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bunnykawa · 2 months

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all mine (sakusa x f. reader)

summary: Big brother Sakusa has to deal with his flirty little sister. word count: 6k? warnings: 18+, sexual themes, incest, noncon/dubcon/rape, voyeurism kinda, some yandere themes, sakusa is delusional a/n: just a little thing i wrote out of nowhere to let out some steam and because battle of the garbage dump got released in japan and yeahh i just thought about my handsome man LMAOO. sorry if it's not that great since it's been like how long?? but enjoy!! also no this isn't a part 3 to my fic from 4 years ago lolol and excuse any of my typos 😵‍💫

Sakusa doesn’t know if he should be mad or not. The glow of his alarm clock is illuminating his dark room with the soft moonlight slightly peeking in through the blinds. He runs his hands through his curls before he sighs and puts his pillow over his face.

He can hear you. The soft moans and suppressed whimpers coming from plump, swollen lips can be easily heard through your thin walls. If he closes his eyes and really focuses, he could hear how wet your pussy is as you get drilled right next door—right next to the wall, too, because he knows that you prefer your bed in the corner of the room and the sound of the bed creaking is getting unapologetically louder and louder. He was supposed to be asleep an hour ago for early volleyball practice the next morning, but instead he’s listening to you. Every little noise, every creak, every word that slips out of your clenched teeth as you try to be as quiet as you can—”Please,” you beg in a broken voice, “Y-you’re so big, ‘Tsumu.”

’Tsumu; the little nickname that makes his blood boil and all he can think about is how much of a fucking asshole he is. Yeah, he should be mad—he has every right to be angry, he thinks. Sakusa has to see Atsumu Miya’s cocky face and disgustingly bleached hair at volleyball practice every week and now he has to hear the fucker himself fucking his little sister into oblivion in the next room.

And now it’s getting hot in his own room! He scratches the side of his neck in irritation. Why does it feel like his comforters are suffocating him? Sakusa throws his pillow across the room and rips the blankets off of himself. The tip of his hard cock is peeking out from one of the legs of his boxers, almost as if his body is mocking him for feeling this way—for getting hard at the sound of his little sister getting split open. He grimaces for a second, but the guilt and shame can hit him later. Right now it’s too fucking hot.

So, he’s angry because he hates Atsumu—hates how Atsumu has managed to infiltrate his professional life and personal life in such a gross way. Why is Sakusa bitterly pushing his boxers down around his thick thighs? His cock springs free and he grips the shaft harshly.

“Fuck,” Sakusa mutters. He starts slowly, gently pumping his hand around his cock. It’s warm in his hand and twitching at the small bursts of pleasure, enough to allow a pained moan out through gritted teeth. When was the last time he even had someone over to use their body how he pleased? He wishes he could ignore it—ignore you—but all he does is pick up his pace as he listens to the sound of your cunt getting destroyed and your sickeningly sweet begging for Atsumu to fuck you harder.

Oh, he’s mad—so mad that everything is throbbing from his head to the head of his dick. He hisses at the pain in his temples but it does little to stop him from continuing to fist his cock.

“‘Tsumu!” he hears you cry out. The sound of your headboard slamming against the wall is getting even louder, accompanied by the slick noises coming from between your legs and skin slapping against skin. The room feels like a sauna at this point, but nonetheless, Sakusa squeezes his eyes shut as he picks up speed and fucks into his own hand like a pervert at the sound of his little sister.

Would you be scared of him if you knew how badly he wanted to be in Atsumu’s place? How he wants to rip Atsumu away from you and make you cum on his cock the way he wants to? His skin is getting sticky from his sweat—his arm is getting tired from how fast he’s pumping his cock, desperate to release his frustrations in a stream of hot white liquid and how he wishes he could paint your face with it. He imagines how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock—if you would beg for him through watery eyes and tear-stained puffy cheeks trying to put all of him in your mouth. Is his cock too big for you? Is your pussy as warm and sopping wet as he imagines it is?

“I’m gonna cum!” you scream, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Your voice cracks when you chant for Atsumu. Sakusa’s whole body tenses, every single nerve and muscle in his body on fire because damn it, he wants to be the reason why you're screaming and convulsing and crying from pleasure like a whore.

Then with a few more strokes of his cock, he releases his cum in heavy streams that land in a sticky mess on his sheets and lower abs. He groans as his cock twitches against his aching fingers. After a few seconds, he lets go of his shaft and lets it fall against his pelvis. It’s like the whole world has stopped—there’s no more erotic noise coming from your side of the wall. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the sound of labored breaths and giggling. He wonders if Atsumu is going to cuddle you to sleep and stay the night or if he’s going to run away and leave you yearning for more.

Embarrassment creeps onto his cheeks with how fast he came, but as fast as the embarrassment comes, the guilt suddenly settles deep into his stomach, into his joints, into every muscle of his being. Sakusa is disgusted with himself for letting his lust take over during a moment of weakness—lust for his imouto who doesn’t know any better, who is in the prime of her life to fuck around and find out without much of a care in the world, who doesn’t think about the consequences. Sakusa can’t do that like you do, it’s not built into him except for the few times where he did let loose—although he’s not as sloppy as you. Sometimes it feels like you were raised in different households. It shouldn’t be a surprise to him that you flirt and fuck with his volleyball teammates—or anyone that breathes in your direction for that matter. It shouldn’t—but for the first time in his life, he asks himself that if you undress for anyone…then why not for him?

