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rosedom · 1 month

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AHHHH HELLOOO sorry i usually dont request much, haha this is actually my second request in all of my tumblr story ever but...i saw you decided to write for gaming and i just couldnt resist, i love your writing a lot and i just think its so immaculate hahaa. Could you write an scenario where male reader is stressed from work (imagine he has an important job like a doctor or something whatever you want is fine :)) because he has been working days nonstop, so much that his boyfriend is all worked up and horny for him so when reader comes back he finds himself straddled by him while hes begging for fucking? With cockwarming, breeding kink and cowgirl position. Could that be with Gaming, Lyney and Gorou? SORRY IF IM ASKING MUCH I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER😭😭 i just dont know how to request but thanks for reading all of rant. And again, thank you and sorry for bothering😔 have a nice day/afternoon/night!

"an unnamed player has invited GA-MING, LYNEY, and GOROU to play . . . an apple a day

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, vaginal sex & riding, breeding kink + creampies, creaming (lyney), gratuitous praise + petnames .

A/N : aa u are never a bother !! i am SO SORRY this took so long for me to get to, omg . . . but i had sm fun with this (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Patient after patient after patient, each one with a more downright stupid trouble than the last. Your day had started with a young man, clearly fresh out of Millelith training, complaining of a tummy ache, of all things! He had clutched his stomach and moaned and groaned, and all you could prescribe him was bedrest. It’s not like you were going to waste medicine—medicine that some people needed—on someone who ached because he didn't eat fucking breakfast.

The next patient was an older woman, here only for her biannual check up. You'd greeted her, said a sweet, “Good morning, madame,” but all she did was turn her snobby nose up at you and demand you not waste her time.

“Madame, you have a serious—”

“I know, young man.” You had heaved a sigh, letting her boss you around for the length of her appointment before sending her off with the exact same specifications as last time: take vitamins, get ample rest, stop talking back to people just doing their jobs. (Though, that last one there was merely something you wished you had said.

Too bad the customer—in this case, patient—is always right, huh?)

But, by the end of the day, you wish, instead, that you had simply elderly after elderly; their disrespect pales to the absolute headache that the rest of your patients put behind your eyes, pounding at your skull—bam, bam, bam.

Wham bam-thank-you-ma'am, all throbbing incessantly behind your eyes and making you wanna hurl—except, god, you’re the fucking doctor, and who’s there to take care of him when he’s a little under the weather? You’ve got your boyfriend, of course—your perfect boyfriend, light of your life, apple of your eye, yet he’s home, and you’re here, and you’re bloody exhausted.

“I need to go home,” you murmur—quiet, lest your own voice make you lose the last of your thin-threaded sanity—, already stripping yourself of the itchy scrubs you wear during the long days.

“But sir—” the nurse asks, meak, but her voice is still too loud, too shrill for right now.

You huff. “I’ve worked for fourteen hours.” The tired gruff to your own voice makes you cringe. You can feel the way it tumbles from your chest, rattling you, your overly sensitive eyes and brain and head and fuckin’ everything, at this point. “Refer to the doc on duty, now.”

The nurse nods, once. “Have a good night, doctor.”

You bid farewell—a kind apology with a promise to make it up to them, to bring them coffee, maybe, or some cookies—, and you take the slow walk home. The sky is dark and the fireflies are out, the gentle glow illuminating the path. With nothing but your own thoughts and the night to accompany you, you feel your headache gradually ease. It throbs, still; but each bump in your skull is gentler, now: it’s easier to ignore.

Although the porch light is too strong—the lantern bright and attracting the nighttime bugs and moths—, the foyer of your home is dark. Your aching head is grateful for the reprieve—for the silence that envelops you in totality the second the door clicks quietly shut behind you—, but something other than tiredness pulls at your heartstrings: your sweet boyfriend, clad in only a shirt of yours, toeing into the entryway.

“Honey?” He wipes the sleep from his eyes, softly smiling at you. “Hi.”

“Ga-ming, honey—” honey, because Ga-ming unabashedly stole the pet name from you, first, “—you didn’t have to stay up for me.”

As if on cue, his jaw cracks open in a yawn: this, you do not need the lights on to see. Your heart aches with your head, knowing that he had stayed up just for you. “Honey,” you repeat, sliding off your jacket and stepping up to him. You take his waist in your hands, bunching up the shirt he stole from your closet.

“Quit with that,” he murmurs, tilting up his head for a soft kiss. You grant it; but when you go to pull back, to keep the kiss gentle and chaste, Ga-ming presses forward, darting that little tongue out to lick at the seam of your lips; his hips, too, come bumping against yours, pressing into your thigh, pant to skin—

“Ga-ming?” you repeat, breath leaving you in a low huff. “You’re—” bare.

Utterly, wholly bare: an expanse of warm, slick skin against your clothed leg. “‘m ready,” he mumbles while he takes to mouthing at your throat. His lips soothe you, somehow; it’s a reprieve, a stark contrast, to the pounding at your skull.

“Ready?” you whisper, tilting your head back, letting your hands guide the steady roll of his hips onto your lap.

He nods. “Ready for you,” he enunciates as he softly whines.

Ga-ming—your Ga-ming—, your boyfriend, your love and light of your life: right here in front of you, on you, all needy for you, offering himself to you, wholly ready for the taking.

“So please,” he continues, his cock dragging heavy across the seam of your pant; “fuck me.”

“Oh, honey,” you murmur; then again, an “oh, honey,” because you’re still half-dressed up in your clothes—though they’re only soft and bland, made to fit under the rough scrubs you had abandoned at the office—, and Ga-ming is naked save for the shirt draping across him, the low hemline covering the absolutely sinful way he grinds down. It’s a dirty move, a down, down, down that gives his sensitive cock friction against your pelvis.

“Please, please, ‘m ready, I said—” his words abruptly drop off, a high cry in his throat that sends him to hide his overly-warm face in your neck. His skin burns against you, a feverish-hot that makes you chuckle, makes the throb in your head go away, just-so. “I said I-I was ready, so, please!”

You coo, quiet, bumping your hips up once. The jerking motion makes him cry out, but he manages to keep himself upright, right-side up but entirely unmoored on your cock. “Go on then, little lion. Take what you need, yeah?”

Whimpering a quiet, “Y-yeah,” he begins riding you, slow, steady—but slightly off-balanced—rolls of his hips that makes him whine, makes you groan low n’ deep in your chest. You let your hands rest on his hips, the fabric of his shirt falling over your wrists, and gently guide his motions. Once you’ve helped him establish himself, he begins riding you harder, more desperate.

Silent tears—though, are they truly silent, loud as he is moaning out for you?—dribble down his cheeks, falling to his shirt and soaking the collar of it in salty evidence of his abject pleasure. His abdomen is tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing again, all in a rapid loop, in and out and in n’ out, and then there’s a fucking bulge right below his navel when he sinks down hard n’ deep on your cock; and you’re sent over the edge at the sight, moaning through your teeth as you fill Ga-ming up with hot, sticky cum.

“Oh, oh—” he cries, grinding down harsh to get all your cum in as deep as possible, deep ‘nuff to breed him— “bred me, bred me so well, oh—” You groan at his desperate babbling as his thighs jerk around your hips, just before they give out on him entirely. He falls bodily into your chest, heaving through his own orgasm as weak mewls tumble from his prettily parted lips. Each sound is smeared into your throat while you laugh, light and breathless, jostling his overly-sensitized body and making him flinch.

“Sorry, honey.” You kiss at his temple, and, the whole while, his small cunt is left to unconsciously milk your cock, left to assure that loud, insecure part of his brain that he’s wanted, that he’s bred all nice n’ full because he is loved. You’re long done, now, but the undulations make your body warm, soft, safe—just like Ga-ming is, comfy in your lap and wholly protected. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head against you, nuzzling into your throat with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have—hafta thank me,” he mumbles, a lick at your Adam’s apple to seal the deal. “I wanted ta.”

Tucking up the blankets around him, you grin. “Then can you warm my cock, lil’ dragon? Just for me?” You run your fingers lightly up his clothed spine, delighting in the shiver you can feel, one that runs the length of your cock as he’s snug on it. “Since earlier was all about you?” You raise the end of your sentence in a lilting tone, meant to tease, and Ga-ming huffs at you.

And, n further retaliation, he clenches around you; the soft squeeze—all wet n’ warm, smearing your own cum across the base of your cock and leaving the mess of both of yours to dribble down the minute space between your bodies—forces you to calm your breathing, to take in the delicate scent of what is undeniably Ga-ming mixed with the smell of your own shirt, your own cologne.

You laugh, then. “‘m sorry,” you say again amidst giggles, ones you’re careful you confine only to your upper chest lest the movement be too uncomfortable on both of your oversensitive groins.

He doesn't reply, snuggled up comfy on your lap and stuffed full of your cock n’ cum both. Instead, he only noses into your neck further before his breathing steadies, lulling you to sleep, too.

It’s in your final moments of consciousness that you realize your head no longer hurts.

(You suppose you now have the evidence that, yes, an orgasm is sufficient enough a cure for headaches.)

Under Lyney’s palm, a small floor lamp clicks silently on. The light is admittedly dim, but, to your sensitive eyes, the bulb is blinding. You cringe and cover your eyes; but it only serves to shield you slightly, because you’re still upright in the foyer, and your body is rather weak. “Lyney,” you tiredly murmur, lifting your palm just enough to see the ground lest you trip.

You bump into him, laughing lightly, but his worried hands jump to your arm. “Hey—”

“I’m okay.” You’re quick to calm him, placing your free hand on his in a tender gesture as you make way to the living room. “Just a headache, ‘s all. Ya shouldn't have stayed up f’r me.” Earlier, it hurt to even think; but here, with him, the pain is easy to ignore, in the face of his own self destruction.

He grumbles at you, though, says something you can’t quite catch and drops his hands, pads over to the lamp to flick it off. The return of darkness is soothing.

He smiles at you, then; or, at least, you think he does. It’s difficult to see in the dark, and you can’t strain your eyes without hurting yourself. “I wanted to!” He takes three long strides before he’s standing in front of you, draping his arms across your shoulders. The position makes his (your) shirt ride up on his belly, and— ”I missed you, y’know,” he murmurs, suddenly all soft n’ deep, looking up at you and bumping his forehead against your chin. “A lot, really.”

“Lyn—”

He quickly silences you with a kiss. Against your lips, he pulls back, murmurs, “I missed your cock, especially.”

Laughing against him, you lean up ‘til he can no longer reach you. He pouts at you when you reply, faux-snark, “only my cock, huh?” Your bottom lip juts out—a mirror of Lyney’s own, a magic trick of his you took for your own; it’s a devilish trick, one you play right alongside puppy-dog eyes you know he’s soft to. “How cruel.”

