even when he’d save you the last red ice-pop instead of sister because you liked them better and she always tossed them halfway through. even when he’d let you sit on the back of his bike in the summer because you’d never quite learned how to ride. even when he’d invited you to his all boys birthday party, and walked you out of the laser tag room because you’d been too scared of the dark to keep playing. you remember his sister being upset with you that day.

you realise that you like him very early on. yuuji itadori, that is. yuuji who had been the first ever boy to say your hair looked nice after your mum made it pretty with a new silk ribbon. yuuji who smelled like the park on a hot day, like tarmac but also earthy because he’d come home coated in soil down to his scraped knees that bled through his jeans. yuuji who chased his little sister through the house with mud tracks, blamed it on the two of you but ended up stuck with the punishment anyways. the same yuuji who went to middle school ahead of you both just by two years and deemed it his duty to walk you home from elementary, he’d wait for you by the gates all scary with bandages on his cheeks from the fights he’d get into, but smiley all the same.

yuuji, who carried you back home the summer before you started high school when you broke your wrist running the woods behind his house — who didn’t flinch when your best friend scolded him for being a clutz. it was her fault not his. it’s always funny to see them bicker, she’s always so protective of you and yuuji the same. you feel a part of their bond, like you belong with the two of them at your side … which is why the guilt hurts when you start to look at yuuji differently that summer. when he starts to grow into his looks and your heart starts to flutter every time he’s near.

you try not to overthink how much he cares for you, staying awake with you while you wait in the ER to be seen — smiling with you and holding your free hand when they put a cast on you. he bares the burden of telling your parents, begs them not to punish you but him instead. for a girl at fourteen it’s chivalry. you pretend it isn’t love.

in high school you walk the halls with your best friend, fully in love with her brother — you pretend it doesn’t hurt that he’s become so popular, that all the cheerleaders seem to have his attention and he’s got so many friends he doesn’t need to hang out with his little sister and her minion anymore. you sit through awkward double dates at the local diner so your friend can get closer to her crush but your heart most looks forward to yuuji picking you both up at the end of the night in the old truck he decides to fix up in time for college.

“boys your age don’t know what they want,” he leans back from the driver’s seat to tell you — hair wild and brown eyes warm. “be careful.”

and you want to ask him if he knows what he wants. if it’s you. you don’t.

the two years where, yuuji is in college before you can join him are the worst. he hardly visits, off on his sports scholarship which takes up all his time and you miss him more than anything — hopelessly in love and endlessly yearning. your best friend gets a boyfriend and suddenly life doesn’t feel like how it was back then, no more ice pops made with red fruit and juices that run down your arm, no more strapped knees and hospital rooms for sprained bones. no more late night drives in yuuji’s truck after curfew. it hurts, and the boys at school suck — they’re not kind like itadori is.

when you’re in college yourself, it’s all the same. boys still suck except they major in business or economics or compsci and party instead of studying. your best friend is at a college two hours away and you take turns visiting one another every weekend — she barely brings up yuuji, but the little fragments she shares of him still makes your heart flutter. you ask if he has a girlfriend. he’s never brought anyone back home for winter break. once the weekends end, you’re back on your own again rolling through the mundane with your heart tucked under your sleeve until you see it. him. pink hair and brown eyes, his laugh catching in the spring breeze — yuuji is there. on your campus for some kind of away game and when he sees you. everything clicks. it feels right.

after practise that day he takes you for a drive, still in his truck from high school — couldn’t get rid of her, too many memories. your laugh is woven into the seatbelts in the back seat and your tears are probably soaked in the material too. yuuji drove down ahead of his teammates to visit a friend, not a girl. he adds. the whole drive your heart hammers in your chest so loud you think he might be able to hear it and if he does — yuuji says nothing. though he looks at you every five seconds, gaze flickering away from the road to watch your face. the silence broken into pieces by the small, aimless questions he asks you. how’ve you been? are you liking your classes and …

“can i kiss you?”

he asks once you’ve stopped, hidden somewhere in the back of a fast food parking lot. your conversation had lulled, but the tension had grown thick — so much so that not even a knife could slide through. the fries the cinnamon twists itadori had ordered for you both cool on the console between you, brown eyes are hazy and hooded with an emotion you can’t quite place — striking nerves through your heart almost like cupid’s arrow. you’ve wanted nothing more for a decade and a half. To be looked at by yuuji in the way he’s looking at you now. to be wanted by him.

“why?” you ask.

yuuji leans closer, the palm of his hand sliding to cup your face. “i’ve missed you, is all.”

he says back.

a million thoughts rush through your mind, the longing you’ve always felt. the stupid, teenage girl crush that’s always lingered in the back of your mind. the guilt you’d feel hiding this from your best friend, his little sister — his only sister. she’s all you have left, a constant in your life … but your selfishness overrides anything you feel towards her. the promise you’d made in crayon on a4 paper as a child disintegrating into dust as you nod eagerly, shyly, leaning into yuuji’s touch like someone might rip it away from you all too soon.

“please?” you blink slow, doe like in a manner that makes itadori groan as though he’s been shot in the chest. it’s needy, hungry and it makes you melt in your seat. “please kiss me, yuuji…”

within a heart beat his lips are on yours, searing feverish like glass that’s been heated to the highest degree. there’s so much feeling behind the way yuuji moves, tender love and notes of longing and maybe lust that no longer feels like it’s one sided. when he kisses you everything sort of… clicks into place, this is what you’ve needed and dreamed of for years and it’s everything you wanted. his hand slips to the back of your neck, comforting and possessive as though he doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers, and he pulls you further into the messy lip lock. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, tasting the strawberry lip balm you’d slapped on earlier — yuuji asks, he doesn’t take. waiting for you to open up to him like a flower in bloom.

your own fingers tangle in messy, windswept hair that reminds you of the cherry blossoms across campus — they tug at and tighten in his locks bringing him further into you to the point where you think itadori might crawl over the console just to have you. he tastes like red-juice popsicles and feels like the summer sun beating down on your skin. yuuji feels like home against you and it’s something that you didn’t even know you’d missed.

things progress faster than you realise, not that you mind, and it should feel wrong, so , so wrong to be kissing your best friend’s older brother like this — to be letting him pull you into the back seat, hands sliding under your worn out high school hoodie to settle on your hips as he tugs you onto his lap. you should feel sick to your stomach every time he moans your name like it’s a sin he’s been waiting to taste his whole life.

you gasp itadori’s name back almost rehearsed — like you haven’t pictured him with you like this before. and when he rocks his hips up against yours, concealed hardness straining against his jeans with the touch material hot on your clit through your denim shorts, the world stops just for the top of you. “waited so long,” yuuji mumbles, lips swollen, breathing ragged and hands everywhere. “never thought you’d let me…”

“i’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his mouth, tongue curled against his and your salvia smeared across his rosy lips. yuuji blinks up at you like you’ve just given him the whole world and you lazily sling your arms over his broad shoulders — hiding in your own bicep, suddenly shy. “i’ve always wanted you.”

smiling to himself, yuuji’s hands map their way up to your ribcage, feeling for your thrumming heart — dizzy from the heat in his car and the confession on your lips. carefully, he pulls you back and forth over his lap, watching you fight and lose your own battle of holding back dulcet mewls and whimpers. “you have no idea how happy that makes me, to hear you say that.” he kisses your cheek, much gentler than before. his forehead presses into your cheek and itadori grinds harder, faster making sure there’s a constant delightful pressure against your throbbing clit.

his long lashes flutter against your cheek like angel’s kisses — barely there, unlike the thickness of his clothed erection against your soaking mound, as it drools between the layers of your clothes. he lets you hug him close, lets you swivel yourself down on him and take what you need in the back of his car. the one where you’d laughed with your best friend, cried against his little sister.

casting her from your mind, you screw your eyes shut and focus on the blistering bliss that brews in your lower belly. chanting his name as though it’s all you’ve ever known. “yuu, yuuji — ah! it feels…” you whisper, brain miles behind the pace of your hips as they buck down against his. when yuuji pushes up, you push down, that little pleasure nub tucked between puffy pussy lips catching on his rock hard girth. “feels so—”

wrong. so good. so insane and crazy. but you can’t stop, wanting him, needing him, grinding on him.