He curses to himself. His expectations are too unrealistic. You’re siblings! And he knows that you both could and should never unless you wanted to ruin your relationship and test your morals. He reaches over to the towel hanging on his desk chair and quickly wipes away the mess he made. A nice, steamy shower pops into his mind, but he’s too tired to wash away his sins.

The room gets colder and his transgressions have nowhere to go, marinating into his skin, reminding him that he’s a shitty big brother for wanting to ravage you from the inside. As his mind goes hazy from how sleepy he is, he also hears a door open and shut followed by heavy footsteps and another door—your door and the front door. A small smirk finds its way across his lips. Sakusa may have a sick attraction to his little sister that he may have recently discovered, but at least he’s never lonely. You, however—

You can never make them stay long.

“Omi-nii~!” Sakusa hears you sing, bouncing through the hallways of your shared apartment until he feels you wrap your arms around his naked waist. He’s in the kitchen warming up the leftovers you cooked earlier in the day over the stove, looming over the counter and scrolling away at his phone.

He scoffs and leans away from you in mock disgust, “Weren’t you sick last week? Get off me before you give me your disease.”

“I don’t have one! I’m clean!” you whine with a pout, squeezing your arms around him tighter. You press the front of your body against his back, a gesture that makes Sakusa feel fuzzy, especially when you also press your nose against his bare back to inhale his scent. There’s something so intimate with the way you’re not even scared to hold him while he’s not wearing a shirt. His skin is fresh from the shower and his hair is slightly damp. He pulls away to look at you when he notices how nicely dressed you are.

With a raised brow, he asks, “Where the hell are you going this late?” You pull away from him to adjust your dress. He turns to face you, his eyes going up and down your body with sick thoughts beginning to cloud his brain—sick, twisted thoughts that should have never crossed his mind.

“First of all—” you say, rolling your eyes at him, “—it’s not late. It’s literally only six-thirty, you weirdo.” Sakusa narrows his eyes as he begins to scowl. But despite his obvious look of you better not be going out like that, you happily ignore him. “Second of all, I’m going out on a date!”

“A date with who?” he asks sharply, folding his arms against his chest and straightening his posture. He always does this to tower above you, to hopefully make you feel smaller than you are. It worked much better when you were both younger.

You bite your lip before giggling his name, “Atsumu.” You seem to get bubbly as his name rolls off of your tongue naturally with a smile playing at your lips and warm cheeks to accompany it. Maybe his heart aches a bit with jealousy when you say that stupid name, a feeling that makes the guilt settle heavily again. The last time he heard you say his name—moan his name—was a few nights ago when he did something no brother should ever do, separated by a few inches of thin walls. As quick as he is to question you, he is also quick to shake those damning thoughts out of his head before they manifest into something more and he ends up losing it in the kitchen you share. He’s scared that he might never forgive himself if he does.

“Since when the hell did you get so close?” Sakusa shoots you another question with furrowed brows. As monotonous as Sakusa usually is, the distaste is present in his tone and his stance.

“I don’t know,” you sigh so dreamily, “It just happened. I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” He could vomit if he had the chance. Out of all people—Atsumu? Really? Sweet?!

“Well, I guess you do have a disease then,” he retorts, sticking his nose up in disgust, “He’s sick in the head, (Y/N). I thought you had better taste in men but here you go fucking around with my teammate—”

“Omi-nii...” you pout.

“—like he’s the only guy you know. I expected better from you,” Sakusa continues with a puff of his chest. He turns away from you to turn the stove off. “He’s always sick, too. Always getting a cold and then going to practice like he’s not contagious.”

It’s Atsumu taking his little sister away from him that angers him more than he could ever imagine—but it’s also knowing that he will never be the one between your thighs that makes him so disappointed. There’s a silence in the room that creeps up his back.

“You’ve been so out of character recently, Nii-san,” you ponder behind him, placing your finger on your chin to pretend that you’re thinking, “It’s not like you to lose your cool over a guy. Are you…

…jealous?”

No.

He’s just looking out for you—he’s your big brother after all! But he doesn’t know how to respond and stands still, holding his breath. Deny, deny, deny. He turns his head to look at you in his peripherals; you’re staring right at him with the same sweet eyes that he remembers from your childhood. Maybe he has been out of character—did you really notice? As it feels like some kind of tension is suffocating him and the ground is going to swallow him, you crack a wide smile and start giggling uncontrollably, which instantly makes him frown.

This is why you two are complete opposites—Sakusa; as serious as ever and always playing the voice of reason like a good older brother, and you; the first to laugh when it’s quiet and always being the fun little sister when things get too serious for your liking. You skip towards him and wrap your arms around him again with the biggest smile on your face, snuggling your nose into the skin of his back.

“You’ll always be my favorite, Omi-nii. I love you more than any boy in the world,” you hum. He wonders if you can hear his heart beating louder with each syllable of your words.

Sakusa could laugh. Usually he would, before pushing you off and scolding you for getting too close to him. But his heart continues to thump and his voice gets stuck in his throat when your hand slides down his abs and brushes lightly over his twitching cock. It’s not like him to lose his composure like this. You place a saccharine kiss on the curve of his back before you hastily let go of him and walk away.

You didn’t touch him enough for him to say anything—to reprimand you for touching your Onii-san like that—but just enough for your touch to linger where it shouldn't.

A soft knocking at Sakusa’s bedroom door stirs him awake. He groggily twists and turns under his bed sheets, irritated that someone would wake him so late at night. He hears the ‘click’ of the door knob and the hinges creaking as the door opens.