He huffs at you, pulling you down by the collar of your shirt to kiss the mirth off your lips. “I was tryin’ to be seductive,” he grumbles, knocking against your chin and beginning to push you backwards into the living room. “But nevermind!”

You want to say, “Hey, now:” disagree with him and keep on pouting and go, “hey, hey, hey,” all offended, but the backs of your knees come into contact with the edge of the sofa, and you’re well and sufficiently distracted from that idea.

“Sit,” he gently commands you—merely the illusion of choice—, giving you no choice in the matter with the way he’s pressing you down into the cushions. You go easily; you sigh in relief when the softness begins enveloping you—a pillow’s snug right in the middle of your back, and you briefly wonder if Lyney had planned this. He murmurs, “there you go,” quiet n’ soft, and you’re taken by the way this man gives to you.

He wears his heart on his sleeve, truly; except, right now, the sleeve is yours (just like his heart belongs to you and yours to him in turn), and it's bare, and so is the expanse of his long, pale thighs, the hem of his boxers peeking out beneath the shirt. He stands in front of you, between your legs, makes sure you’re down and that you’re gonna stay down, but your eyes aren’t really tired, not anymore, staring at Luney—your Lyney—before he huffs and sits bodily onto you, straddling your lap with his knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you.

“Lyney,” you murmur, reaching out to take hold of his thighs. The position makes the shirt rise up on his belly, exposing the soft, rippling muscles there; but, in the dark, all you can go by is what you feel against your own stomach, his bare skin pressed to your thin shirt. “I was kiddin’, sweetheart.”

“I know you were,” he snaps at you, mean-like, but he brings his arms around your shoulders all sweetly and nuzzles into the side of your head. “But I wasn’t. I—I really did miss you; and your cock. If you—if you wanna, of course.”

“Of course I want to, Lyn,” you mutter, tilting your head up to kiss beneath his chin. “I’m just a little tired.”

“A little?” He huffs, again, before sighing. “Just—let me do the work, alright? I’m already...” he pauses, tilts his head to the side, breathes in and out sharply.

You hum at him to go on.

“‘m already prepped.” Oh.

“Oh?” You grin, bringing your tired arm up to cup his cheek. He leans into your palm and his eyelashes flutter, brushing against your skin. “Go ahead then, sweet thing.”

And go ahead he does, smiling into you before he abruptly leans back ‘nuff to chuck off the shirt. You whine, say, “hey!” but there isn’t any bite left on your tongue when Lyney starts tugging his boxers down, too. He’s impatient, pulling at the seam and groaning curses at the fabric—as if it’s the damn boxers’ fault that he’s in a position that prevents him from taking them off.

He relents, tilting this way and that and finally—after painstaking minutes later, ones that, under no circumstance, should be arousing, but the anticipation, the wait: it all makes your dick chub up in your own pants—Lyney’s left naked in your lap. The fabric hangs off his foot, and you reach down to tug it the rest of the way off for your sweet boyfriend as he busies himself unbuckling your own belt, loosening the tough leather enough for your pants to droop and enough for him to reach a hot hand into your briefs.

“Eager, huh?” you tease, lifting your hips—and, subsequently, him—to let him get your dick out of your pants. Neither of you bother pulling down your own pants, not after Lyney spent so long on his boxers alone. He doesn’t dally. “My sweet Lyney.”

He sighs, again—he’s rather dramatic tonight; but, then again, when isn’t he? It wouldn’t quite be your Lyney without some theatrics—, spitting into his palm and lathering up your cock with it while he makes to straddle you more fully. “Thought you were tired,” he grumbles, hovering his, indeed, wet n’ slicked up and entirely prepped cunt over your thick cockhead.

“Mhm.” You set your hands on his plush thighs once he hooks the head of you into his loosened hole, groaning low and pleased in your throat while he softly whimpers at the barely-there stretch. He prepared himself well. “But when you’re lookin’ so pretty for me, I can’t help being wide awake. Wouldn’t wanna miss this sight for the world.”

With your eyes now adjusted to the light—and, oh, you consider how the throb of your head is a bygone memory now—, you can see the way his cheeks darken just-so, puffed up in exertion as his groin meets yours. You’ve got your cock stuffed up balls-deep in him, and he leans into you once he’s fully settled.

He moans, less out of outright pleasure and more out of total contentment, comfy and warm on your lap as your arms knead at his thighs. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, and he quietly asks, “Gimme a minute.”

Nodding, you simply bask in the steady heat of him, letting him adjust and recognize that, yes, you’re home, now, and you hadn’t really left him at all. “I missed you,” you murmur rather suddenly, your voice quiet but still stark in the silence of the night. “Thought about you durin’ my shift.”

“You did?” His voice is rough but wispy, a little out-there and entirely gone. He’s slipping into that mindset he always does when he’s left to warm your cock—regardless of if it were by his volition or your own—, but he begins to subtly grind his hips against you, mewling at the hot sparks of rapture from his cock rubbing just right against you.

“‘Course I did,” you continue, moving your hands to his hips instead to help move him along. His arms tighten around you and he moans directly into your ear.

From then on, it’s quiet: quiet, that is, save from the obscene slick noises of the lube Lyney used to prep himself earlier with his own slick, your pre-cum mixing up and making a mess of thick liquid between both of your thighs. His moans are barely audible, these soft, gentle lil’ uh, uh, uh’s punched out of him with each tender grind down.

You think, even, that you’ll both cum like this: quiet, nothing but the sounds of your connection and heavy breaths, moans, groans as you fall over the edge. But then Lyney starts bumping his groin against yours even harder, grinding down deep on your cock and rubbing against your full balls, and he starts babbling for you to “breed me! Please—”

“I-I’ll breed you,” you groan, leaning your head back into the sofa cushions and chasing your release, chasing the release you both want, the one he wants so desperately stuffed up deep inside him. “Gonna fill you right up, just like you want, sweetheart.”

He babbles more—a mix of syllables and words, more pleas for you to breed him—until he’s silenced by his own high-pitched whine, cumming around you and slathering you in creamy-white. The steady clench and release of his cunt forces you to your own end, thick cum slowly leaking out from the edges of his cunt and your cock. (You can hardly tell what’s your leaking cum and what is his own.)

“Thank you,” he mumbles, already beginning to doze. “Th’nk you:” quieter, more muddled against your ear.

You grab the throw you have across the sofa’s armrest, rucking it up around the two of you; you cocoon Lyney safe in your arms and on your softened cock. He’s nodded off, now, and he misses your words: “You don’t have to thank me,” you say anyway, even if he doesn’t hear you, “I love you.”

The cum’ll be sticky, later, when you wake up; but for now, it’s perfect. It’s perfectly warm and entirely cozy, wholly snuggled up with the love of your life. Your headache, the stressors of the day—they’re all forgotten in his presence.

You’re so, so glad to love him.

“Hi, puppy,” you coo. The sound of your own voice grates you, but you ignore it to sweetly smile at your beloved. He stands there, motionless for a moment right there at the threshold before the foyer, until he shakes his head with a barely-there laugh. “Gorou?”

He tilts his head to the side—this you can see, the silhouette of him in the moonlight—before he takes a tentative step forward.

Then another. And another. Another, another, another, ‘till he’s standing in front of you and leans up to kiss your jaw. “Hi,” he repeats, voice ruff (hah!) and hoarse, a little too much so. “Missed ya.”

You tilt your head back to let him mouth at you, and your hands subconsciously come to clutch at his hips, and— “Oh, Gorou,” you mumble, pleasantly aghast, because your hands come into contact with bare, slick skin. “Pent up?”

With a quiet whimper, he tilts his hips forward, into you, pressing against the contact of your fingers on him. You slowly slide your one hand around, sneaking a large handful of his ass before you dip into his cleft, shuddering when your fingertip easily glides across his slicked, open cunt.

“I-I wanted you, so bad,” he starts to mumble, shy, tucking his head into the meat where your shoulder meets your neck. Without any prompting, you adjust your stance, pressing your knee into his cock and making him jerk forward with another whimper high in his throat. “Oh!”

Slowly, his hips begin grinding—it’s a weak movement, testing, making sure you're really okay with this, right now. He moves unsure against you until you begin bumping your knee, letting his slick make a mess of your pant leg. “Go on,” you goad him on, soft, holding him snug against you. You can feel his cunt clench even through the fabric of your pants, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat against you that is oddly reminiscent of the headache you can feel begin to dissipate. “Take your pleasure, pup.”

He nods vehemently against you, beginning to hump as his tail swishes side to side, side to side, hypnotizing you just slightly. It’s hard to parse it out in the dark, but the shadow of it is undeniable behind him. Each bounce of your leg makes Gorou whimper, and he’s quick to crane his neck up for a kiss to muffle himself. You grant his request easily, but only for a minute; after, you gently part from him to murmur, so quiet that only he could possibly hear, those big, soft ears of his twitching as he strains, “What else do you want, honey?”

“Want you,” he whines, grinding harshly once, twice. “Want you inside me, want you to breed me.”

You didn’t expect that, but you’re a doctor, after all; it’s kinda in the job description to roll with the punches, so you do. “You wanna get fucked full of pups?” you ask, teasing and light, but Gorou’s mouth parts as a loud whine crawls out of his chest.

“Yes! Please.” Thick tears begin to drop from his eyes, saltwater dribbling onto the bare skin of your throat. “Now, now—breed me now,” he begs, and you coo at him, bringing your hands to curl into his hair, rubbing soothing circles into the base of one puppydog ear.

“Patience, pup.”

And, because he’s Gorou, and Gorou is nothing but a good boy, he nods, rapid-quick movements of his head, and begins to slow on your thigh. Heat shimmers low in your belly as he steps back from you on shaky legs, a wet splotch across your leg from his cunt. You bring a hand down, meaning to scoop it up off your pant, but your finger brushes two distinctly different textures: his natural slick, and fuckin’ lube. “Did you prepare yourself for me?”

“Y-yeah,” he mutters, tail tucking itself between his legs. You almost cringe at that, knowing he’s smearing himself into his own fur, but if he doesn’t mind, then you won’t either; besides, it’s hard to truly care when your boyfriend is so bashful in front of you. “I—I missed you, ‘nd wanted to be ready for you.”

The image of Gorou, ass up on the bed with four of his fingers stuffed up inside of himself flitters across your mind, makes your cock throb in your britches. Your erection was easy to ignore, earlier; but now it’s abject torture.