“i know baby, i know,” yuuji whimpers, pet name slipping out like its natural — too far gone. “feel it too, you got me. ‘m right here. promise, i’m with you.”

itadori hugs you close now, the strength of his arms tugging you across his lap and his length until you’re both panting messes slumped against one another — the tensions and the highs you’ve been building stacking so high there’s no choice but for all of it to come crashing down. you’re all curses and cumming, orgasms that rip through space and time in sync, soaking your shorts and running his jeans. it’s messy, has you trembling but yuuji is in no better state, lips dropping to your collar bones as you sniffle into his hair. both of you ruined for everyone else but each other.

regret should follow fast, you should push him away and have him drive you home because you’ve betrayed the only other person in your life to have cared. your best friend, mere miles away — expecting to see you this weekend, ready to greet you with her adoring smile and big heart she’s always kept you in. you should feel like shit for fucking her older brother.

but you don’t and you don’t care what happens beyond tonight, because you’ve wanted yuuji for longer than you’ve ever known and maybe naively you think this’ll work out.

this falling in love and fucking your best friend’s older brother behind her back thing.

end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!

eren (๑•﹏•)

contrary to popular belief, eren doesn’t jerk off a lot 

his depravity runs deep that’s for sure, he’s got a plentiful imagination that can easily aid him in his alone time 

and yet he never really puts it to use often

unless he’s extremely pent up or so bored that nothing else seems interesting enough except for masturbating 

and when he began dating you, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, finally having obtained a beautiful, perfect outlet to release his pent up energy into 

why would he spill over his knuckles when he could just do it inside of you? 

but when you’re far and gone from him, and when he misses you too much to bare… 

he’s not above jerking off while thinking about you 

if anything he thinks it’s romantic 

and depending on the severity of his desire and the amount of patience he has or lack thereof, the scenarios shift around 

if the hunger for you is a slow burn, one that lightly simmers throughout the day until it bubbles over into an explosion of burning heat inside him, then he’ll start off slow, making himself horny without even realizing it 

like when you had to go out of town for a week to visit a sick family member, his mind kept lingering on the last kiss you two shared before you were off 

how you went up on your tippy toes, your hands cupped around his jaw as you kissed him deeply, tilting your head and angling into him with a soft moan of contentment in his mouth 

you pulled away, resting your forehead to his, a little breathy giggle falling from your lips and fanning over his, like you caught the way you were losing yourself in the kiss for just a second too long 

you gave him another peck as you began to pull away, your hand faltering from his jaw, down to his chest, drawing out your touch before you left 

he kept thinking about it, replaying it over and over in his mind, his stomach fluttering at the thought of how your breasts felt pressed to his chest, how you were the one who deepened the kiss and held his face close to yours, how a fucking moan slipped from you and all he did was kiss you 

and his mind trickled over into the obscene, and he imagined pushing you up against the door, one hand around your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and the other locking the door behind you 

he’d have cupped your pussy over your pants and rubbed your clit with the heel of his palm, watching how you crumble so quickly and spread your legs for him 

then he’d unzip your pants and flip you around, tugging your jeans just under your ass, making the already plump flesh swell from the material bunched beneath it 

his hand would slide under the sweater you had on and he’d be greeted with the lack of a bra, and he’d grope and squeeze your breasts while fingering your soaked cunt, forcing you to kiss him while he fucked you on his fingers 

then in his mind, he’d have you jerk him off, while in reality he was fucking his fist, desperately pretending it was your soft hand wrapped around him 

he’d try and really sell the fantasy for himself, squirting lotion into his palm and warming it up before going right back to it, the vision behind his closed eyes extending the scene into him fucking you up against the door, burying himself deep into you and rolling his hips against your ass, never fully pulling out, just shifting enough to provide you both the much needed friction 

he’d be moaning in your shared bed, his heavy eyes parting just to glance over at your side, wishing you were there while he pictured your naked body, groaning heavily as he focused on your presence even if you weren’t there 

he’d finish to the thought of filling you to the hilt, stuffing you full of cock while he cums in you, each spurt inside you making you completely full of him

he’d be shuddering your name as he came, murmuring in broken sentences of “fu..fuckin’ mine,” and “my girl, my girl,” 

and then when he’s impatient his fantasies shed their gentle nature 

(as if the original one had much to begin with) 

his go to is pushing you on your knees and fucking your face 

despite how fucking bad he wants to absolutely fuck your throat, he holds back because he loves you and he knows he’s well endowed, and if he took you the way he really wanted to…  

suffice to say he fears it wouldn’t be as pleasurable for you as it would be for him 

you can already barely take his cock as it is, when you let him into your mouth, your poor jaw gets sore so quickly and you gag when he hits the back of your throat 

it turns him on so much watching you sputter and catch your breath

and fuck its so hot the way you look up at him with those beautifully helpless, watery eyes, your hands trembling as you double fist his cock while you try to soothe your gag reflex before attempting to go back down 

it’s not that you’re bad at sucking his dick, he loves your gentle and earnest approach, loves how your slow pace makes him really focus and enjoy the feeling, how you lick up his shaft and make out with his tip 

but goddamn sometimes that pretty mouth of yours pisses him off and all he wants is to fuck the attitude clean off your tongue with his cock filling your jaw 

so he’ll act out this desire in the only way he can and fuck the tunnel of his palm while envisioning its your little throat 

he’ll be hunched over in bed, one hand pressed to the headboard while the other thrusts into his fist, grunting to himself and pretending his words are falling into your ears 

“take it — take that fuckin’ cock, s’all you’re good for,” he’d grit, throwing his head back with his hips crashing into his fist 

he cums so hard whenever he thinks about this, about gripping the back of your hair and yanking you backward, prompting you to scramble for purchase over his hips while he watches his cock fill your throat 

and when he’s finished he feels disgusting and guilty but it’s never enough to make him stop thinking about it 

maybe one day he’ll work up the courage to try and bring up deepthroating </3 

armin (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

dear sweet, sweet armin 

he’s a secret pervert 

and although he’s your boyfriend, you don’t realize how much of a debauched freak he really is 

he doesn’t like to be loud and proud of it, instead he’s quiet and ashamed 

he wants to be respectful and treat you the way you deserve to be treated

especially because he just can’t wrap his head around the idea that someone like you would go for someone like him, even despite all your loving reassurances that you give him, always letting him know that you feel like you’re the lucky one 

but he’s not so sure you’d maintain those sentiments if you knew what he used to do before you began dating 

he’d hump his pillow, his long fingers curling around the soft cushion while pretending it was your hips as he thought of you, yearned for you

he’d prop his phone on the mattress before him while he humped his pillow, a quick blurry upskirt shot he took of you when he allowed you to go first up the stairs 

or when you fell asleep at one of sasha’s parties, he snapped a photo of you passed out on her couch, claiming it was because connie drew a mustache on you and he thought it was funny, but really he just wanted to have it so he could zoom in on your tits practically falling out your dress and your exposed panties just barely peaking out from how high your dress rode up 

he’d rest on his tummy, his pillow tucked beneath him and just grind, his hand shakily reaching towards his phone to pathetically zoom in on your clothed pussy

it was such bad quality, but it was enough to make him genuinely salivate 

the photo never failed to make him shoot a fat load into a wad of tissues, and he’d always have to rush and grab a few tissues from off his nightstand, not wanting evidence of his disgusting actions to be left on his pillow 

and when you finally got together? 