“Omi-nii?” you whisper gently from your place at the door. Sakusa ignores you easily, choosing to keep his eyes shut in hopes that maybe you’ll leave him alone and let him have his peace.

“Omi-nii,” you call his name louder and more firmly, “Onii-san, are you awake?”

What a stupid question, he thinks to himself, but Sakusa figures that you’re not going to leave his room any sooner, so he finally opens one of his eyes slowly to see your head peeking into his room. It’s dark—you’re almost just a black silhouette in his blurry vision, but he can make out your soft and surprisingly tired features just enough. “What, (Y/N),” he groans, his voice gravelly with fatigue.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Your voice is timid when you ask—it brings Sakusa back to when you two were younger and you were just as shy to ask him the same question—and the same question is what prompts him to suddenly sit up, letting his bed sheets fall to expose his lean upper body. He rubs at his eye before looking up to gaze at you, clad in a shirt of his (that he begrudgingly noticed went missing months ago) engulfing your figure.

Omi-nii’s shirts are way more comfier than mine, you would whine. He would roll his eyes and snap at you, usually, but would still let you take his shirts anyway. The perverted part of him secretly loves how his clothes fit you.

Sakusa doesn’t ask and figures that it’s best that he doesn’t. He sees the way you’re twiddling with the bottom of his shirt between shaky fingers. He could tell you that he was right all along, laugh in your face, anything to rub it in—instead, he pulls the covers aside and scoots over, creating an empty space for you, just for you.

“Come here,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. You move instantly, your feet delicately pitter pattering against his hardwood floors. The mattress dips lightly as you climb into his bed. You pull his blanket up to your chin instantly and Sakusa grabs whatever he can get. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” Without another word, he turns away from you and settles into his sleeping position on his side.

After a few moments of silence, you mumble something Sakusa can’t quite make out. And when he chooses not to respond, you say it again, “Can you hold me, Onii-san?” Then his body completely stiffens in response. He always said yes when you two were kids—hell, even when you were teenagers and it was definitely considered inappropriate by then. Would it be weird if he said no now?

But he sighs, knowing that he can't just say no. He turns around and drags himself closer to you, lifting his arm so that you can move underneath it and press yourself into the front of his body. His breath hitches as you do, an all too familiar heat igniting in his stomach as the curves of your body fit perfectly against him.

When he wraps his arm around you, he suddenly feels so complete and so awful, almost having to hold back on how tightly he wants to really hold you. This time he can inhale the scent of your hair—a mixture of whatever shampoo and conditioner you keep in your rotation and your favorite leave-in conditioner. The skin on your arms is soft from your lotion, your legs are smooth and buttery against him, and fuck are you so warm. He could absolutely eat you up right here if you’d let him. Maybe in your vulnerable state of mind…you wouldn’t say no.

Sauksa doesn’t know what demon has decided to possess him. He’s been thinking too much for the past few weeks for sure. A little earworm is corrupting him, whispering in his ear and daring him to do something and destroy you.

His hands are moving on their own. They slip underneath your shirt—hot fingertips caressing your skin so carelessly and trailing up and down your hips. He wants to laugh because you’re only wearing panties. How obvious can you get? If you were thinking about him the same way he thought about you, you could have just said something.

You tense up at his unexpected touch, but don’t move away from him—you don’t even say a word, not when his hand slides up to cup one of your tits to pull you closer to him, not when he decides to press his hard cock against your ass, not a single word.

Sakusa thinks he’s been too hard on himself recently, especially with how his feelings about you have changed so drastically. You’re not ready for him like that, that much is obvious with how much you’re shivering, but he deserves this after all the mental anguish you put him through because of how stupid you are.

First, you fuck his dumb teammate in the apartment that Sakusa pays for. And out of all the teammates, you choose the one who used to have piss blond hair back in high school and still slurs his words. Second, you have the audacity to touch him and kiss him and tease him, knowing that he can never have you the way that he wants. Third, you wake him up in the middle of the night to sleep in his bed in one of the shirts he’s been looking for for months and just your thin panties that leave so little to the imagination—

“Omi?” you quavered, knocking him out of his thoughts. Oh, he didn’t realize how hard he was squeezing you or how rough his grip is on your perky tits. He also didn’t realize how he started grinding himself against your ass, wedging his covered cock between your covered asscheeks in an attempt to feel the warmth from your core. The guilt should have been settling in him again, yet to his surprise, he feels…nothing. All he wants is to hold you down against the bed and wreck your insides until you bleed and beg for him.

“Omi-nii!” A panicked gasp escapes you and suddenly Sakusa is on top of you, holding you down by your wrists. You gaze up at him, lips parted in shock, eyes so wide, and the first thing that goes through his mind is beautiful. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, leaving you so shocked that your entire body freezes.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, and his words flip a switch in your brain. You’re already fighting against him, desperate to escape from his hold on your wrists and the sins he’s planting on your lips and for the first time in your life you’re actually scared of him.

Sakusa grips your wrists even tighter and hisses as you squirm, “I said hold still.”

Then you force yourself to relax with no choice but to let Sakusa explore your mouth. Your hesitation is obvious (of course, it is) and instead of pulling back and knocking sense into himself, he’s offended—out of all the guys you let violate your body, you won’t let your own brother do the same?

He disconnects from you to grip both your wrists above your head, holding you down easily with one hand. Then his other hand quickly pushes the bottom of your shirt up to your stomach to display your bottom half and grabs the top of your panties. You’re horrified as Sakusa effortlessly rips your panties off of you and throws the shredded pieces off to the side, exposing you to the cold air and to your brother’s eyes.