However, it’s not nearly as torturous as it was for your boyfriend, and you know this. You know he didn’t cum, know his fingers are far too short to truly reach in deep and press against his g-spot, know his wrist can’t comfortably bend to jerk himself off and finger himself at the same time. So you coo, soft, “Sweet boy. Where’s your toy?”

“Charging,” he mutters.

You grin at that: it’s perfect. “Can you go get it then, puppy?”

With an audible swallow, he nods, rushing for your bedroom. You follow behind him, lethargic but so, so turned on; and while he’s grabbing the vibrator from the corner, you shuck off the rest of your clothes and plop yourself down on the edge of your bed.

He must not expect you to have followed him, however, because once he turns around, he jumps, ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. You only laugh and pat your lap. “C’mere.”

Quickly—and toy in tow—, he shuffles over to you. He stands awkwardly in front of you for a moment before you murmur, “I said c’mere,” and tug him to straddle your lap. The position immediately forces his cock—slick n’ thick, out of its hood and throbbing incessantly—against yours, and he mewls helplessly for a moment, grinds once, twice again, before he grabs the lube to the side of you.

You hadn’t even noticed it there, but now that he’s grabbed it, pointed it out, you feel other wet spots beneath you. He fuckin’ masturbated here, right on the duvet you both sleep under, thinkin’ about you and only you. You’re taking out of your musings when he slathers up your cock in lube, messy and sloppy, and then he’s rising, positioning you, and sinking right on down.

“Mm!” he cries out, swiveling his hips to take you in deeper, deeper, deeper. You groan at the lube-slick combination that smothers your cock in Gorou, Gorou, Gorou. “Breed me, breed me!” Each meak plea makes your cock pulse inside him, and he mewls at each throb inside him. “Please!”

“I got you, pup,” you murmur, your edge so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. “Just make yourself feel good, and I’ll breed you, okay? Okay, puppy?”

“Okay, okay—”

You grin. “Good boy,” you say, and then he’s tumbling over the edge and bringing you right down with him. You groan into his throat, feeling the vibrations of his whimpers n’ whining moans as he’s getting thoroughly bred. Your hands ruck up his shirt to hold his sides and soothe him down from his high. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Bred you just like I promised I would, hm?”

He weakly nods. “Thank you,” he mumbles, nosing at your throat.

And, well. You’re bloody exhausted, and you promised to breed him, and he can’t keep on being bred if you pull out. You tell yourself you’re only upholding your promise as Gorou falls asleep on your cock, breathing deep on your lap: tell yourself that it’s the lingering tiredness that suddenly seems to hit you in full-force that keeps him warm and snug on you.

Really, clean-up can wait.

i got a lil' carried away on lyney's part ,, o(*^＠^*)o also, none of these were really cowgirl 'cos reader was sitting up for it . . . i couldn't think of how to have him lay flat in these scenarios LOLL

13 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#i used to have very frequent headaches and the only way i could abate them was:#1) midol (god's gift to earth i stg)#and 2) jrking off.#so !!#sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub gaming #gaming x reader #sub lyney #lyney x reader #sub gorou #gorou x reader #lord .#top reader #dom reader #amab reader #male reader

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fangisms · 8 months

Text

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george wealsey x reader #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fluff #fluff #fanfic #x reader #x fem!reader #fanfiction #hp universe #enemies to lovers

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hobie-enthusiast · 10 months

Text

UNLIKELY CLASH !

— rulebreaker!hobie brown x perfectionist!gn!reader

— enemies to lovers, cursing (hobie says bullshit), dramatic tension, high school, hobie being a menace, and reader is fed up with him, or are they

— hobie brown was everything you weren’t, so maybe that’s what attracted the two of you together so well (pt. 1)

— this was originally meant to be one fic then i started writing and bam two maybe three parts. let me know if it’s any good for another part

— part 1 (here) | part 2 | part 3

This was a dangerous game you were playing.

Hobie Brown was a menace. An absolute prick who had no respect for the rules or anything anyone told him. He skipped school constantly, broke every rule set in place, and never did what the staff asked of him.

The complete opposite of you.

You were the model student, you practically had to be. Best grades imaginable, excellent rule follower, and apart of almost every club offered. Nobody could complain about you or what you’ve achieved.

Well, except for Hobie Brown. He’s been messing with you ever since your first encounter, and you honestly were in no interest in playing this game with him.

—

“Mr. Brown, if you can’t keep quiet in this class then I’m going to have to ask you to talk with the principal.”

Hobie rolled his eyes as he propped his shoes on the desk in front of him, hands behind his head. "Sounds be'ter than lis'ening to this borin' lesson."

You find yourself scoffing at Hobie's useless words. Of course he would chose to be difficult on the one day of the week he showed up to school. In your eyes, it would be better for him to miss rather than interupting the lesson for those who just want to pass the class.

Suddenly, the teacher glances in your direction. "[Name], would you mind escorting him to the office?" She asks in a pleading tone. You sigh but give a smile, nodding.

The teacher gives another stern look in Hobie's direction, but he just laughs as he puts his hands up. You walk towards the door and step outside, waiting for the vigilante to join you outside.

Hobie stepped outside, glancing down at you. He says nothing as he begins walking, in the opposite direction of the office.

"Uhm, I know you hardly come here," You start, catching up to him. "But the office is the other way."

"Didya really think I was gonna follow ya?" He questions with a chuckle. When you don't respond, he raises an eyebrow. "Wow, ya did."

You sigh, moving to stand in front of him. "Don't be difficult, Brown. Just go up there and we won't have issues."

"Ain't no need to be so uptigh', sweetheart. Even the class presiden' can 'ave some fun."

You glare as he brushes past you. "One, don't call me sweetheart." You say in a tone. "Second, having fun doesn't include disregarding what teachers tell you to do."

"Sure it does." Hobie says with a shrug, stopping to stare down at you. "Ins'ead of goin' to the office, I can go do whatever I feel like doin'. Much bet'er, don't ya think?"

The way he spoke so casually about breaking the rules infuriated you. Of course you didn't want to be here as much as the next person, but you couldn't imagine just interrupting and walking out like this. You were here to be the best you could possibly be, no distractions. But Hobie Brown was not letting you do that.

"Keep starin' and you might find yourself in a position you don't wanna be in, darlin'." He said, looking back over his shoulder.

Okay, that pissed you off. "Excuse me?"

Hobie rolled his eyes, turning back to you as he made his way to you. His hand lifted your chin, peering down on you. "Ya heard me. Though, maybe ya do wanna bend the rules with me."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know u've had plen'y of time to go back to that bloody boring class."

As much as you wanted to deny his words, he was right. Why haven't you just left him to his own devices? It wasn't that hard to just walk away and let him suffer the consequences.

Why were you still here?

Your silence prompted a smirk from Hobie. "I'll see ya around, sweetheart." He says, turning back around to walk out of the school. You let out a frustrated groan, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at the contact or nickname.

—

Your next encounter with Hobie Brown was in the cafeteria the day after that incident. It was honestly a shock to you he even showed up two days in a row.

You walked along the halls with your good friend, casually chatting as you made it into the lunchroom. Lunch period was such a refreshing time in your mind, a good time to actually talk with people you like. And not deal with a certain someone.

You still couldn't figure out why you were thinking of him so much. Just from the one encounter, he's plagued your thoughts and mind. It was honestly so annoying in your eyes.

You grab a lunch tray, moving to grab a meal prepared for that day. It wasn't the most appetizing food, but it was better than nothing. You paid before stepping out of line to find a seat.

But of course, someone also had to walk in that path at the same time. They bumped right into you, causing you to trip forward and fall almost flat on your face. Or actually, right into the arms of someone who caught you.

You clutch onto the stranger, groaning at your food that was now on the floor. There goes your lunch. You sigh. "Thank you, I'm so sorry I-"

You glance down at the hand, then notice the familiar scent from the previous day. You glance up, seeing none other than Hobie Brown, small smirk on his face at your realization.

You immediately release your hold on him, standing up straight. "Brown." You say coldly and simply, crossing your arms.

He raises his hands. "Alrigh', don't acknowledge that I jus' saved ya from a bloody nose. That's wha' friends are for, huh?"

"We are not friends." You respond, eyes narrowing at him.

"Not with that at'itude we're not."

Glancing around, you suddenly become very aware of how many people are watching the two of you. You groan, hands running on your face before you face him again.

"Thanks, Brown. For catching me." You say with gritted teeth.

He gives that same damn smirk, ruffling your hair. "'s no problem, sweetheart. Jus' watch where ya step."

If no one was watching you would probably punch him square in the arm. He knew you wouldn't do anything; tell him off, hit him, nothing. You had a reputation to uphold as the president. What kind of president are you if you can't get along with everyone, including the school pariah.

You turn around after that, trying to get out of there as soon as possible. Of course, what were the odds you fall right into Hobie's arms. What a cruel twist of fate on you.

Damn you, Hobie Brown.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

That's how you find yourself in the present weeks.

Hobie comes up to you whenever he finds the chance. He comes to school more often, which may be good in some ways, just to see you. Of course it was odd to see the school's resident vigilante finding a friend in the school council's president, even after such a fiasco.

Only issue? You guys weren't friends! Not even close. You practically hates the guy. At least, you had to. That's what you thought, because that was the truth, right?

"So, what's the deal with you and that Hobie guy?"

You groan as you slam the locker shut, glancing at your friend. "Nothing is the deal. He's just an annoying prick."

"Woah, seems I hit a nerve." Your friend chuckled. "Just tell him to leave you alone. I'm sure he'll listen, no?"

They were right, you knew they were. Of course Hobie would leave you be if you asked him to stop or reported him. But something stopped you every time. You would always indulge in his antics and words, throwing back annoyed tones or sarcastic words. The easiest solution would be to just ignore him.

So why didn't you? Why did you expect him almost daily? What were you doing?

And of course, speak of the devil.

"Hey sweetheart." Hobie speaks behind you, leaning against the lockers. His eyes scan your friend. "Busy? I wanna talk to ya."

Your friend glanced at the two of you. "I'll.. see you later [Name]."

You sigh with a roll of your eyes, opening your locker back up. "What do you want?"

"Who was that?" Hobie asked. "A friend?"

"It doesn't matter. What do you want, Brown?"

Hobie chuckled quietly, amused by your somewhat hostile nature. "Not 'ere. Somewhere else."

You close the locker again to question his motives. But instead, you already see him walking off. This was the point you could have walked the other way, headed off to class like the good and perfect class president you were. That would be the responsible thing for you to do.

You debated with yourself for a moment before sighing, following Hobie at a distance. Why? Well you can't answer that. He led you to the front of the school, a side door in specific. You never really find yourself over here in specific, there was never a need to.

