you feel him sag in relief beneath you, your hands combing through his hair. His eyes are closed, body limp and heavy, and you realize—he fell asleep. You snort, smiling fondly at him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. As you try to slip from his hold though, he tightens his arms around you, murmuring softly for you to stay. 

Unable to deny him anything, you do.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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