Your brother’s eyes. You can feel the bile coming up to your throat at the realization. Your brother is going to do something to you against your will and you can’t do anything to stop him because he’s bigger and stronger than you and you live alone together. As you make eye contact with him, it’s like you can’t even recognize him. You jerk your body away in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but it’s no use.

“Stop!” you cry, ashamed, scared, and so confused, “Nii-san, stop!”

He splits your thighs apart with his own muscled thighs and you feel so weak trying to close them again, to hide that part of you that your big brother should never ever see.

But to Sakusa, it’s a sight that he wishes he could see over and over again and he has no problem taking his chances if it means that he can have you—he’s already gone way too far, past the point of return, and he doesn’t want to care anymore about what consequences his actions might bring. A small smirk appears on his face as he looks down at you, so vulnerable and small underneath him. He doesn’t want to waste time—his boxers are already down his thighs and his cock is free. You’re looking down at his cock with pure fear on your face—fuck, he’s big, so big that you’re dumbfounded that he’s even real. But he’s also your brother. You literally grew up together and he still takes care of you and you see each other everyday.

You want to look away but you can’t. Although your vision is blurry due to your tears, you can still see him and only him. “This is why you asked to sleep with your nii-san tonight, right?” he breathes, looking down at you with a hunger in his eyes that you’ve never seen or noticed before. You’re shaking your head no. Never. You were just sad and needed your big brother to comfort you without asking any questions.

“Stop lying to me, (Y/N). You know what you’re doing,” he scoffs, “I’ll take care of you. Just like I always have.” Then, he grabs the back of your thigh with his free hand to hoist one of your knees up against your chest, exposing you even more than you already are. Before you can even process it, the head of his hard cock is pressing against your entrance so delicately and so carefully but it’s terrifying all the same.

A loud gasp escapes you and you attempt to yank yourself away from him again. Tears are fully streaming down your face now, dampening your hair and the sheets. Your chest is tightening— you’re so scared. You don’t even know what Sakusa is talking about so you're even more puzzled. As far as you know, you’ve been the same as you’ve always been. “Don’t d-do that,” you beg with a crack in your voice, “Omi-nii, please.”

But Sakusa is pleased to hear your broken voice—irritated that you don’t want him to continue, sure, but pleased nonetheless. He’s always wanted to see you like this underneath him and he finally has you. Your legs spread wide open for him to feast on is something that seemed so unobtainable yet you’re in his bed, exposed and ready.

Please.

He pushes through the tight rings of your pussy until he completely fills you up—the tip of his cock is fighting its way through plush walls to kiss your cervix and you swear that your world has shattered into a million tiny pieces. A sob breaks free from your throat.

The room is ice cold. There’s no more air in your lungs as you convulse around him. You can hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears but everything is so silent. Sakusa lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and suddenly everything is okay now—he knows that there was no demon possessing him to think about you in such a dirty way because it was really him all along. All his sick fantasies and insatiable desires, dreams of devouring you, and all those sleepless nights imagining what you would look like with his cock so deep inside you that you couldn’t breathe—it was just him, so painfully in love with you even if he can’t have you. And now he’s inside of you. He’s actually inside of you.

“Fuck,” he curses in a strained voice, “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.” It feels as if your mind and body are attempting to recover from the shock of Sakusa forcing himself inside your cunt but there’s no time for recovery at all—hell, you’re both surprised that he even managed to slide into you as easily as he did.

Then he starts moving, slow and steady to open you up more. The sting of him stretching you is enough to make you let out a few wails between quivering lips. You can physically feel your walls shudder around his length and your nerves are practically screaming, ringing your inner alarms, knowing that this is so fucking wrong.

“Get the fuck off of me!” you sob, attempting to jerk your wrists away from his one-handed grip. You’re not even sure when you became so weak, even with adrenaline coursing through your veins. And you’re even more shocked when he lets go of your wrists for a split second only to hold you by the throat firmly.

“You need to shut the fuck up sometimes,” Sakusa breathes with a hint of annoyance. Your shaky hands find their way to wrap around his wrist, nails clawing at his skin, hopelessly trying to loosen his grip. His cock is still moving dangerously inside you, filling you up and then leaving you empty with just his tip, only to fill you up again. The slow rhythm of his hips pressing against yours is tormenting—your skin is crawling with every moment that your hips meet and you wonder if he moved more then would time go by faster?

Labored breaths and wheezes are the only sounds that you’re able to let out with Sakusa’s hand on your throat. There’s fatigue creeping in your bones yet you feel the energy in your veins and it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense and everything hurts and just—why?

“C-Can’t…breathe,” you manage to gasp out. As much as you want to stay awake, afraid of what your older brother might do to you if you pass out, you can see your vision starting to blur and your brain beginning to turn into mush. Your hands are loosening their grip around his arm that’s holding you captive. He’s squeezing your throat tighter and tighter.

You just needed someone—needed your onii-san to help you during this fucked up time between you and Atsumu. Usually he’d be on top of you like this, fucking you until you cry for him and cum all over his cock. You’d moan and drool and beg—anything for him to claim you over and over again. Instead of seeing stupid bleached hair and flirty eyes, you see black curls and dispassionate voids gazing at you as you’re about to pass out and it’s like he doesn’t even fucking care! You just wanted to feel better and to feel your onii-san’s comfort again and he decides to touch you and—

He presses his forehead against yours all of a sudden, and you can barely hear him when his lips start moving. “...What?” you choke out through wheezes.