Hobie pushes the door open, walking out like it wasn't a big deal. He glanced back, ushering you to follow him. You groan but follow him. You were already too far from your next class to turn back and make it on time. Bailing at this point would be pointless.

"'m shocked ya haven't complained." Hobie spoke once you caught up with him.

You roll your eyes. "I'm actually a nice person, believe it or not. Just not with you, a vigilante."

"Hm, haven' been called that one before." He says, digging his arms in his vest pockets. "And don't worry, soon enough 'u'll like me."

"What makes you think-"

Hobie stops walking suddenly, tilting his head towards a tree. Your eyes narrow at it, but you couldn't dare deny how nice it was out here.

"This is where you wanted to take me?" You question as he sits down, taking his guitar off his back, placing it in his lap.

He nods, strumming the strings. "'s peaceful." He says, glancing up at you. "Sit. I ain't gonna bite."

Hesitantly, you sit down across from him, drawing your knees to your chest. You were grateful that this tree was far from the school, so no one could see you both.

God, when did it come to you skipping class with the Hobie Brown?

"So.." You draw out your word, looking at him with careful eyes. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just wanted to get ya away from that friend of 'urs." He responded nonchalantly, shrugging as he tuned the strings.

You groan with a sigh. "Damn you, Brown. I could be in class right now!"

"But 'ur not. Ya didn't have t' come with me."

Of course he was right. Your own will brought you under this tree with Hobie as he mindlessly strums his guitar, skipping class in the process. Who was he making you?

"Besides," He starts, playing a chord. "Ya owe me. You know, savin' ya in the lunchroom? I wanna know more about ya."

You roll your eyes. Of course he would that against you. It wasn't like you asked to be saved like that.

But what else could you do out here with him?

"Fine. You get three questions. That's it."

Hobie nods, silently taking some time to think of the first question. "What's 'ur favourite colour?"

Well that certainly wasn't the type of question you expected. "Uhm.. [f/c]..?" You say with some uncertainty.

"Figures. Suits someone like you." He says, setting his guitar to the side to focus on you. "Alright, next question. Who's someone ya look up t'?"

"Easy, Spider-man. Some people call them Spider-punk, but I don't know, that doesn't sound like them." You speak casually, shrugging about it.

That answer surprised Hobie, but he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned back and questioned you as to why.

You sigh. "I guess.. it's because they fight for the good. They break all these rules, go against others expectations of a hero, and still save those who need saving. They still manage to do the right thing and save the day." You say, continuing on with your explanation. "I just wish that could be me sometimes. Breaking the rules and expectations set in place for me while still impressing others."

You clear your throat after, feeling as though you made things awkward. Hobie was silent as he just stared at you. Was he.. analyzing you? Your answer? You had no idea.

"Last question.." He continues, as if the last one never happened. "If you could do anything you wanted to, no limits, what would you do and why?"

Now this question was making you think. Anything? Absolutely anything? Maybe you were getting too deep.

"I would probably solve the-"

"No." Hobie cuts you off, sitting up. "Don't give me some bullshit answer abou' somethin' for others. Be selfish. I want an answer from [Name], not the perfect studen' council presiden'."

Your eyes widen, but then you look down, smiling to yourself somewhat gently. "I would.. I would run away to the city for a day, do everything that I want to do. Feel the freedom of not having everyone staring at my every move. Finally be able to just.. breathe." You say, not even bothering to see Hobie's expression.

"Noted."

You had no clue at that moment what his words meant, but surely they had to have held meaning. After a while, the two of you had to head back inside the school, the previous encounter and interactions still hanging heavily between you two. Still, you couldn't help but write a small note of 'thank you' to Hobie, putting it in his locker.

When Hobie went to his locker at the end of the day, the first thing he noticed was the crumpled up note with his last name written neatly on it. His mind immediately identified it as being from you.

'Thanks for letting me say all of that earlier. I don't think I've ever admitted to someone how much pressure I'm truly under. You really aren't that bad.

This still doesn't mean we're friends.

Yours truly, [Name].'

Oh yeah, Hobie would definitely be holding onto this note.

#NEW ARTICLE || OUT NOW !!#hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv #atsv hobie

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours.

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true.

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut.

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind.

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door.

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs.

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies.

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?”

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail.

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up.

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you.

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so.

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls.

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you.

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling.

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

“We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw.

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be.

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie.

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you.

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw.

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy.

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart.

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…”

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips.

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you.

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression.

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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i-cant-sing · 8 months

Note

I was rereading some of your works and this line stuck out to me

‘Enji is keeping up with all your cravings, no matter how weird. You're craving ice chips? Alright. You want ice cream at 3 am? The fridge is stocked with your favs. Oh no, you want soft serve? Its okay, princess, I'll drive us there. I'm sure they'll open the store for the no. 1 hero.’

I immediately pictured him, banging on the front door of the shop, absolutely panicked because his “baby” is hungry for ice cream and is worried that she’ll cry because of pregnancy hormones

HAHAHAHAHA YESSSSSS and like u can't blame him??? He's already so protective of you as his daughter, but not that you're pregnant with Ratsuki's baby, his protectiveness increases ten folds. Who knows what that devil's spawn is doing to your poor body???? How much pain you're in because of Ratsuki's baby????

Ugh, he just- even if you tell him how excited you are to gave this baby, Enji just can't stop fretting over you because you're his baby! Always were, and always will be!

Yandere dad Enji with pregnant daughter reader is literally so cute because there is nothing that will stop this man from making sure that you are healthy and comfortable and yes, he will still hold you whenever you're feeling down, baby bump or not, you weigh nothing to him🥰

You're feeling emotional and end up calling Enji (instead of Katsuki cause he's busy with work) and he hears a wobble in your voice? BAm, papa is at your door step in 10 minutes with ice cream and snacks and warm cuddles. Feel free to bitch about Katsuki to him (actually dont, he will kill him)

Ever since you got married and moved in with Katsuki, Enji had been missing your company. And once you had returned from your honeymoon and visited him, he realised just how terribly he missed you. So of course he grabs any opportunity to spend time with you. Baby checkup? Okay, papa Enji is coming to pick you up. Grocery shopping? How odd that he's also out of groceries. Cmon, lets shop together, and maybe some cute (SUPER EXPENSIVE, LUXURY BRANDED) maternity and baby clothes to spoil you. Nothing to do at home? Well, you can always help out dad at his work! Enji's sending a car to drive you to his company 🥰 And its like, even if you do have plans with Katsuki, Enji will pull some strings to make sure that Katsuki gets stuck at work while you sulk at home, awaiting your husband. But Enji will come to console you, cry on his shoulder baby. Sometimes, Enji will drop by unannounced, especially if he finds out that you're spending the weekend with Katsuki's parents. He'll be bringing in a boquet, kissing you on the cheek, before wrapping his coat around you, telling you that you must come home with him right away. And you're all like "??? Dad! I'm here with my in laws. I cant just up and leave-!" And he pulls the big sad eyes and says "Its Rei." and you automatically sigh and nod before going to apologise to Kats parents for cancelling your plans with them, claiming there's a "family emergency", which isnt a lie because yandere Rei is an EMERGENCY at all times. Its just, you've always known your mother's mental health was detoriating, but the rate at which it detoriated increased ten folds when you moved out. She's always been protective of you, because of all the trauma and because you're her youngest, so of course... she took it the hardest when you left her side to be with Katsuki. And before your marriage, you swore to your father that you'll always be there to help him with Mom, whenever needed, no questions asked. Its the only reason Enji gave you his blessing marry RATsuki. So whenever he misses you too much, he tells you that Rei is having another "episode" where she's screaming your name, crying that someone took you away and is hurting you, is resorting to harming herself, etc. And sometimes Rei does have these epiosdes, other times she doesnt, but it doesnt matter to either of them because if they want u home, you will come. And as soon as Enji has brought you to the Todoroki estate, your're running (or waddling) inside, immeadiately engulfed by your mother who will now proceed to coddle you and fret over you non stop for the next couple of days (spoon feeding you her food, brushing your hair until you dose off, rubbing your baby bump while humming lullabies. Enji's having the best time too becuase he gets to tuck you in at night and wake u in the morning and have more daddy-daughter ice cream dates with yall) until she's better or... well, your husbands comes to fetch you.

And Rat- KATSUKI, sees through all their BULLSHIT! But you dont and thats why he cant call them out on it. Thats why he must be the more patient one between him and your greedy parents.

#yandere enji todoroki #yandere enji #yandere rei todoroki #yandere rei #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere todoroki clan #yandere endeavor #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #platonic yandere #yandere todoroki family

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maryangelex · 1 month

Note

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod fanfic #fanfic #john price #anon ask #anon request #thanks anon!#price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #price #price x reader

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svgvru · 14 days

Note

I heard your call and I bring you my inner most desire. I want Choso absolutely sobbing, crying, drooling over how good the readers pussy feels (riding position). And I want the reader to praise him. Petting his hair and telling him how good he's doing and bam! He cums 😌 (fem!reader please)

LIVE-STREAM PREVIEW ! ( 22 Oct. 2023 )

categories: sub male ; choso k. ; ( hinted blk ) f!reader

glossy brown eyes dart to anywhere but you. the clock, your posters, the door, the clothes on the floor. anywhere but the place where your bodied connected so deliciously. his breath stutters, sweaty and barren chest rising shakily.

the poor baby, he can't handle it. his toes are curled and his eyes are screwed shut, kiss-swollen lips shivering.

"choso," he can't handle the way your soft voice calls him. the warmth of your walls engulfes his cock in a way that makes him think he'll go insane. "choso," you sing, acrylic nails lightly graze his chest; the light scraping of your brains against his skin makes him shudder. "yes—?" he chokes, hips stuttering up and into you.

a light chuckle leaves your lips, one he recognizes that has a sense of cruelty and love laced in it.

"you're doing so well baby," you coo, a hand going to card through his disheveled hair, "but...i need you to say awake." choso hears a soft laugh before a soft kiss to the mark on the bridge of his nose. "can you do that for me, my love?"

a cough leaves his lips, strings of saliva connecting his lips as he opens them. "y-yes," his voice cracks, sniffles ringing in the hair as more tears fall from the corners of his eyes.