he didn’t think his fantasies could get more pitiful and degenerate, but of course, they did 

he likes to take the last article of clothing you’ve worn and nearly smother himself with it, burying his face with your soft clothes and warm scent while he strokes himself, trying to copy the way you touch him 

he whimpers for you, calls out for you as if you could hear him, begging an invisible you to please let him cum 

he’d never admit this but he cums so fucking hard to the thought of you at your laptop, looking so focused and beautiful with your work, and you glancing over at him and noticing he’s hard 

in his fantasy, you make him speak to you while he’s on his knees, and you make him explain why he deserves to feel mommy’s pussy when she’s clearly busy 

in his mind he convinces you and you bend over, paying him no mind while you continue typing on your laptop, allowing him to fuck you from behind

his front would curl tightly over your back while his hands roam all over you desperately, always paying extra attention to your breasts

his cheek would rest over the nape of your neck, and he’d breathe you in like a depraved freak, panting and whimpering about how thankful he is to fuck his mommy 

you’d rub your clit with one hand and continue with your work on the other, occasionally granting him a “you feel so good baby, that’s my good boy,” 

you have zero idea that he overstimulates himself in your shared bed while he moans for you, twitching while he pictures cumming in you and you forcing him to lick you clean after 

“thank you mommy...” armin whispers to himself whenever he finishes cumming, catching his breath and wishing you were there to lap up the mess in his fist 

maybe one day he’ll bring it up to you…

until then it’s his pillow and him against the world 

jean (⩌⩊⩌)

similarly to eren, jean doesn’t really jerk off that often 

but where they differ is that while eren never feels above masturbating, jean does 

it makes him feel like a horny teen and he hates it 

however one sentiment that they share is : “why fuck my hand when i could fuck a beautiful woman instead?” 

it’s not that he doesn’t like jerking off, it’s that he’s ashamed to enjoy it, but not enough to where he can stave off avoiding it every time 

he’s only a man, he’s bound to give in every once in awhile 

he obviously daydreams of you when he does it, but more specifically he thinks about how soft you always seem to feel, and not just your tight cunt 

for example, he’ll think about your arms, how delicate you feel in his grip when he grabs your forearm and pins it behind your back while he fucks you 

or your legs when he throws them over his shoulders and slides his fat cock inside of you all the way 

or your sweet tummy, how cute it is when he kisses his way down to your pussy, occasionally sinking his teeth into the side of your belly, laughing to himself when you gasp and shyly whine for him to stop 

everything about you is so fragile to him, but not because he thinks you’re weak, but because to him you’re just so perfect in every way — in other words you’re precious cargo 

picturesque montages of your body in different angles and positions, a compilation of all his favorite moments you two have had during sex plays behind his eyes while he jerks off 

he’s a simple man with simple pleasures 

one in particular however, he seems to revisit more often than the others 

he thinks about this time you woke up from a nap and went into the bathroom while he was showering 

initially he thought you just missed him and were going to hop up on the bathroom counter and talk his ear off while he shampooed but instead you ignored his affectionate greeting, of “hi my sleepy girl, you feelin’ alright?” 

you stared at him while you stripped off your clothes and entered the shower with him 

you grabbed his face and kissed him hard, hiking your leg around his hip to grind against him with the same urgency as if time was going to run out and you’d never get to touch him again  

he was completely gobsmacked, you’d never been like that before but he was not going to complain 

he fell into a rhythm with you, pulling you in close and feeling the blood flood his cock in record timing 

he rutted against you, groaning in your mouth and gripping your ass, pulling you in harder

“had a dream,” you finally explained, kissing down his jaw and neck, nearly sucking bruises into his skin 

“where you fucked me so good,” you whispered in his ear, pulling back just barely enough to where he could see the starved glint in your eye 

“and i woke up so wet for you,” you shakily breathed out, swallowing hard as your head lulled back upon feeling him start to circle your hole 

“i need you so bad jean,” you whimpered, trying to angle your hips just right and make him slip inside

but he didn’t need to be told a second time

he pushed in, his face falling to your tits as he started fucking you, pressing you up against the tiled walls 

usually he has to finger you to get you prepared for his cock but you weren’t lying, you were so fucking wet that it made his intrusion easier than ever 

he suspected you touched yourself before you came into the shower, and the thought only made him hornier 

you were crazy in those small four walls, he watched you fuck yourself on his cock as you leaned against the wall, looking down at your connected bodies and rubbing your clit at the sight 

fuck the memory makes him so rock hard he worries his dick will just fall off his body 

he remembers how he pressed you against the glass door and fucked you from the back, grabbing some soap and rubbing it over your ass, watching your skin grow sudsy from it 

he dragged a hand over the fogged glass just enough to allow him to see your tits smushed against the shower door through the mirror outlooking you both 

he made you watch as he fucked you hard, whispering in your ear if he was doing it just like he did in your dream 

you sobbed a garbled moan, nodding like the dumb little girl you become when he gets his cock in you 

ugh he came sooo hard in you that afternoon, and he cums nearly just as hard every time he thinks about it

since then he prays everyday that you get another wet dream with him in it 

reiner (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ‹𝟹

reiner actually jerked off a lot before you two started dating 

poor thing would feel so guilty every time, always so ashamed with the notion that he was disrespecting you by doing it and that he was just too weak to stop 

it was honestly lamentable, how he was over you before you were his 

he’d think about how warm your hand was when you gently held onto his arm while guiding yourself through a full crowd 

or about how good your perfume and shampoo smelled and how much of a human heater you were and are — these qualities of yours surfaced his mind specifically when he’d think about how he had to lean down to hug you, and how your scent enveloped him and how it felt as though your heat could melt ice right off of him 

but when you were finally all his, he didn’t have to rely on jerking off to abstract concepts of you anymore

no longer did he have to only rely on things like you saying his name in the middle of a text — the simple action would somehow make him hard because oh my god she’s saying my name she typed it she used her thumbs to pick out the letters in my name i love her so much

instead he could just actually have sex with you 

but when you’re not there or if you’re sick or on your period, he’d rather die than ask you and make you feel pressured, so he just takes care of himself 

he thinks about your face a lot, your smile, your giggle, this specific way your eyebrows draw together when he’s making you feel really good, how your lip trembles with moans when he stuffs you with his fingers 

how you paw at him, at his chest and shoulders, down his fit body and beg him to fuck you 

he thinks about the initial push inside of you when you guys have sex, how you always gasp every time, your legs coming round to tighten around his hips 

your eyes flutter shut and your lips shakily drop open from being stretched out by him, and fuck your back arches so prettily off the bed while you lift your hips, trying to accommodate his size 

you’re just this perfect sexy thing beneath him that turns him on like nothing else, and it’s honestly a true testament to his control and reserve that he can hold back from cumming immediately upon seeing you like that 

so when he jerks off he replays that over and over in his mind, sinking his fist over his cock and pretending it’s him sliding into your pussy for the first time 

he thinks about how he has to rock into you slowly, a steady in and out, stretching you out before he can begin to really fuck you 

how you whimper and start to rock your hips against his impatiently, so fucking needy for his cock 

he loves how much you desire him, it makes him feel so loved and needed, like he’s the only one who can bring you pleasure

he thinks about how you moan his name, doing his best to focus on the memory of your breathy cries for him while he fucks you, how you chant his name like saying it alone makes you feel good 

he often thinks back to the time you begged him to cum inside you for the first time, and it does him in every single time 

it was your first night in your first apartment together and you guys were breaking in your new bed 

he was so ecstatic to have taken this new level of the relationship with you, and you could feel it in the way he fucked you 

and in how he kissed your lips and down your jaw and neck, how he rubbed your clit so perfectly in tune with his thrusts 