“If you want me to let go, you have to let me fuck you as hard as I want,” he repeats himself firmly. You don’t realize that he’s stopped moving inside you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. All you know is that you need to breathe and maybe that desperation is what makes you attempt to nod your head in agreement. A smirk appears on Sakusa’s face and before you can even register what's going on, he’s straightening up to thrust his cock even deeper into your core and he finally lets go of your throat.

You’re coughing and sputtering, oddly embarrassed at how much saliva you’re spitting out, and you’re hyper aware that you have him inside you again, deep inside you and painfully stretching you to the point where you’re afraid that he’s going to rip you in half. Sakusa grabs the backs of your thighs and presses both your knees against your chest again, leaving his hands there to hold you down once more and to expose your pussy to the cold air. You feel the warmth spread across your cheeks from how embarrassing it is to be on full display and how repulsive it is that it’s Sakusa between your legs to ogle at you as much as he pleases. You wonder what changed between you two—has he always felt this way? It makes you sick to your stomach to imagine that your brother that you love so dearly and looked up to your whole life wants you and it’s diabolical how this is what he wants from you.

And when he starts thrusting harder than before, slamming his cock into you with such a force that your body lurches with his movements, your brain is back to turning into mush and a part of you wishes that you did pass out—at least you wouldn’t have to be conscious to feel everything. You can’t help but let out quiet whimpers and gasps that don’t even sound like you. It hurts—the stretch of his thick cock is so unbearable and his hands on your thighs are sure to leave ugly bruises.

“You feel so good,” he almost laughs, like he can’t believe this is happening. You are as soft as he imagined, maybe even more, and how easily your pussy starts creaming around him makes his heart skip a beat. When he presses his forehead against yours again, you want to recoil even though you physically can’t. You don’t want to look him in the eyes yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t even know if you can hate him after this and Sakusa knows that—how you love him so much, even if it’s not the way that he wants you to—

—because you need him.

It’s nauseating how much you still need him. It’s horrifying how your legs are beginning to shake from how deep he is and how he’s shoving himself against your cervix unkindly. Most of all, it’s disgusting how you can feel—even hear—the puddle pooling from your cunt, forcing you to stretch to accommodate his size—and maybe in the midst of your hysterical state, maybe Sakusa feels good, too.

You can’t admit that—you definitely don’t want to—but for fuck’s sake, you know what your body likes and although it’s Sakusa punishing you in the worst way possible, you recognize that tightness in your stomach—the corrupt feeling that makes you scream and cry and beg, that makes your body writhe in desperation to have more. Fuck, it’s morally wrong but at the same time, your body loves to feel full and stretched to its limits. You’re so sad that Atsumu “broke up” with you (you weren’t really dating in the first place) because Atsumu knew your body so well and his dick was huge. You really shouldn’t be comparing since the thought is so sickening, yet the way Sakusa is splitting you open is different—so different from Atsumu with no gentleness, no delicacy, just pure lust and a desire to fuck you until you faint and it’s…better. It shouldn’t be better, shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it's better.

When the realization hits you, the shame and embarrassment floods your stomach, too—how could you let your own brother fuck you like this and how could you enjoy it? And now you’re angry at yourself, for how Sakusa is making you feel, how your body is reacting, how raw and wet your pussy, how Atsumu blindsided you, how this whole situation is so fucking unfair.

“Omi-nii,” you whine with a dry throat, reaching up to grab his thick biceps, all tensed up and veiny from gripping your thighs and turning them purple. His muscles are so well-defined that you almost forget that he’s your brother and start melting into his skin. The base of his cock is hitting your clit every time your hips meet, sending shocks of pleasure all throughout your core. The walls of your cunt are convulsing around him. It shouldn’t feel good, it really shouldn’t, but the burning sensation on your thighs from having your knees pressed against your chest to expose your cunt and Sakusa carving the shape of his cock into your pussy is the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt in all your years of living. As guilty as you feel for wanting more, you start to beg for him, “Please make me cum, Omi-nii.”

A smug smile plays on his lips. Your pussy is dripping everywhere, making wet noises every time Sakusa moves, and he thinks he’s finally satisfied. Not completely though, because he wants you to squirt on his cock and he wants you to squirt on his cock every night from now on. He deserves it, deserves this, deserves to be the one inside of you and claiming you and pumping you full of cum.

He leans down and captures your lips with his once again, and this time you let him slip his tongue against yours in a messy passionate kiss. When he lets go of one of your thighs to rub at your clit with his thumb and your body tenses up harshly as a result, he sneers at you, “Cum all over my cock, you bitch.”

Then your cunt tightens around him and you hate that he’s being so mean to you but you cry and scream and dig your nails into his muscles like you’ve never came before because you like how mean he is and the only thing you can pathetically moan is Onii-san~!

He doesn’t stop when you cum, chasing his own high to drown your pussy in his sticky seed and hopefully force another climax out of your body to feed his ego, so he wraps his hands around your throat again while you’re delirious and kisses you again and again. “You can fuck whoever you want,” he mutters against your plump lips, “Think that you know what love is when you have some other loser inside you—”

“—but this stupid cunt is all mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #yandere sakusa x reader #yandered sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #yandere sakusa kiyoomi #yandere kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #kiyoomi sakusa smut #sakusa #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu thirsts #tw yandere #tw noncon

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getodrools · 3 months

Text

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 STAR GIRL | Satoru + Suguru.

synopsis. He had the right to brag! Even though he knew it was wrong – it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get with the golden girl everyone wanted. ( wc. 587 )

warnings. mdni | f! cheer! reader | sws, ( college ) football au, they r gross n’ talk about reader, solo masturbation ( getou ), getou is desperate and gojo is cocky ;c, reader has a tat near her ass ( nothing else is specified ).