"good," you whisper, picking up the pace of your hips.

a quiet noise mixed with a choking sound and a groan leave him as he throws his head back. "oh, oh!" he whines, hips subconsciously rolling up to meet yours. there's nothing but warmth spreading throughout his body, and especially wrapped around his much too sensitive cock. it's been years since he's been this intimate with a woman and he can't handle it. "you okay?" you hum.

choso gulps, sucking in the hot, tension-filled air. "mhm!" he gulps, failing at holding back tears, "you just—ngh! you feel too good!"

you smile, "oh, i know. but you're doing so good! you've been so good for me cho, i know you have one more." your praise seems to smash a button inside of his head. your fingers card through his strings of hair as you whisper such praise to the shell of his ear, hips rolling too sensually for the man.

his breath hitches loudly, eyes rolling back. "hah...oh! baby!" he whines, his calloused hands gripping onto the fat of your hips, and his hips rut upwards.

with a whine and a hiss you feel his cum paint your walls, as you find the feeling of his legs trembling amusing.

you don't move, simply cockwarming him as he comes down from his high. after a few seconds, you press soft kisses to his sweaty forehead. "good job, my love," you coo, squeezing his cheeks. he gulps at your praise and you feel his now softened cock twitch inside of you.

"now can you do me a favor?"

"huh?" he whispers, looking up at you with adoring eyes.

"can you handle giving me one?"

little thirst, it's been a while since i wrote smut or for him. i tried to write a bit differently since ive gotten in the mood, i hope this was alright!! i am so sorry you had to wait this long...

#( live-stream prev. ) — jjk #( cat. ) — choso kamo #chubby coded reader #black coded reader #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jjk smut #hinted black reader #dom female reader #sub character #sub choso #choso x reader #choso x female reader #x female reader

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kangnina · 1 month

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MDNI -----Just sitting here minding my own business when BAM…. Sunghoon’s tiny waist agenda.

He’s in the kitchen, preparing his surprise culinary creation. He knows your week has been long and grueling. Everyday, you were gone before he woke up and he’d be fast asleep when you came home.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” You ask, your bare legs dangling as you sit on the countertop wearing nothing but one of his button up shirts. Sunghoon stops to pour you a glass of red wine.

“You just sit there and look pretty, Princess.” He says handing it to you with a smile. You take a swig as you watch his beautiful hands, skillfully dice up some onions. His brows furrowed with concentration as he looks between the cookbook and the pan on the stovetop. His dark hair falling gently over his forehead. Broad shoulders in a navy blue sweater, neatly tucked into his tan slacks. His tiny little waist used to make you a bit envious. But knowing you can straddle it just about anytime you want absolutely makes up for it. Your mind is off to the races, fantasizing about your plump ass clapping against his hips as he pummels you from behind… Sunghoon asked you a question but you didn’t even hear him. You’re too busy drooling over delicious thoughts of him. He turns off the stove and puts the knife down before he approaches you. That’s when you come back to reality.

“You look hungry baby.” he teases, looking into your lustful eyes and stroking your cheek with his thumb. You nod as you bite your lip.

“How about an appetizer?” he whispers against your lips, unbuckling his pants. They fall to the floor along with his briefs. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his slender frame as he enters you with ease.

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut

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h3wi · 9 months

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"how to get your crush to like you back in 3 easy steps"

or: dan heng likes you. march knows.

dan heng x f!reader. pining fools and idiots in love. march is close to having a metaphorical heart attack. cliche shoujo stuff.

"you have a crush on her."

"i absolutely do not."

march fixes dan heng with an unimpressed gaze. "you are literally so obvious, don't even try and deny it again."

obvious? he's obvious? dan heng tries not to panic. in a poor attempt to salvage the unsalvageable, he says, lamely, "...i don't know what you're talking about."

graciously preserving the little dignity he has left, march ignores him. she claps him on the shoulder sympathetically. "don't worry, i'm a pro wingwoman. i accept payment in the form of desserts."

dan heng's right eye twitches.

1. show interest in their interests, pay attention to them.

that's easy, he thinks to himself. he always pays attention to you, it comes naturally to him. he knows how you prefer your coffee with a dash of milk and honey, not too sweet. he knows how you always start books but rarely ever finish them unless they were "really good and checked all my boxes!" and could go on thesis-worthy rants about your favourite ones. he knows how you like to keep succulents on your table and give them all ridiculous names like "king coin of doge land" and "a rad little guy".

so easy, in fact, that he feels the most confident he's ever been as he strides across the room over to you. you’re fiddling with something, looking vaguely nervous as you talk to march.

"good morning." he greets, eyeing the newest project you seem to be occupied with in your hands. a crotchet dragon, how nice. he knows exactly how to keep the conversation going now—

"what's cookin', good lookin'?"

his brain short circuits.

what is he supposed to say to that? were you flirting? does he flirt back? was it just a phrase? what's cooking-?

"but i'm not on cooking duty today."

dan heng watches your face freeze in confusion. his face feels like stone. to the side, march looks like she’s about to strangle him.

"...uh huh."

an awkward silence hangs in the air. dan heng wishes he was a statue.

— a failure, cut your losses and move on.

2. compliment something they’ve put effort into.

“please elaborate.”

“say something you like about her.” march takes a bite of her parfait (courtesy of dan heng), “but it has to be something she put conscious thought into. it shows that you notice the little things, and it makes her feel good about herself which makes her feel good about you. bam! two birds with one stone.”

dan heng only feels more confused. “but i like everything about her.”

even with the sweet treat in her mouth, march looks like she tasted something sour.

“so do i compliment her on everything i can think of?”

“no, no. you-“ march heaves a sigh, “pick one. just one.”

when he sees you in the archive room, he notices the now completed crotchet dragon in your hand. he decides that this is the perfect time to redeem himself.

“it’s well-made. i like the teal colour.” he says, and mentally congratulates himself for not messing up right off the bat (again).

“thank you, it’s, um, actually supposed to be the dragon you summon.”

“oh.” dan heng’s mind had been so occupied with march’s plans and you that he didn’t even make the connection. he feels just a little stupid.

“…and it’s for you.”

“oh.” a gift from you? and it was made exclusively to represent him, with hours of effort? he is in shock.

he must have taken too long to answer, because you notice the hesitation. flushing with embarrassment, you say “it’s a little much, huh? sorry.”

dan heng doesn’t manage to get a word in (because he would love to have the crotchet dragon, thank you very much!) before you scurry out the door. it clicks as it shuts, his outstretched hand reaching for nothing but air.

— i don’t want to call you a dumbass, but you’re kind of being a dumbass.

3. find time alone with them.

“i’ll help you with this one. but when you’re alone with her, you’re on your own.” march looks mildly concerned, “…will you be ok?”

“of course.” he says, and it’s merely bravado.

“right, well, i managed to convince mr. yang, miss himeko, and pom pom to visit this café with me—you’re paying, of course—it’s a rare opportunity so make full use of it, ‘kay?”

alone on the express. with you. no one else. no big deal, he tries to convince himself.

they keyword is ‘tries’, of course.

when the time comes, he gathers all the courage he has and, hopefully nonchalantly, asks you to watch a movie with him with a mini projector march had lent him beforehand. you agree, and it’s the first hurdle cleared. no mishaps so far.

“i’ll make you coffee, the way you like it.” he offers, and feels a flutter in his chest when you smile. if he could, he would bottle the feeling you gave him up and ration it throughout the rest of his life.

“i would love that.”

he gets to work, prepping the sugar and honey as he waits for the water to boil. the conversation between the two of you comes easily, as if the recent incidents didn’t happen at all, and dan heng feels the familiar serenity that comes from being in your presence. it was quiet save for your conversation, and the backdrop of stars outside the train seemed to be even more mesmerising than usual.

but of course, not everything goes according to plan.

the astral express, which had been sailing through the stars so smoothly, lurches from sudden turbulence. you bump against the kettle when you try to stabilise yourself and knock it over. boiling water spills all over the counter and onto the floor.

“watch out!”

not wanting you to be scalded, he grabs your arm and tries to push you away with his back towards the spillage. but his foot steps on the water and he slips, falling forward.

the two of you land on the floor in a heap, inches away from the spill. pure reflexes allow him to minimise the impact of your head meeting the floor by using his other hand as a cushion. he thinks he has bruised his knuckles. he has sprained his wrist.

the thought of the compromising position doesn’t even cross either of your minds. you crawl out from underneath him, and, perceptive as ever, notice when he rubs his wrist and winces.

“dan heng! are you ok?” you fuss over him, hands flitting over his wrist. dan heng feels like he would have enjoyed the attention more if he wasn’t so disappointed that his plans were disrupted. it had been going so well, he mourns. he watches as your back disappears around the corner with promises of finding the first aid kit.

it’s hard for the previous tranquil atmosphere to come back when you obviously felt bad about his wrist (even thought he assured you it was alright and not to worry), and his plans were derailed. the both of you work together to clean up the mess, which took some time, and try to enjoy the movie, but the momentum was lost.

— …

“what do you mean all my plans went bust? i worked so hard to convince pom pom to come with me!” march looks at you in horror.

“i don’t know! i thought you said you were a pro at this! i tried the pick-up line, i tried giving him a gift, and i even spent time alone with him, nothing worked! am I just inept at this love thing?” you shake her by the shoulders, tears of frustration on the edge of falling. march could only feel wronged.

“oh my god. you’re both idiots.”

#march has an aneurysm #so dumb #i want to give dan heng a fat kiss #writings #dan heng x reader #dan heng #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #hsr dan heng #hsr

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auraworkshop · 1 month

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you'll be getting my success story so soon! but i had to pop in and say, omg, aura. i spiraled so bad last week, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. it forced me to really ask myself why this kept happening and to get to the root cause of my wavering.

i finally got disciplined. disciplined, disciplined. it really just took a day or so of me intentionally choosing over and over to turn inward to myself for validation and not the 3D. then bam -- it all clicked into place.

i have the strongest conviction in my success. the void feels like the most natural thing ever to me. i've got your void concept sub on for the heck of it ( & also because i like supporting your channel ). but there isn't a single thing in any reality that can tell me the void isn't possible for me ( including three recent "failed" attempts, but i just revised them after since i'm 100% in control of the narrative ).

it's done. i've finally accomplished this. i'm so grateful i stuck this out, and i can't wait to stop by again after i've shifted to give you my next update! i feel like a kid waiting for christmas. the inevitability of it all is absolutely guaranteed. you were such a pivotal part of my journey, so i wanted to share. :) i hope you're well today!!

and to anyone else who's still on the journey, keep going!! you're worth it. your dream life is worth it. if certain "rules" aren't working for you, make up your own! your success is just around the corner!

I'm so glad you've been able to turn things around and get back on track. I know the process can be really tough at times, and what a huge difference that makes because I have been in that same place before. Your mind has a tendency to get stuck in habits, and it can be tricky to break out of them but you've clearly made it through that difficult patch <3

Your conviction is contagious, and I know for sure that you will succeed. Your success is guaranteed, there is nothing and no one who can stop you from achieving it. You are in control of your reality and there is nothing but positivity on the other side :)

You've got this, no one else can dictate the terms of your destiny.