“please, please cum in me reiner, wanna feel you deep in me please, baby?” you had panted, like it hurt to think of him cumming anywhere else but inside you 

and fuck, he definitely granted you your wish, his hips stilled, thick thighs tensing as he came deep in you, spurting thick and heavy ropes into your tight cunt without a care in the world 

he loves that memory so much, he blushes when he thinks about it and makes a mess of his fist every time  

connie ((⚆·̫⚆‧̣̥̇ ))

nearly without fail connie will jerk off whenever he misses you 

that boy is clingy as hell 

it’s not his fault his girlfriend is just so damn hot !

and it’s not like you two have sex every single day, it’s just that when you’re not around, your absence is too loud for him to ignore and he begins to have those dead wife flashback montages in his head like in the movies 

something you like about connie is how dirty he can be, it's a trait only you’re allowed to see, considering you’re his girlfriend, it makes sense that you’d be the only one who sees that side of him 

he’s so playful, fun and sweet, that sometimes it’s such a jarring 180 when he gets horny 

he’ll fuck you from the back and grunt for you to fuckin’ stay put when you try moving your hands away from the headboard 

and god forbid you wear a skirt around him when he’s feeling ravenous… 

he’ll hike it up and lower your panties down to your ankles and fuck you hard, slamming his hips flush to your ass while he fists the delicate material of your skirt 

he thinks about these things when he jerks off and gets so upset he can’t just take you the way he wants to 

he almost gets frustrated, huffing as he palms himself and looks at pictures of you on his phone, swiping through them until he gets impatient and shoves his sweatpants and boxers down below his hips to touch himself properly

he’ll look at all the selfies you’ve sent him and jerk off, throwing his head back as he imagines himself there with you when you took the photo

like with this one photo, it’s probably his favorite selfie of you, you’re in his car with no makeup, a tank top and those leggings he loves 

you sent him the pic while you waited for him to grab something from your place and come back, playfully but still impatiently rushing him to return to you 

he thinks you look so beautiful there, so bare faced and sweet

and fuck, you weren’t wearing a bra and he left the ac on for you so your nipples were hard and pressing against the thin material of your tank 

your thighs were in the shot too, full flesh contained by the confinements of those goddamn yoga pants 

he’ll stare at that photo and think about pulling you to the backseat, locking the doors and ravishing you 

he’d pull that tank top under your tits and rip a hole in the crotch of those tight leggings, swearing he’ll buy you another pair as soon as he’s done with you 

he’d kiss you hard, one hand around your throat while the other takes his cock and swirls his fat tip over your clit, knocking before entering

y’know, like a true gentleman

in this fantasy you’re dripping for him, making a complete mess of his backseat, but he doesn’t care, it just turns him on that much more to see proof of your arousal smeared across the leather seats 

as he zooms in on your tits, he’d picture them bouncing while he fucks you, groaning thickly at the thought of taking them in his mouth while he pumps you full of his cock 

his hands would be all over you, squeezing and gripping and pulling you down onto his dick relentlessly 

he has got to be more careful when he gets like this because he loses himself in the hazy daydream that consists of you and him and in return accidentally cums on his phone 

and although he feels irritated and disgusted with himself whenever it happens, he can’t lie… seeing your sweet smile covered with a shot of his cum makes him twitch and almost tempted to go another round with himself 

but he’ll just wait until you come back home to him instead  

levi (҂⌣̀_⌣́)

eren doesn’t jerk off often because he already has you, and jean is too embarrassed to do it, but levi? 

he hates the mess, hates giving into such primal urges, it makes him feel weak and like he’s slipping — slipping with his grip on self control 

but similarly to jean, he’s just a man at the end of the day and will give in when he can’t ignore the tension between his legs any longer  

he doesn’t talk about it with you, worried that it’ll somehow ruin your image of him 

but little does he know that if you knew he touched himself to the thought of you, you’d suck his dick until he could not physically produce another drop of cum

he’s such a busy guy he doesn’t really have the time to do it anyway, and he uses it to his advantage, trying to bury himself in his work instead of his fist 

but when he comes home and you’re not there, the feelings become even harder to push to the back of his mind 

he’ll crawl into the bed you two share, bones heavy and tired and heart hurting from ending his day without you there with him

he’ll reach out for your pillow and lay his cheek against it, exhaling lowly when his hands slowly grapple towards your blanket 

he’ll bring it to his nose and breathe in the remnants of your scent, tangling his legs along with it 

he’ll slowly grind against the warm blanket, groaning with both a need for you to be there and with reluctance towards the entire thing 

he’ll keep some of the material by his nose and lips, breathing you in like a mask while he bunches up the rest of it and unzips his pants 

he’ll free his cock and stroke himself, hesitant to slide between the folds he made with the blanket 

he knows it’s dirty, knows it’s gross and it’ll be a mess after he’s done 

but his very rare, indulgent side will peek around the corner and remind himself that he can rush to your washing machine to wash it before the stain sets and hardens 

and that’s enough for him to give in 

he’ll shakily exhale when he feels the soft fabric of your blanket, his mind immediately racing to you and how your body was once wrapped up with the same material he’s fucking 

it makes his cock twitch, just the thought of you laying there beside him 

he’ll lean his cheek into your pillow as if it were your hand cupping him and take a deep inhale of your blanket, smiling slightly when he can make out hints of your lotion and shampoo 

he thrusts into the tunnel of his fist covered by your blanket, shuddering as he gives in to his urges 

he thinks of you and how happy you are to take care of him, to make him feel good 

he’s a grown, capable adult, he’s used to relying on himself and only himself but when you came around, he slowly but surely let down his guard and allowed you to aid him in things where he doesn’t even really require assistance 

not because he feels as though you think he’s incapable, but because you know he’s been too capable for too long 

even with sex, he never saw it as a necessity or anything of importance 

but now because of you he’s fucking your blanket and shakily murmuring your name 

he doesn’t think about anything crazy, he just thinks of your body connected with his, trying his best to separate his mind and body from what he’s doing, trying to pretend it’s your soft cunt wrapped around him instead 

he thinks of you pushing him onto his back and straddling him, interlocking your fingers beside his head while you ride his cock at a slow and easy pace 

you’d drag your soaked pussy up and down over his thick length, spoiling him rotten while he gazes at the beautiful sight of you on top of him 

you’d grind your hips down into perfect swivels over him, and he’d groan, swallowing hard as his cock twitches inside you 

when your sex life was still new and budding, he used to want to wear condoms to ensure your lack of pregnancy and make clean up easier 

but when you reassured him that you were on birth control and to avoid making a mess he could just cum inside you, and that you’d be so good for him and keep it all in 

well…

who was he to try and argue with logic like that! 

he’d look down and watch as you took him in all the way, making his cock disappear inside you like a magic trick 

you hypnotized him and cleansed his mind of all his stressors and instead filled him with pleasure as you rode him 

your pussy always feels so fucking heavenly when it grips him, giving him exactly what he needs and exactly how he needs it 

he loves cumming inside you, loves guiding you onto your back with a towel underneath you, spreading you open and watching his cum pour out of you 

he’ll shove his fingers inside you and push your hip down when you gasp and squirm away from being too sensitive 

he’ll shush you and fuck his cum back into your cunt, glancing up at you with a faint smug look in his eye 

“i thought you’d promise me you’d be good and keep all my cum inside?” he’d tease you, and you’d whimper, too busy trembling as he fingers your poor overstimmed pussy 

ugh god the sounds you make 

he always muffles you with his palm but really he likes that he’s why you can’t seem to hold it together and control yourself 

and when he spills into the ripples of your blanket, despite his exhaustion from his orgasm, he pulls his boxers up and immediately rushes into your laundry room downstairs 

he’ll quickly run the blanket under some cold water and then throw it in the wash, leaning against the machine and watching it spin in circles, his mind drifting off to the longing he feels for you, wishing that you were there with him 

erwin (๑╹o╹)✎

this poor man is constantly working long nights at the office, you don’t really get to see him as much as either of you would like 

sure the money is nice, but damn spending time with you would be nice too! 