“So uh.. heh-- you guys fuck already?” Getou flung his hand around, as if dismissing his own question coolly.

Gojo chuckles — damn boys. “Hell yeah. Yo, y/n’s pussy is so fuckin’ tight-- barely takes my dick man.” You were the golden girl in college. The cheer captain.

Everyone wanted to be you or be with you. But dreams are just dreams, because it seemed – rightfully, aligned for you to be reserved perfectly for the one and only football champion, the Satoru Gojo. The golden boy.

Vice versa too! — he had every damn right to brag, having the one and only star girl everything in pants begged for.

And his best friend could only dream.

“Really? Bet she can't ride then huh?—”

“She's a freak dude! Cheer really does something ‘cause y/n loves watching herself bounce on my dick— that pussy even creams.” He drags out his words and Getou was struck in daze when Gojo continued, “She's got the most perfect set of tits too, man-killer of an ass… So fucking hot when she's fresh out the shower– pussy just wet and shining.” His hands dazzle the air.

Dork.

Getou laughs a brute-covered animosity, but he couldn't help feel blood rushing more lower, “I bet. I heard she got a little tat on her ass?” He was scraping the barrel.

“Yep ah. Kiss it every damn night.” Gojo throws his hands back, a smug grin plastered wide, and it doesn't help the lip gloss you smeared earlier still glimmered.

Getou takes note.

Those oceanic eyes tumbled with waves towards his long-haired friend – curious, “Wish you could, huh?” Satoru smirks, leaning up with novelty before Getou could respond – only his mouth hangs open, “Who doesn't though.” Gojo sighs and kicks his feet back up; long legs crowding the rest of the bench.

Getou squints at him. More than annoyed now, but looking back at you in the field, he could only think of what it was. Was it heart? Or a pair of lips? Maybe cherries. Damn, either or, he'd kiss it every night too.

“Wanna see?” Satoru flings his hand into his back pocket, fishing for his phone to swipe at before Getou could process the question – only processing the cute ass glaring on his friends screen.

A few photos of you flashed before him, some of you posing with cute panties on or nothing. Just bare-ass flaunting at the screen with a cute jiggle. And the tattoo he always fantasized about was confirmed to be only a small star. Almost fitting too.

“She got it at a frat party. It's still cute though.” Gojo chuckles, still swipinging ‘till he found his favorite video of you both.

Suguru’s lips are almost as shiny as Gojo’s now. Even dick harder than before, admiring how your legs were spread by Gojo’s hands, watching how he'd clasp the two doughy globes with a firm grip. The tattoo inked into your skin smeared with skin as he stretched you open. Like a damn shooting star he could wish upon, gazing how you let your ass bounce on a thick pole of cock meat so easily.

Getou swallows down hard, pushing back that groan aching to jump out. His hands cross over his lap with his helmet.

The video seemed so short, but the fidgeting you kept squirming with kept replaying in his head. Only small glimpse of your face showed when you tossed your head back; sometimes you drooled and eyes fluttered crossed when the camera would pan closer to the sweet heat between your legs...

Gojo hums, “She's so hot.” And Getou agrees, watching how your pretty pussy stretched around Gojo. A cute string of slick webbed down his base, only to be quickly swallowed up again, and the shine of the camera light caught all of it.

“Yeah… Don't tell her I showed you these, she’d fuckin’ kill me.” They both laugh and Getou almost whines when the sacred phone gets jammed back into his back pocket.

He didn't mean to close his eyes, but he tried hard to keep that image in his head. Gojo smirks.

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, “Never.” but he knows deep down he won't stop reminding and telling his damn self...

ᯓ★

Suguru’s hand pumps his cock. A strong, languid stroke and a quick twist at his too hard tip.

Thinking of that tight pussy Gojo is so whipped about sitting in his dick instead... That mere image was warped into his every thought. So delusional, he kept replaying it in his head ‘till he could only see himself in that video instead.

He frowns.

You only looked good with Gojo. And he's nothing compared to him. No way in hell he'd ever get a little peak either… but he still dreams, coveting if you’d watch his dick sheath entirely into your warmth instead.

Wondering how you'd bounce on his cock that he spits on, wondering if that cute star would shoot up and down like a dream if you did...

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: JJK MASTERLIST –>

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ satoru gojo!#ᝰ suguru geto!#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk gojo #jjk geto #satoru gojo #suguru geto

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tlouadditc · 7 months

Text

take care of you.

warnings: smut [MEN AND MINORS DNI!], kinda gross desc of injury, ellies a pervert LMAOOO, small argument. ??, lowkey rushed but idc, slight choking mention, filthy mouth ellie ™️, scissoring, no official dynamic?? idk

its the last couple of hours in your small infirmary. its dark and muggy, but finally quiet. your shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled to the top of your forearms as you work through the thick air. the patrols had been getting attacked all day, and god, you never thought the day would end.. but here you were, putting the last couple of boxes of gauze.

suddenly, you hear footsteps, and a faint male voice. "c'mon, we're almost there," the voice says. the voice is accompanied by a slight pained groan. the door busts open, a limping auburn woman gripping onto a tall, young man. you immediately recognize the two: jesse and ellie, your best friends.