I wish you all the best in your journey, and I look forward to hearing about your next update ! 🤍

Lol.. I just noticed that our usernames are a bit similar :)

#void #void state #shifting #law of assumption

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lovely-keii · 10 months

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being their sibling

characters: kageyama tobio, miya twins, iwaizumi hajime, hitoka yachi, ushijima wakatoshi

a/n: comeback?! 🫣

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

he thinks everything you do is normal, it skews his perspective of the real world. you’re a great painter? suddenly he’s asking his seatmate why her drawings look like that. you sing well? he tells some kid with an average voice that he can’t sing. you’re rich? suddenly he’s calling someone’s car cheap.

obedient, whether or not you’re younger than him. “get me a glass of water, tobio” “ok.” // “my feet hurt, tobio.” “put them on my lap, ill massage your feet.” honestly, really reasonable and kind

he’s so loud when he gets annoyed though. stubs his toe on the coffee table and the next day, you receive a noise complaint. swears a lot too. god forbid he loses one of his volleyball equipment. he’s going to absolutely flip the house upside down.

kageyama is so transparent with you, literally almost no boundaries. he’ll literally go into your room and is confused why you tell him to get out. “why? is there something you need to hide?” somehow knows your password always “why can’t i use your phone? you can use mine.” bro has nothing to hide, hes too comfortable around you

just dont mess with his volleyball things and you’re all good.

MIYA TWINS

you three are so loud all the goddamn time, your neighbors hate you guys. the two might baby you or look up to you, but you’re never exempted from their mischief. but at least you have your very own bodyguard and sidekicks.

you own literally nothing. things will go missing from your room, and appear in atsumu’s desk. one time, you see your hand cream in atsumu’s hand, and he’s using it to massage his foot after volleyball practice. “what are you doing?!” “i ran out of foot cream. plus, what’s the difference between feet and hand skin anyways? oh hey, it smells nice.”

you can’t store your food just anywhere too, you have to hide it in the most creative spots just to make sure osamu doesn’t get his hands on it. always makes excuses too. “this is OUR house so this is also OUR food” “sharing is caring, and i’m your brother.”

when osamu and atsumu fight, you either get dragged in or you have to start haggling to get between them. you three will fight about literally anything. mainly because you three love to intentionally annoy each other “get out of my room!” “my feet are outside so it doesn’t count.” BAM BOOSH POW!! knuckle sandwich for everyone!

and you three love to pretend to be characters in the show. powerpuff girls? osamu is bubbles, you and atsumu fight over who’s blossom. alvin and the chipmunks? osamu is theodore, atsumu is alvin, and you’re simon. god forbid spongebob comes on, because atsumu insists he’s pearl.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

he’s a great brother, in all senses of the word. you leave something at home and he’ll bring it for you. you get into an accident and he’s the first to show up. you lose something and he’ll find it for you.

you see oikawa so often he might as well be your brother too. when you’re talking to people, the two are so irritating lol. oikawa’s teasing you and giggling about it, and iwaizumi is giving you “the talk” which he’s given you dozens of times.

he likes to scold you, but he’s only really looking out for you. he doesn’t like to encourage you when you cause trouble, but a single text from you, and he’s already grumbling and on his way to open the window for you to sneak in.

if you like any of his teammates and he finds out, you’ll get an earful. “there are so many guys in the world and you like him?! you can do better but you’re settling on so little!” and if it’s oikawa, he’s literally gagging and telling oikawa he isn’t allowed to come over anymore.

but also, he’s paying for your deliveries, opening the car door for you, and making you walk in the inner side of the sidewalk, so you win anyways.

HITOKA YACHI

she makes you talk to your mom and ask permission for her, because she’s too scared to do it herself. feels bad and gives you some cash or snacks to make it up to you if you get scolded in her place.

brings you to volleyball practice with her, and if you’re classmates or in karasuno too, she makes you sign up as manager with her too. you two are almost inseparable, mainly because yachi doesn’t want to do things with strangers, and wants to be with someone she knows.

loves to go out and hang with you. she’s not really a shopping kind of girl, but you two will literally get lost when you get to stationery. you two will frequent cute cafes too. you go under the guise of studying but get distracted by everything.

in the nights, she’ll do your hair and skin routine, and you’ll do hers. you two have a shared playlist and everything, and the both of you will just talk about everything under the sun.

surprisingly has a large appetite around you. she’ll ogle your sweets. “um…are you going to eat that? just asking…”

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

sibling or not, he’s really quiet. doesn’t like small talk or messing around since he doesn’t see the point in it. also can be super blunt with you so he hurts your feelings sometimes, but he’s always quick to apologize once he realizes you were upset by it. “you might have gotten a higher score if you didn’t waste time on your phone last night.” “toshi…” “sorry, i mean it as advice.”

has really good insight into things, so you often go to him for advice. he’s straightforward and likes to cut to the chase, so he’s rarely in between decisions. on the other hand, he can occasionally misunderstand your intentions and feelings and doesn’t understand why some things bother you.

he’ll call you to the backyard to toss to him every so often. you’ve spent a majority of your childhood passing ushijima volleyballs for him to hit and receive, and waiting for him to finish watching a game so you can watch your cartoons.

he always has tickets for you to watch his games. if he hears your cheers, he’ll give you a determined smile. he’ll find you after a game and ask you how it was and if you had fun. has you ride in the team bus to and from games and no one really pays too much mind. (except for tendou who’ll pester you)

on his way back home after a long practice, he’ll stop by your favorite restaurant and get some take out for you.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya twins #yachi x reader #yachi hitoka x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader

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goldyeokki · 9 months

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JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY ★ NAKAMOTO YUTA

★ GENRE! ★ smut

★ SYNOPSIS! ★ much to your boyfriend's annoyance, there's another guy who doesn't seem to know his place when it comes to you. nakamoto yuta knows that he's the only one you want but that doesn't mean he can't have a little bit of fun in claiming what's his.

★ WORD COUNT! ★ 5,630 ★ CONTENT WARNINGS! ★ pet names (doll, pretty, baby); exhibitionism (yuta fucks you while you're on a call); dirty talking; size kink (big pp yuta); multiple orgasms; possessive!yuta (but like, in a hot and healthy way); kinda mean dom!yuta; dom/sub dynamics; breeding; choking; unrealistic display of strength; use of sex toys (egg vibrator); dumbification; dacryphilia; edging / orgasm denial; degradation (use of whore, slut, fuckdoll on reader); edited only by grammarly dot com

★ HUA'S NOTE! ★ weehee surprise fic! bam! it was inspired by this twt thread that appeared in the middle of neo fancams on my feed. very hot. very yuta-coded. been rotting in my brain ever since. i will be back on my wips (see: bullshit) soon, expect maid nohyuck in the second week of august teehee~

ever since the new hire in your office laid his eyes on you, he hasn’t been able to leave you alone. he’s cocky and arrogant and you’re almost always getting backed into a corner by him. it’s absolutely annoying and not once have you managed to shake him off. you’ve told him that you’re in a happy and serious relationship countless times but you have a feeling that he won’t take that as an answer.

you’ve told your darling yuta about him, lamenting about how he’s been getting on your nerves. your boyfriend has been helpful enough to support you through it which is more than enough for you. as much as you would love for yuta to come in and pick you up from work or send you lunch that you ‘forgot’ to bring along that morning, your schedules don’t seem to match up. he’s a decorated tattoo artist in the well-known neo studios and you’re just a consultant in a public relations firm.

to your absolute dismay, when the new hire was added to the office group chat, he managed to get a hold of your number against your wishes. it was inevitable but the fact that he sent you a text first instead of introducing himself in the group chat was nothing short of shocking. you’ve formally filed a hr complaint to protect yourself but it appears that nothing has been done, especially when he enjoys using work as an excuse to talk to you.

it’s a peaceful saturday evening, catching up on your favourite tv show with yuta. you’re sitting between his legs, back snug against his chest while his arms circle around you. your fingers are intertwined, his nose in your hair as he absentmindedly plays with your hands.

all of a sudden, your phone rings on the nightstand. you reach over and see the new hire’s number. annoying. he doesn’t even give you time with your boyfriend. you silence the call and toss your phone somewhere on the bed.

“you okay?” yuta asks quietly, tucking locks of your hair behind your ear. you nod wordlessly and take his arms to wrap them around you once again so you can play with his fingers. you know that he doesn’t buy your poor attempt at brushing it away but he doesn’t pursue the topic any further. instead, he kisses you on your temple and squeezes you gently in his arms. you figure he has an idea who it is and you’re thankful that he’s not at your doorstep at least. when your phone quiets down and your coworker leaves you alone, you breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

. . . until it starts ringing again, not even five minutes later.

a heavy sigh exhales through your nose as you glare at your phone. that guy should know that you’re with your boyfriend. god, you don’t even want to learn his name at this point. you get up with an annoyed groan and grab your phone.

“is it that guy again?” yuta’s voice calms you down for a little bit as you debate internally whether or not you want to answer the phone. he moves along with you and reaches for the remote to pause the show, filling your shared room with dreadful silence.

you turn to look at him and cock an eyebrow upwards at his tone. he raises both eyebrows at you in faux shock.

“he’s just a coworker, you know that.” at your reassurance, a cheeky grin immediately breaks free. you roll your eyes in an attempt to keep being annoyed but you can never really feel upset with your darling boyfriend. except for when he watches new episodes without you.

“yeah, i know, pretty. go on and take the call.” he urges sweetly while he pulls you between his thighs and nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. you click your tongue, not wanting to answer the call but you know that you have to. this loser probably would be free enough to keep calling you all day or blow your phone up until you reply to him.

you sigh one more time for good measure in hopes that the ringing will end but alas, it taunts you in mockery. you lean against your boyfriend’s chest as you slide the green button across your screen in contempt. he chuckles quietly against your ear, enjoying being in your presence while you take the call.

“hey, it’s ilsung! from work.” you bite back the urge to snark back and say “yeah, i know.”

“hi,” you politely respond with a tight-lipped smile. if he sees you fake a smile, you know for a fact that he’s going to mistake it as some form of flattery towards him. “did you need me for something? it’s a saturday.” there’s a fine line between being friendly and professional and you’re proud that you’re able to tread it so freely. unfortunately for you, the person on the other side of the line doesn’t.