sometimes you stop by and visit him at work to bring him lunch and moments like that make his whole week 

he’ll draw the curtains and shield the view of you away from his coworkers and other subordinates from peeking in, wanting you all to himself for what sparing minutes he has with you 

he’ll haul you into his lap and hold your jaw, pulling you down to kiss him 

it never goes further than just kissing, a long wordless ‘i miss you’, and sometimes he’s almost tempted to give in and forgo his important deadlines and spend that time fucking you on his desk 

but it never happens and you end up leaving sooner than he’d like, wishing him a good day and a promise of seeing him later that night at home 

and then he’ll begrudgingly return to his work 

he’s always one of if not the last one to leave, even though he technically doesn’t have to, he’s the boss and he believes in carrying his own weight and not letting it trickle amongst people who don’t have his work included in their pay grade 

he’ll spend that time heavily focused on his work, just trying his best to get enough done before he leaves, but sometimes, in the late hour of the night, he’ll swear he can catch whiffs of your perfume in the air from when you visited him earlier in the day 

it isn’t a rarity, the times you’ve left him with a hard cock, kissing him goodbye and innocently sauntering out of his office as if you weren’t sitting directly on his clothed dick, with your warm panty clad pussy pressed over him 

and most of the time he just has to direct his attention back to his work and let his cock go down on its own 

but sometimes? 

he doesn’t want to just sit uncomfortably with his cock straining against his slacks 

he’s ashamed to admit it and would never do so under any circumstances, but on occasion when he knows he’s the only one left at the office, he’ll palm himself under his desk, soothing the ache before he frees himself completely, pulling the trash can in front of him just in case he makes a mess 

he’ll stroke his cock, lulling back into his chair as he exhales your name, shutting his eyes and thinking back to your little visit 

he thinks about making you stay with him, about hiking up that pretty dress you put on for him and shoving your panties in your mouth and fucking you

he thinks about lifting you up and carrying you towards his floor to ceiling mirrors that outlook the city, pressing you up against the glass and fucking you while he burns his lips into the side of your neck 

he thinks about making a wreck of you in his office, fucking you on every surface he possibly can 

bending you over his desk, or laying you on top of it, fucking you as you lay across his chair, on the ground, up against the wall — you name it he’s thought it and came to it 

he just loves the idea of doing something so filthy in a professional setting, and of you letting him 

he misses you so much and the way your pussy feels wrapped around his cock, he wishes he could have you teleport to him during those long nights and take care of him the way you do at home 

sometimes he’ll call you when he’s really desperate and needs a little something extra while he touches himself 

he’ll steady his breathing, apologizing if he woke you up 

you always say no and that you’re too busy missing him to be able to sleep 

he chuckles and his heart hurts but it makes his cock twitch in his fist 

“talk to me, dear, i just want to hear your voice for awhile.” he’ll say, balancing the phone between his cheek and neck, the cord from the phone going taut as he leans back and fucks his fist, listening to your sweet voice recount your day 

he’ll listen to you describe how you finally got around to cleaning your kitchen and he’ll fight back a groan, imagining coming home to you on all fours scrubbing the floors and him fucking you on it 

or about how you went to the mall and picked up some new clothes, and maybe a new lacy set you’ll have to try on for him 

and he’s so weak, so painfully horny for you that just hearing you say those words makes him grab the napkins from his tissue box and shoot his load into them 

he holds the phone away from his face to catch his breath, swallowing hard as he tucks himself back into his trousers before he picks up the phone 

“okay i have to get going, i need to finish up my work — but luckily i’m almost done. i’ll be home soon dear, thank you for letting me call you. i love you.” 

he’ll discard the used napkins into his trashcan and pump a few squirts of hand sanitizer from his desk and into his palms, sighing as he looks over his papers before continuing on with his work 

a soft noise of acknowledgement leaves his lips only when your arms circle around his waist. they’re tender, pressing into his body heat that seeped through his white sweater. his head felt like a brick, stuck to his pillow. he was lucky that it was only you who snaked into his bed and not some armed intruder, feeling rather defenseless as his heavy lids refuse to open. he knows it’s you, he can smell your scent.

your cheek nuzzles into the back of his neck, holding him in a way that could almost send him right back into his sleep. the thick blanket covering the both of you confined so much heat inside, enough to make anyone the faintest bit drowsy. everything was so warm and he couldn’t help but relax back into your arms, no complaints about being the little spoon.

“you didn’t answer my text,” you start, a small explanation as to why you brought it upon yourself to sneak in. even so, you knew he never minded. xavier may be very socially drained after upholding formalities for a full week but he’d always have space for you. “figured you’d be tucked away already.”

all you receive in reply is a sleepy grumble, barely audible over the electric hum of his central air unit keeping the room nice and cool. it’s a familiar sound that pulls a faint smile out of you. your hands are soft as they run along the fabric of his sweater, soaking up the warmth against your palms. you snicker to yourself when the tip of one of your fingernails gets caught on a loose thread, tugging on it gently before letting it go.

“aren’t you tired too?” he manages in reply, a grumble that morphs into a quiet yawn. the thought of getting cuddled to sleep only makes his mind fog up, his foot lazily locking over one of your ankles in a silent plea to stay still. “you’ve worked just as hard as i have.”

sure, the past week had been loophole after loophole. your feet still ached from how many steps you got in, needing to invest in some better patrol shoes. with the busy schedule came less time to sleep as well as less time to tend to your needs. there was an undeniable pool of warmth that had settled in the pit of your stomach, trying and failing to sleep it off.

that’s where xavier came into play. he was your usual fix when you were struggling to get some rest, needing some sort of sexual relief before a nice and deep slumber. it was more often than not that you were slipping into his bed at odd hours for a quick fuck, just one of those habits that strengthened the physical aspect of your relationship. a perfect work-life balance.

so when your hand begins to take pity on his poor loose thread and trails up the thick white fabric instead, he can’t be bothered to flinch. your palm grazed his navel, caressing the very light happy trail that disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. nails scraping his skin, touch lighting a similar fire in him. he couldn’t stop his dick from growing to life even if he wanted to.

the more xavier thought about it, albeit slowly, the more it made sense. that text that he accidentally ignored must’ve been your attempt of a booty call, why else would you have invited yourself in and crawled into his bed like you were stalking your prey? he was beyond tired and although xavier was nothing but a pile of bones against his mattress— he couldn’t deny the desire there too.

the playful hand feeling up his stomach snaked lower, dipped into his waistband like clockwork. he gripped your wrist with light but firm strength before it could travel any further, bringing it up to his face. his lips nuzzled against your palm for a moment before you felt a fat glob of spit land right in the center, a substitute for lube.

“still haven’t gotten around to buying another bottle,” he dismisses with a murmur as he senses your slight confusion, turning his head only a fraction to get a glimpse of your face. his eyes, deeper in color than usual, scan your face. “too much to do. just not enough time to do anything.”

your hand immediately returns, smearing the thick coat of spit around his cock. it’s hot and heavy in your gentle grasp, clearly just as pent up. the thought of him so worked up yet refusing to take care of it without you leaves a flutter in your panties. he lets out a sigh of relief, a broken groan following as your hand slides down to the base.

“i know,” you soothe with a whisper and a nod, leaning your face forward to peck at his lips. your wrist flicks at a slow pace, pumping him from shaft to tip with the kind of pressure that has his hips chasing a faster rhythm. it never failed to surprise him just how well you knew him, effortlessly giving him what he needed. “we have time now. just calm down.”

that reassurance is the only thing that allows him to fully melt right back into your touch, his grunts and breathing mingling with your own quiet moans. moments like these where you seemed to know how to relax his racing mind better than he ever could were his favorite. having you around did wonders to his soul, to his mental health, to his physical being. you were a goddamn gift.

his floaty feeling of utter adoration was cut short with the sensation of your sticky fingers cupping his balls, pawing at them in a way that had him choking on his breath. it sent electric shocks up his spine, had him gripping the top sheet beneath him. it was more than enough to bring him to that high, cursing as cum oozed out of his cockhead.