"hey," jesses breathes, setting ellie onto the tile floor. there's scuffs all over him, a small cut sitting next to his eye. "ellie was- huff- she got stabbed in her calf," he explains. ellie wriggles in pain, face scrunched up as she sinks into the floor. "she'll fuckin' bleed out if she doesn't get something. i really have to go but please, please take care of her. i know you're supposed to be leaving right now but everyone else is gone."

you sigh heavily before reluctantly nodding. "thank you, y/n." he looks back at ellie, "hey, take care. i'll see you later."

jesse leaves, door frantically slamming behind him. you set the bed again, a protective sheet laying against the firm mattress. you walk over to where ellie resides, a sympathetic expression written on your face. "c'mon, tough girl," you say, kneeling down and throwing your arm across your shoulders. "let's get you onto the bed."

she hisses in pain as she rises and lays her weight onto you. it's only a few steps before she's plopped onto the bed, crawling to the top to lay her head on the pillow. as she lays back, you see the blood seeping through her jeans. theres a dark, soaked hole where the knife went through on her right calf. you speak as you don your gloves; "this is gonna hurt but i just need to see how bad it is, m'kay?"

she nods, breath getting jagged as you push her jeans up to her knee. the sight is horrendous; it's almost as if her calf got ripped open. the blood is still seeping out of the medium sized gash. if the knife would've went any deeper, she would've died of blood loss. "my god," you whisper, still assessing the damage.

"is it that bad?" she asks, arms above her head.

"i-" you sigh and gather your thoughts. "it's bad, yeah, but with a few stitches, you'll be back in no time."

she sighs with relief. you start gathering materials and your gear. "gonna need you to either pull your pants above your calf or take them off completely," you say, focusing on getting the materials. while getting the needle ready, you hear ellie's shirt hit the floor. when you turn around, she's left in her black sports bra. her chest moves up and down as she heavily breathes.

"hot as hell in here," she explains, a slight chuckle following the statement. she attempts to take her pants off, stopping right above the gash. you help her completely remove them and leave her in only her sports bra and boxers. the sight alone has a pool left in your bottoms.

you breathlessly giggle, "i agree. they need to get that AC running."

you lay all the materials next to her, "just a warning, this is gonna hurt, okay?" she nods, grabbing the pillow from behind her head and placing it between the grip of her two toned arms. she bites the pillow, in case she needs to muffle her sounds.

as you slowly thread the needle through her skin, a groan fills the room. "s-sorry," she apologizes. you go through the other side of the gash, running the thread through her skin. a string of curses leave her mouth as you continue, sometimes even a moan escaping her lips. you try to keep a composed demeanor as you finish off, attempting to ignore the second heartbeat in your pants.

as you wrap the protective layers of gauze around the stitched skin, she whispers, "sorry for all this," she chuckles, sitting up. "it's okay," you respond. you're starting to put your materials back in the low cabinets of your room, bending over as you push a box to the back. you look back to grab another box, but instead, you catch ellie eyeing your ass. she tries to look away, but you're too fast. confused, you act like you didn't see anything.

after you're done cleaning, you let her know she'll need to stay off her right leg until she's completely healed and use crutches. "i think they already packed them up, so you can get them tomorrow."

an annoyed groan leaves her throat, "seriously?"

"sorry! you came in when literally everyone but me left."

she turns over, grabbing her shirt off the floor. "are you sure i can't just go home right now?"

"ellie."

she huffs again, now staring up at the ceiling. "can you at least take me home with you? i cannot stay here."

her frustration is apparent, her face heating up with anger with every second passing. somehow, even in the worse circumstance, she looks so.. flawless. her heavy breathing from the thick air and the sweat slowly dripping down her freckled skin only draw you in more and more.

"uh.. y/n?"

you realize you've been checking her out. not only that, but you haven't listened to a THING she's said. you attempt to recall what she's said, or at least find an excuse to why you were checking her out.

you clear your throat, "sorry, i, uh.. yeah, you can stay with me tonight."

"we're not passing the fact you were just eyeing me."

your face heats up, a wave of sheer embarrassment washing over you. as you turn away from her, you mumble, "like you weren't doing the same," only loud enough for you to hear. or so you thought.

"i'm sorry, what was that? speak up."

you don't know if it's the longevity of the day or the heat, but you're fed up. you spit back, "i saw you staring at my ass, ellie. i'm not fuckin' stupid."

her confident demeanor fades. it's almost as if she's shrunken down, small below you. "not so tough now, hm?" you tease.

she attempts to get up, but before she can place another foot down, you slightly push her back onto the bed. "uh-uh," you warn, "you can't walk on that. and you're not leaving this conversation."

"what the fuck is your deal?" she hisses, moving your hand off her shoulder. "i can limp home at this point. you're pissing me the fuck off."

"oh, you were just asking to stay with me, though? and you have some goddamn nerve to be mad at me when i just took my time and care to help you!" you and ellie are barely inches apart now, her hot breath fanning across your heated face.

ellie's eyes soften, searching yours. you do the same, and before you know it, your lips are on hers. soft and supple, the kiss says everything you both want to. she whimpers, like she's been yearning for this since forever. both of you explore each others bodies with your hands, ellie's cold hands caressing your tits under your shirt. she breaks the kiss, panting, smiling at your breathlessness.