“oh no, i just wanted to chat with you. how are you?”

you open your mouth to reply but your words die in the back of your throat when you realise that your boyfriend’s fingers have wandered all the way down to your panties. you have a habit of wearing nothing but one of yuta’s shirts and just a pair of underwear, especially on lazy days when all you both want to do is just stay in and not move from the bed at all. his middle finger easily finds the hood of your clit and starts circling it over the thin cotton fabric, rendering you speechless.

“y/n?”

“don’t leave him waiting, doll.” you swallow thickly. in a feeble attempt to stop your boyfriend from distracting you, you try to clamp your thighs together and restrict access but he’s far quicker and stronger than you are. he steels you in place, tutting in disapproval and that is the second that you begin to submit to him slowly.

“uh, yeah,” you lamely reply. “i’m good. and you?” you don’t care how he’s doing. you’re too preoccupied with the long finger that switches between toying with your sensitive bud and gently running up and down your folds. he knows just how to get you worked up, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder where your skin is exposed. he’s quietly issuing you a challenge, you think, to get your coworker to understand the hint that you’re not interested and you want nothing to do with him because you already have a boyfriend who spoils you.

ilsung continues to talk about himself even after your short, clipped answer. your gaze is glued to yuta’s fingers dancing up and down your wetting slit, heat pooling in your core as your breath starts to hitch. when he knows that you’re too lost in the intoxicating feeling of his fingers toying with you, your boyfriend releases the grip that he has on your thigh. his free hand moves to your underwear and you were expecting him to slide it to the side, but he doesn’t.

instead, he slides two fingers underneath the fabric, gathers it with a quick curl, and pulls it up, pressing it against your hardening clit. you gasp at the sensation, stiffening up immediately but he shushes you in your ear. as if this isn’t punishment enough, he decides to rub more salt in the wound by bringing his other hand to your lips, index finger lingering with the scent of your arousal as he wordlessly tells you to keep your volume down.

you’re torn between telling ilsung to use a dating app so you can focus on your boyfriend and ignoring said boyfriend’s ministrations so you can hear what boring stories the sad sack of a man has to share with you. you catch bits and pieces of whatever he’s talking about but not enough to be able to follow the conversation properly. suddenly you’re thankful that ilsung is so engrossed in trying to sound interesting to you that he can talk your ear off without noticing much.

yuta tugs at your underwear again and you gasp quietly, praying to some diving being in the big blue sky that the man on the other side of the line didn’t hear it. your free hand is wrapped around yuta’s wrist weakly when he teases your wet slit.

“are you a family person, y/n?” your name sounds so weird coming from ilsung’s mouth.

“sure.” you reply absentmindedly. he continues talking—you’re sure he slid in something about how he finds it attractive when someone is a family person—but you don’t really care. the thought of getting caught fucking while you’re on the call with him sends a hot rush to your core. involuntarily you clench around nothingness at being claimed by the man toying with your awaiting pussy.

yuta’s middle finger circles your throbbing nub, free hand moving your underwear aside so you both have an unrestricted view of him having fun. you feel something poke you against your lower back and you squeeze your eyes close. as much as you want to throw caution into the wind and let your boyfriend take over, part of you feels guilty for hanging up with no explanation.

“he sure loves to talk about himself, huh?” your boyfriend’s soothing baritone fills your body with a wave of calmness. his free hand gently massages your thigh, dangerously close to your core as he continues dragging the digit between your folds, teasing your entrance before running up to your clit. “what kind of useless man woos another person like this?” there’s an edge of mockery in his tone and you know that this comes from a place of both pride and annoyance.

he’s not the only one who’s seething with annoyance, though. you have to hold a conversation you’re not fully invested in while getting teased by your own boyfriend. you start to drag your phone away from your ear, ready to turn to yuta and hang up, but he quickly grabs your wrist and presses your phone back to where it should be.

“no, no, baby,” he tuts disapprovingly. “you’re on a call. be a good doll and take it.” he punctuates his instructions by shoving his middle and ring fingers into your cunt without warning. you gasp from the sudden movement but it’s immediately silenced by him clamping his palm over your mouth. “keep quiet, pretty thing. you don’t want the poor guy to find out you’re getting fucked while he talks so sweetly to you, do you?”

he starts to drag his digits in and out of your clenching walls, curling them into a hook to graze the spongy spot that’s the key to making you come undone by his hands. a whimper is stuck in the back of your throat when he moves his hand away from your mouth, choosing to slide it under your shirt (it’s his) that you’re wearing. the calloused pads of his index finger and thumb pinch your left nipple as another warning but all it does is threaten to make you moan for him.

“so y/n, what are your plans for the weekend?” ilsung saying your name for the hundredth time captures your attention. every time your name comes falling from his mouth, you want to cringe yourself out of existence. you’re convinced he read one of those self-help books that uses psychological tricks to get you to like him back.

“uh, well . . .” your voice comes out a lot shakier than you expect it to. you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way yuta’s long fingers are making scissoring motions to stretch out your stubbornly tight walls. “i had a long week so i– ngh– just wanted a . . . a lazy weekend with– mm– my boyfriend.” you mentally give yourself a pat on the back for being able to articulate a sentence while making sure you don’t accidentally whore yourself out through the phone.

“right, yeah, boyfriend,” ilsung laughs dryly. you almost want to throw your phone across the room. you have mentioned yuta more than once and your entire office knows that you’re in a happy and healthy relationship. why does this one guy who just joined a week ago think that you’re lying about having a boyfriend so you can ‘play hard to get’? “your boyfriend just lets you talk to other guys for so long on the phone?”

“you were the one who called me and didn’t stop talking about yourself for ninety percent of the call, you self-absorbed jackass!” . . . that was what you wanted to say. you hold yourself back from doing so, but a soundless moan escapes your lips instead when the multitude of simulations on your body does nothing but turn you into putty in your boyfriend’s hands.

yuta continues playing with your nipple and chest, groping while his other hand starts to increase its speed. his wrist snaps up and down so flawlessly as the heel of his palm bumps against your clit to provide barely enough friction. the sound of your wet slick mixed with the steady, rhythmic pap pap pap fills the otherwise quiet room.

you throw your head back and rest yourself against yuta’s shoulder, completely depending on him to break your fall because you’re weak and you can feel the hint of an orgasm creeping upon you.

“i–“ you swallow a moan, eyes squeezing shut to physically resist a whine when you hear his dark, mischievous chuckle in your ear. “he’s not insecure.” the words slip from your mouth without meaning to and your boyfriend near damn cackles in your ear.

“that’s gold, baby.” he grins while pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder.

“it’s not whether or not he’s insecure, i just wouldn’t . . .” you immediately tune ilsung out and focus entirely on yuta’s hands on your body. he continues rolling your pert nipple between his thumb and index finger until it’s rock hard, stretching you out by slipping in a third finger which threatens another moan to break free.

“yuta . . .” you turn to try and look at him, ready to say fuck it and have him take you immediately. his digits are diving deep inside of you, slowly coaxing you to your high.

“what is it, doll?” he hums in faux curiosity. “my fingers aren’t enough? you’re such a slut, begging for your boyfriend’s cock while your nice and friendly coworker is asking you about weekend plans.”

his hedonistic words and heavy rasp send a hot rush to your core and you clench around him at the sheer thought of being stuffed full by him. he mocks you so freely while you’re stuck between being embarrassed and turned on.

“god, look at how you hard clenched around me. three fingers and you’re still so damn tight,” he seethes under his breath. he pinches your nipple hard enough to draw another reaction from you and you feel his erection twitch against your lower back.

“need more of you, yuta,” your throat is dry, hips bucking in with every snap of his wrist up into your wet pussy. “i give up, i need you!” you plead with a slight croak in your voice. there’s a knot that starts to gently form in your lower belly, building up to your first of several orgasms.

your phone has already dropped from your ear, hand holding onto it where it sits pathetically against your thigh. you just hope that ilsung wouldn’t be able to hear, think you’ve lost connection, and then hang up. that’s the best-case scenario that you hope for, at least.

a taunting laugh leaves his lips when he drags his fingers from your drooling cunt and completely withdraws his hands from you. the tease of an incoming orgasm disappears just like that and you try to suppress the whine that almost falls from your mouth.

with his clean hand, yuta grabs a pillow for you before he presses your cheek against the silky fabric. you already anticipate him to remove your underwear—and he does!—but instead of dragging them off your legs, he rips them apart with his bare hands like it’s made out of paper. your lids flutter shut at the stinging sensation of the fabric snapping apart against your skin. you hear a soft thump next to your head and you see your phone, still on the call with an ilsung who’s calling out your name, visibly bothered by your lack of response.

“yeah, i’m still– oh!” you’re barely given the opportunity to reply when a warm tongue buries itself deep inside you. your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you, the fabric of your shirt sliding towards your chest as you arch your back instinctively.

“is everything okay?”

“uhuh,” you weakly mumble. “just stubbed my toe.” such a cheap, white lie but ilsung buys it immediately and continues talking despite some hesitation. he’s probably talking about his exes, but why would you care? you’re zoning in on the pleasure that your boyfriend’s tongue is bringing you, massaging your gummy walls as his nose teases your puckered rim. he reaches under you to roll your clit in figure-eights with his thumb, enjoying the way you’re pushing your hips back into his face for more.

you feel yuta grin against your pussy, slurping noises filling the room as you do your best to keep in your moans but it’s proven difficult. you’re convinced that he’s doing everything in his power to make you lose control and let go, to force you to break down and moan out like a whore for him, and you’ll be damned because you’re struggling so hard to keep your sounds in. he loves it when you’re loud, but there’s no way you’re able to right now with your clingy coworker on the phone.

“remember: don’t let him know what a good little cockhungry whore you are for me, doll.” he hums against your entrance, licking a fat stripe from the hood of your clit to your clenching hole. he even goes the extra mile to place a sweet, loving kiss there before he dives back in, lapping at your juices noisily with no care for the poor man on the other side of the line. you bury your face into the pillow knowing full well that you won’t be able to hold in your moans.

jolts of electricity run up your spine as he routinely swaps between lapping hungrily at your walls and shoving three thick, dextrous fingers in to reach the spot that’ll have you seeing stars. you can feel your slick running down your thighs and drip down to stain the sheets and your face burns from how hot and bothered you are.

there’s a faint buzzing in the distance and your melting brain can only decipher it as a call that he’s receiving.

“keep it down,” yuta warns lowly in your ear, making it clear that there’s no room for objections. you want to answer him but a squeal of surprise escapes your lips instead when he presses an egg vibrator to your clit. he tapes it down and makes sure it’s secure before patting it and increasing the speed. your head spins when he flips you onto your back with a sadistic, mocking grin on his face.

he tilts his head to the side in faux pity, pouting at your pathetic form.