“oh, fuck,” he drags out his words, light and easy despite the heaving of his chest, unsure if he should finally let sleep take him after such a strong high or if he should propose on the spot. regardless, he was too spent to care about how embarrassingly fast he finished.

your giggle of satisfaction overlaps the ringing in his ears, leaning in to press a quick kiss against the hot skin of his lobe. “my turn?”

physical touch

the world of a doctor was particular. numbers, technique, precision, counts. the scent of hand sanitizer lingers with him at all times and after a while, he started to overanalyze and think deeply about things that others view as simple. he knew it wasn’t an easy route but was anything, really?

working with patients and colleagues, nurses and aides— it was incredibly hands on. zayne was constantly touching others whether it be to reposition their bodies on an exam table or get a nice and clean stitch. he knows the human body inside out but generally, he doesn’t like to be touchy with others. part of him believed that it was just his instinct as a medical professional but it never seemed to matter if it was you.

you were the exception, as always. you bring his smile out even when his face physically hurts with how tense it gets, you put him in situations others couldn’t even picture him in. it was only natural that you’d pull this uncharacteristic desire for touch, for warmth, for skin to skin out of him.

his house is equipped with a gym, something he made a personal goal back before he decided to pursue a doctorate. with the financial stability came the opportunity to furnish his place without any bounds, thus bloomed a home gym that could be accessed as early as his schedule allowed.

the first time you used it was after an impulsive stay that had only worked out thanks to the overnight bag you kept tucked away in his closet for emergencies. it had just enough to get showered and upkeep hygiene. thinking ahead served you well, a nice two piece set tucked away for dawn workouts that zayne had a habit of persuading you into.

it was an impressive setup, to say the least. his basement was fully furnished with machines that he had bought over the course of many years, slowly but surely collecting his own equipment. a treadmill, a stairmaster, a smith machine. some benches, plenty of weights, resistance bands. the perfect build for full body.

doctor’s orders are stretches before and after exercising. he’s particular about it, always guiding you through the basics and looking out for you the way he knows best. nothing feels better than making zayne proud and giving him peace of mind, so you’re always happy to follow his guidance.

this time around, sweat clings to your forehead. he’s off in the cardio corner of the basement, steady pants leaving his lips as his feet hit the treadmill belt in a rhythmic manner. his workouts always end with a jog, nearing the end of his own routine. the room is quite spacious and breathable for a basement, the only sound following the electric hum of equipment being the calm music coming from the sound system hooked up to the mounted flatscreen. it plays smoothly, yet not loud enough to bleed through headphones.

despite a good and productive leg day, there’s an undeniable cramping in your calf. dull yet tolerable, causing the faintest scrunch of your nose. it distracts you enough to miss the way zayne’s light jog has slowed to a stop, only noticing him standing before you once he presses a cold water bottle to your forehead in invitation.

“what hurts?” he reads you like a book, more than knowledgeable about you. it’s clear as day when something is bothering you and he’s nothing if not a nurturer, eager to get to the bottom of it. zayne’s knee hits the edge of the yoga mat you’re settled on, crouching to your eye level where you’re sat with your knees tucked to your chest. “your calf?”

a nod is all he needs before he scoffs softly under his breath. not mockingly, he’d never mock you for a thing. it all stems from the amusement it brings him when you do a poor job at following his professional advice. his fingers work to position your leg outward, guiding it to rest flat on the grey mat.

“point your toes,” he instructs softly, brows furrowed slightly in focus as he gauges the soft wince you give as you extend your toes to the air. “someone needs to drink more water.”

“you always say that.” you shoot back in reply, a bit too proud to admit that his technique has been working like a charm and the cramp is nearly gone.

he can only chuckle under his breath at the immediate eye roll you give him, a gasp ripped from your throat in surprise as he shifts to pick your leg up himself. he guides it over his shoulder, scooting on his knees until his pelvis meets your ass through your clothes. his hand remains flat behind your knee, aiding in keeping your leg straight. his free one cups and massages your aching muscle, stone-faced aside from the twinkle of enjoyment in his green eyes.

“i’m always right,” he muses with a subtle shrug, unable to resist that urge to scan your figure in such a compromising position. your athletic wear damp with sweat, your scent surrounding him. it only takes a heartbeat before his body hovers over yours, satisfied with the way your legs spread to accommodate him. he presses his lips to yours sweetly, guiding your leg around his waist to free up his hands. they work at the zipper of your jacket, pushing the tight fabric off of your shoulders as soon as it loosens.

his tongue is hot when it laps at the salt clinging to your neck, obsessed with even the most natural flavor of you. you mewl and it pushes him to recline your body, using his hand tucked behind your head to shelter you from the floor beneath you.

the warmth builds in your gut fast, already worked up with energy after lifting weights. he feels your heartbeat and it makes him smile to himself, hand snaking between your legs to cup your cunt over the nylon fabric. your heat seeps through and it’s enough to make him chub up in his own shorts, swallowing a groan as he pecks your chin.

“does it still hurt? do you need me to help you think of something else?” he questions with a heavy huff, thumbs dipping underneath the stretchy waistband to peel your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift go. “you can be honest with me.”

“please,” your whisper meets his ear so gently. how could he ever deny you? he’s always been a weak man when it came to you, unable to turn you down when you had that look in your eyes as if only he could tend to the hurt.

so he helps. he assists. he fucks you slow and easy on the natural rubber of the yoga mat, shrugging off your whiny protests because it’s bound to be an expensive mat that you don’t want to ruin. the last thing on his mind is a yoga mat. he french kisses you until the words die down in your throat, until your mind shuts down and all you can do is whimper his name into his mouth. as raunchy as it may be, he’d be happy if all of his belongings could be stained with your essence.

one of his hands leaves your hips, trailing blindly behind his back to find your aching calf that put him in this position to begin with. he soothes it with a gentle massage to the sore muscles, multitasking in time with the rolls of his hips. its tender and sweet and so him that you can’t help but pump cream all over his thick base with a scream.

it makes his pace falter, huffing in amusement under his breath as he leans forward to plant a kiss on your wrinkled brow.

words of affirmation

he could sense something off the minute you came up the stairs. maybe it was the weight of your steps, maybe it was the pout gracing your lips, maybe it was the way you didn’t exactly greet him. rafayel was an expert of everything pertaining to the love of his life so it was never hard to pinpoint when the mood wasn’t right for his usual antics. something was wrong and it caught his attention instantly.

the day was rather hot, just like the day before. summer was coming in full swing around whitesand bay, the ocean waters busy with fisherman looking to catch what was in season. unlike the repetitive commotion of seagulls and the boat action outside, it was rather quiet and peaceful in the confines of rafayel’s studio. it was the way he liked it, ceiling fan on high as it regulates the temperature mixed with the salty air.

painting has been a miss for rafayel today, the inspiration tank in his brain on empty. he had spent his day treading between the downstairs and the upstairs, mixing colors and trying his hardest to strike even the faintest hint of an idea. he was delighted when he heard the gate creak open only for his excitement to deflate at the seemingly upset aura that followed you up the stairs like storm clouds.

“a frown that deep is definitely going to leave a few wrinkles,” his voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your gaze shifting from the floor length mirror settled beside his dresser to where he was lounged against the headboard of his bed. even if his words hit a bit of a sensitive nerve, they hold that soft tone he only ever uses when he senses a vulnerable attitude on your end. it’s evident that he means well.

his suspicions are confirmed the minute you cross your arms and look away without much of a word, eyes trained back on your dampered reflection. the outfit you’re wearing looks nice and breathe-able for the sweltering heat beyond the studio walls yet rafayel realizes quickly that he’s never seen it on you previously. it must be new.

“not now,” you huff back in late reply to his poking and prodding, unimpressed and certainly not in the mood to come up with an equally playful comeback. it was obvious that his words weren’t meant to dig but he could practically taste the sourness of your mood, studying you carefully for a quiet moment. he watches you turn left, then right. eyes barely blinking when you adjust the strap of your top along your collarbone.

a few moments pass before he puts the puzzle together, humming softly to himself. he’s behind you within seconds, unable to stifle a laugh at the way you jump as soon as you catch his figure behind you in the mirror. a pair of arms link lazily around your hips, his silent affection that always goes a long way. there’s love and curiosity in his eyes when they find yours, raising a brow.

“i’m gonna guess that a certain silly girl did some online shopping,” he starts, slow and sarcastic with each syllable that falls from his tongue, hooded eyes soaking up your figure from head to toe. “and is very unsatisfied with her purchase. did i get it right?”

it wasn’t exactly hard to piece together, considering how your attention has been glued to your own reflection since you stepped foot in his studio. he was hoping for some cuddles yet you didn’t get to reach the bed, instead engrossed in what you were wearing. how you looked, the sensitivity and unhappiness radiated off of you in waves. your lack of response was enough of an answer, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips paired with a shake of his head.

a kiss plants itself on your cheek, featherlight yet speaking volumes. at the end of the day, you were rafayel’s lady and he never wanted that mind of yours to wander too far away. you could feel your feelings and he loved to give you that space to do so, but he’d only ever let you stray so far. he would always pull you right back eventually.

“it’s a shame that you feel like it doesn’t suit you,” he murmurs, reading your mind in that scary way he always seems to do. a gentle tug leaves you to stumble back into his hold, knocking your gaze from yourself to meet him instead. your eyes find his and he smiles, guiding you to recline onto the bed. the back of your knees hit the edge, buckling just to give. he kneels to plant a kiss on the hand you have resting on one of your thighs, embarrassment clear as day on your face. “i think everything suits you. i don’t know how you do it, but you pull it all off. every material and color.”

his words sound honeyed, voice strained just a bit. it was right of him to believe that you weren’t a fan of the new two piece set that you ordered on a whim off of a sketch site to begin with, the summer outfit not fitting how you planned in your head. rafayel was nothing if not good at speaking his mind, worshipping the ground that his girl walked on. it was hard to even remember what you didn’t like about the clothing when he had so much to say, kisses smearing along your thighs down to your knees.

soft breaths of defeat and desire mix on your tongue, leaving into the air. his hands guide your legs over his shoulders, his mind on autopilot to fix what was damaged. it’s what he was good at. his thumbs make quick work of sliding your bottoms off, letting the material fall to the floor in a small pile. the scent of you hits his face like a treat, mouth salivating on instinct.

“you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, pressing kiss after kiss against your twitching clit. it’s a form of torture that has your toes curling against the blades of his shoulders, twisting into the sheets and shifting your face to the side to stuff in his comforter. it smells like him, only making you wetter. “every inch of you. pretty down here too.”

that weight of insecurity dissipated into the air within seconds, especially with rafayel’s face between your legs and stuffed against your pussy. he kisses and sucks as if he needs the taste of you to breathe, tongue working to press into your sloppy entrance. it’s divine, just like it always is when it’s you.

he groans into your juices, face gently shaking side to side. if he were being honest, he was waiting for this. it was meant to be for your pleasure but he ate you for his own at the same time, indulging in what has been plaguing his mind for days now. you flood his face, glossing his lips and chin.

days like these were inevitable. it was impossible to not feel down, to ignore that nagging voice in your head that fed you lies. no matter the noise, no matter the clothing— you’d be his definition of art. you embody everything that he lives for and stands for, you catch his eye like no other. all that ever mattered to him was making it known that you were a dime piece he’d be forever happy to hold, proud to show off, the first to appreciate.

“i wanna make you cum,” he pulls back, replacing the tongue that was delving into your walls with two fingers. they curl, thrusting inside of you at a messy and sloppy pace. his ears develop a red hue, successfully entranced and focused on making you feel as good as you look. “let me taste you.”

all it took was a gentle suck of your clit for your body to spasm in the way his brain had remembered so vividly. legs lock around his head as if you never wanted him to leave, fingers scratching at his shoulder. he could only moan in delight, his hands gentle as they run up and down your thighs in an act of quiet reassurance.

after all, words were medicine after challenging days.

gift giving

sylus thinks you look the best when you smile. it never mattered how big or small it was, he was happy as long as it was genuine. it brought a glow to your skin, it made him feel funny in his chest. there was something so intimate about being the one you choose to share your happiness with, something he takes rather seriously.

he was the type of man to let the world burn to ash all for you. his love ran deep and truly knew no bounds, anyone was fair game to him the minute that they crossed you. the need to protect what was his drove him to great lengths but he couldn’t say that he hated the thrill. he was never one to be shy with spending copious amounts of money but when he was doing it for you? it felt more rewarding.

his spending wasn’t in a superficial sense. he liked the high life and only ever knew the finer things, but none of it was driven by an ego or utilized to show off. he simply preferred luxury, quality.

that being said, he never needed an excuse to splurge on you. he does it without much of a thought, feeling that urge to give you what you wanted without worry. he liked that you’ve gotten used to it, that you now accept it with open arms. the initial reluctance died down with time, soon coming to the realization that it was an expression. passing on his love to you.

the hotel room that had been arranged for the night is a big one, no surprise there. spacious, california king, floor to ceiling windows outlooking the N109 zone in all its glory. champagne rests on ice in the kitchenette, walls decorated with a minimalistic vibe. it was simple and held a nice atmosphere, an entire opposite of the exhilarating day you’ve joined him on.

your gaze trails from admiring the luxury to your own hand, a few small cuts decorating your skin from earlier. the mission had taken a turn for the worst but sylus had a way of always spinning things in his favor. you were safe and sound, yet there was still the faintest apologetic look in his red eyes as they find yours from across the bed.

“put some ointment on those scratches, sweetie,” he urges with a sigh, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders with a stretch. “there should be a medical kit in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet. some clothes from the boutique on the fourth floor, too. i’m sure you’ll find something to suit your tastes.”

there’s almost a teasing lift to his last words and it coaxes an eye roll out of you, but you stand from your spot on the bed nonetheless. the sting is dull, caused by a few stray hits that you had been in the way of.

you return to a glass full of sparkling champagne and a tray of neatly assorted chocolate covered strawberries. sylus has since changed into a silk robe that he had brought with, dark red in color. it sits nice on his broad shoulders and ends mid thigh. his glass is nearly empty and he chuckles at the sight of you, dressed in the nightgown from the boutique. a single finger beckons you like a siren’s call and who are you to ignore?

crawling onto the sizable mattress, it feels soft as clouds under your knees. he watches with eyes full of mirth as you settle on your stomach, face beside his propped knee, the only thing separating the two of you being the silver platter of dessert.

“i see someone ordered room service,” your teasing breaks the ice, smiling up at him with a hand holding your cheek up, eyeing the strawberries with curiosity. they were clean, fresh, plump. just the kind of treat that the two of you deserved after such a rogue mission.

a laugh echoes against the walls, a bit deeper than usual thanks to the excitement that’s died down. only sylus could feel that thrill of being hunted down and almost murdered over a bounty. his body shifts on the bed, reaching forward to pluck a strawberry off of the plate. he presses it to your lips, eyebrow cocked in challenge.