“yuta,” you beg quietly and reach out to him but he moves back to let you know that you’re not allowed to touch him. you whimper in defeat but he raises the remote to show you who’s in charge. in response to your lack of quietude, he presses the button and a wave of pleasure rocks through you as he increases the vibrations against your throbbing clit. he raises his eyebrows, challenging you to go against him. you don’t need him to tell you anything because you know you’ve lost.

“tsk, tsk, tsk.” he shakes his head and leans down towards you. he barely leaves any space between your faces as a perverse smile spreads across his handsome features. “i told you to keep it down; do you want him to find out that you’re a slut?”

“i’m your slut . . .” you quietly whine to argue your non-existent case. the impending wave of your first orgasm is building up in your lower belly, all thanks to the overstimulation of your clit and his nasty words that fill your brain. tears start to well up in your eyes, clouding your vision as you sniffle and look up at him. “i’m your slut, yuta, don’t want anyone else. only you.”

if you think you’re good at sweet-talking, he’s twice better than you are.

“i know you are, doll,” he mocks your whiny tone whilst patting your hole condescendingly. “does he? you look so pretty crying like this, you know?” his clean hand reaches up to your cheek to tenderly wipe away the desperate tears that stream down your hot cheeks. lust swims dangerously in his dark eyes, watching you with a heavy, predatory gaze that makes you clench around nothing as you squirm underneath him. “wearing nothing but my shirt, begging for my mouth, my hands, my cock . . . begging for more of me.”

yuta gives you a soft kiss on your lips, lingering as he tastes the salty tears that got caught. when you start keening into him, moving your lips against his to feel more of him, he smiles in victory. his hand wraps around your throat and presses his index finger and thumb against the right spots. the gradual cut of your oxygen flow makes you slack-jawed, eyes rolling back as pleasure spreads throughout your system.

“isn’t that right, doll?” he hums lovingly. “i’ve barely fucked you properly and you’re already going dumb.” he presses down harder around your throat and leans forward. you felt it first before your brain processed it—he licks a fat stripe of your tears to taste it on his tongue. “just the way i love it.” his voice drops to a bare whisper against your hot cheeks and you can only manage a whine as a poor attempt to seek mercy.

the knot in your belly tightens, warmth spreading all over your drooling core. the sweet taste of ecstasy is right on the tip of your tongue and you’re so close to the edge that you could just grab it.

you feel something poke against your entrance. you want to look down and see what it is, hoping it’s his cock, but he knows exactly how to keep your mind occupied. he decreases the strength of the egg vibrator, depriving you of your orgasm yet again. he continues to turn it down until it stays completely still against your throbbing clit. tears spill over and streak down your hot cheeks as you look up at him through bleary eyes.

“yuta, please!” you manage to croak out weakly. “just use me, i’m all yours for the taking.” are you making any sense anymore?

“i know, doll, i know. we’re getting there.”

your fingers dig into the sheets underneath you and you curl them into your fist in frustration.

“i was just about to cum,” you whine a little bit more. yuta laughs derisively at your poor, pathetic form underneath him.

“i know, doll. why else would i do it? two times, too.” he kisses your knee while he moves back to remove the rest of his clothes. you vaguely hear the rustling of fabric before something hard pokes at your entrance once again. this time, you can confirm that it’s his cock with the way he slips it between your folds, collecting your pearlescent slick on his erection to lubricate himself. “you always look so irresistible when you look like you’re about to cum. you look even cuter when you’re all disappointed that it’s taken away from you, though. it just makes me wanna take torture you even more. i like seeing you cry for me, doll.”

there’s a faint click and the vibrator comes to life on your clit once again. a quiet cry of his name breaks free from your throat, walls clenching around nothing at his dirty words. you don’t want to admit it but as agonising it is to be edged, you love the dissipating burn that comes after each round that your orgasm is stripped away from you.

“now what do you say when you want my cock inside of you, doll?” he purrs, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other wraps your plush thighs around his waist. his tip rubs against your entrance, teasing but never quite entering and your walls are left clamping down around air.

“please fuck me like i’m a cheap whore.” the words come from your lips so naturally in one airy breath as you bat your tear-stained eyelashes at him.

“anything for my darling doll.” yuta eliminates the gap between your faces to give you a sweet, lingering kiss on your lips at the same time his heavy cock pushes past your entrance. your eyes flutter shut, thighs closing down around his sturdy waist as he continues to sink himself down and stretch your walls out with a satisfying burn. he swallows every moan that comes from your throat, pushing himself deeper even as you struggle to take him in. “always so fucking tight for me; is my cock so big that you’re having trouble, baby?” he pulls away just to coo at you condescendingly with a pout.

“i can take it!” you argue but it breaks into a mewl of pleasure that gets caught in the back of your throat when he increases the speed of the vibrator on your clit.

“uhuh, i know you can, doll.” your face burns, flustered that his sarcastic tone and words do nothing but make you clench down around him even more. “shit, i’ll cum if you do that. i’m not even fully in yet.”

“you’re not?” you gawk in disbelief but all he does is shrug dismissively.

in one swift motion, all of the air is knocked out of your lungs when he pushes his cock all the way in until his tip is kissing the roof of your walls. a loud cry of his name bounces off the walls of your room as your eyes roll back. after being denied your orgasm twice, the second he hits the sensitive bundle of nerves inside, heat spreads throughout your body like wildfire. static electricity buzzes in time with the vibrator on your clit as you gush generously around his cock. your entire body spasms underneath him and he laughs at how quickly you came but he makes sure to stay still so he doesn’t overstimulate you too much.

“i finally fit my cock inside of you and you’re cumming, little doll?” yuta caresses your cheek before pushing locks of your hair back. he lets go of his firm grip on your wrists to let you relax and come down from your high. the cool air conditioning feels heavenly on your hot skin, covered with a second layer of sticky sweat with the stench of summer sex lingering on the walls and in your sheets. “how are we feeling?” he kisses you sweetly. after making sure that the vibrator is no longer bullying your throbbing clit, he peels it away and places it aside as he repositions you both until it’s comfortable.

“‘m good,” you nod. your bleary eyes look up at him with a smile to reassure him that you really are okay. you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks, bringing him down for another kiss for the sole reason that you just want to feel him against you. “i always feel good when i’m with you, yuta.”

“yeah?” he mumbles against your lips, to which you nod again with a light giggle. “good. ‘cause i’m gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll probably start to hate me.” there’s a cheeky grin that thrones his handsome face as he leans back but you quickly realise he’s not joking when he cups the back of your knees with both hands and pushes them to your chest. he mounts himself onto you, angling himself to the spot where you know it’ll have you seeing stars.

his name rips from your throat in a cry of lustful agony as he begins pounding into you recklessly. you feel every harsh pull and drag of his cock against your tight walls, cockhead bruising the roof of your walls as he chases after his own high. his hips snap against yours in a steady rhythm to watch your eyes roll back into your skull and your jaw hang loose as you submit to the waves of pleasure that consume you. your body burns alight, lower belly forming that familiar knot once again.

he’s buried deep inside of you, heavy balls smacking against the curve of your ass with each harsh thrust, filling you up and stretching you out. yuta repositions your legs to hook them over his shoulders. you want to ask him why he’s slowing down but your body locks up the second you feel a faint buzzing pressing on your clit again.

“yuta!” what’s supposed to be a whine comes out mixed with a wanton moan of equal parts pleasure and desperation.

“what? i’m the bad guy for wanting you to cum on my cock, doll?” that immediately shuts you up as you fist the sheets underneath you. the only thing on your mind is how good his cock feels while he fucks your brains out. your throbbing bud pulses in response to the vibrations increasing in speed, in turn, makes you call out for him again. he barely pays your weak protests any mind, far too focused on the way your pussy clenches around him and sucks him in every time he pulls out. “gonna cum for me again, little doll? i wanna see how messy you can get.” he turns up the strength again and you squeal in surprise at the sudden change.

“i can’t, i’m gonna cum, shit!” by now, your thighs are quaking and you’re trembling like a leaf underneath him. everything is too much all at once—the vibrator on your clit, his cock ruining your insides without mercy—and to further push you over the edge, he tosses the remote controller aside to wrap his hand around your throat.

“cum for me.” he whispers darkly in your ear. the second he finds the correct pressure points and presses down, you blank out.

hot white spreads throughout your body in a quick motion. stars constellate your vision and your entire body spasms underneath him as a burning buzz seeps through your veins, fluttering walls gushing generously around his cock while you ride out your high.

“that’s it, that’s it,” he coaxes you through your orgasm, slowly letting go of your throat. “such a good fuckdoll for me, aren’t you? fuck, i’m close. just a little longer, baby.” the buzzing against your clit slowly ceases to a stop as he whispers praises into your ear. his thrusts grow sloppy and frenzied as he chases after his own high.

you look up at him through bleary eyes and he looks absolutely stunning. his long, dark locks are beyond messy, bouncing with every erratic movement, some tendrils sticking to the sides of his face and forehead as beads of sweat drip down his chin. your body burns from the overstimulation but you love it anyway, whimpering when his hips stutter against yours and he slows down.

thick ropes of his hot seed pour into you, filling you up to the brim and even overflowing to get caught on both your pubic hairs. you practically sink into the mattress underneath you as his cum drips down your hole, weakly reaching up to cuddle your boyfriend.

“oh my fucking god, nakamoto yuta!”

the realisation that you’re still on the call with ilsung hits you harder than both your orgasms did. you’re quick to panic and reach for your phone only for your boyfriend to use you as his mattress and bury his face in your neck.

“baby, chill.” he mumbles against your skin. as if to make you feel any better, he presses a soft kiss at the same spot. “i hung up on him the second i got the vibrator out.” you know that your boyfriend can exhibit the symptoms of a pathological liar, especially around his friends so you check your call history, and to your relief, he did hang up. it’s been about an hour and a half since he did.

“i hate you so much, i really do.” you groan and toss your phone to the side, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him tightly in hopes he’ll pop like a balloon. with what little strength that you have left in your body, you know it’s nothing to him.

“i love you too, y/n. my sweet doll.” he grins. your cheeks burn, flustered because not only do you enjoy the pet name but you also melt in his hold. “my darling, my pretty baby. all mine.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m all yours, dipshit.”

you’re kind of glad it’s a saturday because you’ll have at least one day to figure out how the hell you’re going to face ilsung when you’re back in the office on monday. but for now, you’re just going to enjoy all of the affection and attention that your darling brat of a boyfriend is going to shower you in for the next week or so until ilsung ingrains it deep in his brain that you’re in a happy, loving, and healthy relationship.

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