“eat up. what good are you if you’re not taking care of your needs?” he murmurs, the only sound filling the silence coming from the crackle of the electronic fireplace in front of the bed. it lights the room with a dim orange hue, effectively setting the mood. “i hope they live up to their price. they were a pretty penny for just a few strawberries dipped in some chocolate.”

his smirk widens as your eyes find his, watching carefully and studying the way your tongue pokes out to kitten lick at the hardened chocolate shell. it’s milk, sweet against your tastebuds that drag from the bottom up to the crown. seductive in every sense of the word, arousal stirring in his gut. sometimes he really does hate how easy it is for you to get a reaction out of him, whether it be physically or emotionally.

you bite and it’s loud, a crunch as the chocolate breaks and you’re met with strawberry and juice. it drips down your chin, a soft moan leaving at the taste. it was textbook teasing yet nothing weakened sylus quite like that smile you flashed him afterwards, lips blooming a pink tint with the fruit. you were his achilles heel and within seconds, he was on you.

“are you enjoying yourself?” he breathes against your lips, sweet treat long forgotten as he slots himself between your spread legs. the hot rush of his kisses trailing along your neck creates a sticky mess in the lace of your panties. “are you getting the reaction that you wanted? tell me.”

your response is cut off before it can even be given, thick fingers nudging the wet lace to the side. cool air clings to your hot cunt and the sweetest of mewls are swallowed down by his mouth, smearing some of your slick along your folds. his free hand releases your wrist, trailing to slip the strap of your down down your shoulder. the leeway of the fabric gives him space to slip one of your breasts out, tongue immediately finding your nipple with a filthy flick.

slippery finger pads dance with your swollen clit, circling in a painfully slow rhythm before trailing back down to meet your drooling slit. the sound of your moans ricochet off of the walls in a way that leaves pride in his chest, suckling a mark over your nipple in time with the fingers he dips into your pussy. there’s no resistance, just overflowing wetness that wraps around his knuckles like a glove.

“good girls take it upon themselves to answer when they’re asked a question,” he murmurs against the swollen skin of your areola, ruby eyes conveying a dangerous message as he stills the fingers pumping into your walls. the lack of sensation has you whining, resisting the urge to tug with the fingers you have tucked in his silver locks. “don’t make me regret treating you with those sweets. i don’t reward bad behavior.”

“yes,” you manage to form a coherent word even if it’s through a breathy pant, so full even with just his fingers warming inside of you. sweat clings at your brow, the taste of chocolate still faint on your tongue. “i got the reaction i wanted. i’m happy, sylus.”

a chuckle of satisfaction is all that follows, sylus supporting his weight with his elbow as he lifts to press a chaste kiss against the tip of your nose. he was just too fond of his weak spot.

“there you go. i knew you could be a good girl.”

acts of service

bad days simply didn’t exist in your world, not if caleb had a say in it. the smallest frown always told him more than any of your words ever could— little details always mattered the most. you’ve been at a rough patch for the better half of a week, stressed beyond belief with the highs and lows of wanderer hunting. devices were always beeping, lunch breaks rudely interrupted. there was no catching up and caleb watched in real time as your shoulders tensed more and more.

he noticed. even if he was silent about it at first, he noticed. those purple eyes have always been sharp and they never stop when they’re on you. it was clear that you were in dire need of a break and that’s exactly why he brought you along on a late night ride.

darkness envelopes what can be seen outside of the private aircraft, the interior as neat and empty as it always is. there’s been splashes of coziness since he first introduced you into his humble abode, your own touches bringing some life to it. perfume bottles here and there, a spare coat of yours hung on the bare coat rack by the entrance. for the first time since he purchased it, the cabinets were actually full and stocked with snacks. before long, it felt like home away from home.

caleb watches quietly as you stand at the tall window, aircraft flying on autopilot. it moved slow, floating around and giving you the familiar view of stars and planets alike. the sight made him smile, two of his favorite things right before his very eyes. it’s like you can feel his stare, turning on your heel almost immediately. it only makes his grin widen, silent as he pats his thigh and leans back into the sofa with a hum.

your feet press into the rug, crossing the distance without a word. he still thought you were beautiful, even if your face was twisted up with disdain after a stressful week. you feel like dead weight as you settle down in his lap, caleb’s hand immediately cupping your face. the hectic schedule left little time to be spent with him and your heart melts, suddenly feeling guilty for the radio silence between the two of you.

even if the replies have slowed down on your end, he still went out of his way to take you to the sky for some peace.

“sorry,” you murmur with fluttery eyes. his brows furrow at your gently mumbled apology, using his thumb to brush a stray eyelash off of your cheek. the last thing he had expected to hear was an apology, the exact opposite of what he had hoped for.

instead of accepting or denying it, he chooses to guide your head forward. your nose bumps into his with the sudden tug, clumsy in the way your lips meet his. they connect, sweet and short, caleb pulling away before you could indulge in a few more.

“don’t apologize. you know better than that.” he chastises quietly, successfully fogging your brain up with desire that you had been neglecting. the second his free hand travels down the skin of your arm, you become pliant. he’s always been very meaningful with his touches and his caresses, fingers brushing along the band of your watch before he’s undoing it. in his eyes, it’s just another piece of work that you haven’t abandoned yet. that just won’t do.

your eyes roll at his soft scolding, watching with tired eyes as he leans the two of you forward momentarily to place the watch into the bowl settled in the middle of the coffee table. he pulls you back, your chest falling to rest against his own. he stares down at you with eyes full of love, silent and wishing there was a way to physically remove the worry clouding you.

he pulls again, delighted that you aren’t pushing. his hands in your hair, soft kisses filling the comfortable silence. he smells of candy apples and aftershave, a combination that has been following him since the seventh grade after he learned how to shave his face. the nostalgia floods you, soon replaced with lust when his needy hands trail down to grip your ass through the material of your sleep shorts.

“gonna make you cum,” he murmurs in decision between hungry kisses, tongue running flat against your own in an intimate and deep exchange. it’s been too long since he’s had a chance to devour your moans, the pressure of his lips on your own leaving you limp the longer you sit in his lap. his hands are sweet, delicately running down the length of your back. free roam like they were always granted. “i’m gonna make you cum and then i’m gonna make us some dinner. get you full and taken care of, how’s that sound?”

all he ever does is talk and talk. it annoys you just as much as it fulfills you, heart pounding so hard that you can hear the bass echo in your ears. it almost masks his whispered words but you catch them just in time to nod and moan all the same.

the stars surround the two of you, atmosphere quiet— as alone as you could ever be. no one to call your phone up for a late night mission because there was no cell service. caleb strived to give you that safe little bubble where you could let your hair down and unwind, using his resources to get you lax. all he ever did is nurture and care and oh, was it the greatest testament of love. your protector, your rock. the only person who can shut you away from the world and take you to the moon. all you ever had to do was ask.

ask, you did. you took his words to heart and asked for what you wanted, learning slowly that he could grant your every wish. his time was spent catering to you, working with your wants and needs.

it doesn’t take much effort to peel your flimsy shorts off and down your legs, kicking the fabric off of your ankle and letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

his cock drags slow against your slick folds, the pure wetness seeping through the thin cotton of your panties. he wanted to tease about the polka dot pattern decorating your cunt but he bit his tongue, preferring to rut against your throbbing mound and chase friction instead. his tip nudges your clit in the best kind of way, your fingers curling into the blanket folded neatly over the back of the sofa.

“my poor girl,” he coos against the shell of your ear, hands shifting from holding you to guiding you. rocking your hips with a steady hold, taking the reigns so that you had nothing to focus on. the point was to help, to assist— make you free of worry. “you’re all burnt out. didn’t i tell you to call for caleb when things got tough?”

of course he did. he’s made it his life’s mission to provide, his broad shoulders built for holding a heavy head. his support is undying and you were a fool to think you couldn’t lean on him sooner, before you ran yourself ragged.

“i am,” your voice catches his attention, laced with need in the way he loves so much. your arms cling around his neck for leverage, cheek slumped against his. the speed of his hips bucking against yours increases the faintest bit, ripping gasps from your swollen lips. nothing has felt as right as this, cunt clenching around air, hungry for him.

the softest laugh leaves him, struggling to quiet down his own hisses and groans.