"so much for being mad at me," she taunts. you smile, "shut up." looking at her boxers, a slight glistening shines underneath the overhead light. she follows your gaze, slightly blushing at how turned on she is. you say nothing, only running your middle finger across her slit as she gasps. her legs spread a bit, the damp crotch now exposed. "fuck," she whispers, now slightly humping your palm. so desperate, you think.

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

before you know it, both of you sit in your room, naked and sweating. you straddle between ellie's open legs, cunt to cunt. wet, squelches and moans fill the room, bouncing off the walls. ellie guides your hips as you hold onto the edge of the bed.

"fuuuck," she moans, fingernails digging into your hips. her eyes are locked in on the rocking of your hips against hers, your folds meeting with hers before moving forward again. her hips buck up, matching your rhythm. small whimpers and sobs leave your mouth. "keep goin', pretty girl, keep making those sounds for me," she coos, heavily breathing.

everything she's whispering to you is downright filthy; she knows how to push your buttons, getting you even wetter with every movement. "yea, grind that little pussy on me, c'mon," she's gripping your ass now, taking complete control over you. your legs shake, hips aching from the repetitive motion. "need you to cum, yes, please," she's begging now, huffing as she moves one hand from your hip to your neck, making your choke a little. "look at me while you bust on me, baby," she's so so so desperate, her eyebrows furrowing over her emerald eyes. your orgasm hits you like a bus, eyes tearing up, your choked moans getting louder and more drawn out. the wetness coats your inner thighs as well as ellie's crotch.

after a while of heavy panting filling the room, you attempt to get up, legs wobbly from your overbearing orgasm. she giggles, "now im not the only one not being able to walk."

"shut up," you laugh.

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

an; heyhey sorry for my fatass hiatus yall i am back i think! anyway hope yall enjoy + sorry anon for no tag i keep forgetting to respond to the asks..

#tlouadditc #ellie williams smut #the last of us smut #tlou fic #ellie williams #the last of us x reader #tlou2 smut #ellie x f!reader #ellie williams audio

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fredwkong · 8 months

Text

The Boxers

Sometimes, the perfect life just finds you, bruh.

I used to be a pretty normal guy. Wait, scratch that, I was a total fuckin’ nerd. I spent all my time playin’ video games and readin’ fantasy books and shit. I was getting a degree in computer science, so I spent all my time alone, coding shitty apps and nerding out on Reddit.

I had, like, no sex life, lmao. I was a weedy little Indian geek, bro, you know the type, right? I had negative game. Every weekend, I’d spend all night playing WoW or whatever, then go to bed and fantasise about how many bros I’d get once I was, like, CEO of a multibillion dollar startup.

I guess the universe looked at me one day and said, “Why wait, bro?”

I got back to my dorm one night and these, like, gross boxers were sitting right on my floor. I remember I thought they were totally lame, because they had the Sriracha logo all over them. “Who wears those but nasty frat boys?” I thought to myself. Huhuhu, little did the old me know.

Anyway, these boxers were totally messing up the vibes of my dorm. I used to be such a neat freak, bro. A place for everything, and everything in its place. A smelly, used pair of boxers made my skin crawl. So, obvi, I went to pick them up with two of my slim little fingers and toss them in the trash. I figured it was some kind of gross prank on me.

Once I’d picked ‘em up, I could see exactly how dirty those boxers were. The legs were stiff with layers of musky sweat, the smell wafting off them strong enough to make my eyes water. There were a couple of grease stains on them, like some dude had eaten dinner in just his undies. The crotch was crusty, too. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had cum in these boxers.

I remember wondering why the thought got me hard.

Rather than taking the Sriracha boxers to the trash like I’d planned, I found myself giving them a second sniff, and then a third. Goddamn, they were fuckin’ gross, bro. I thought it was just my disgust making me smell them over and over again. Like I was trying to figure out exactly what had gotten on them.

Before long, I was palming my lil cock through my slacks, holding the boxers close to my face with my other hand. It was, like, a total head rush every time I took another sniff. Like I could feel my brain blanking out as I took more and more of the musky stench into me. Not that I knew that was what was actually happening, huhuhu.

When I stripped off my pants and undies to jerk off better, I suddenly had an awesome idea. I could, like, wear the Sriracha boxers and jerk off in them. My brain was already at least halfway transformed by then, lol. I was definitely no nerd at that point. The idea of wearing another guy’s musky boxers got me so fuckin’ turned on.

I pulled the boxers up my skinny brown legs. They hung on my hip bones, barely able to stay on. I laid down on my bed and felt my rock hard cock through the crusty fabric. It was like I could feel the cum and sweat of everyone who’d ever worn that underwear seeping into my skin as I massaged drops of precum out of my balls.

As I writhed on my sheets, lost in pleasure, my skinny Indian body started to change. It started with my feet, which cracked and stretched as they grew big and thick. They started to sweat, a funky foot musk joining the renewed stench of the Sriracha boxers, which were getting super wet with my precum. It was like the brown leached out of my skin with my musky foot sweat, too, as my big feet got all pale.

The change continued up my bare calves, which got super hairy as the muscles flexed and swelled. My legs lengthened as huge quads and hammies swelled up under my whitening skin. God, said my musk-addled mind, I love leg day. I started to flex and wiggle my bulky thighs, feeling the muscles stimulate my growing prostate.

I let out a high pitched little bitchboy moan as my ass inflated with juicy muscle and fat, but I knew that my voice wouldn’t sound like that for much longer. I’d totally embraced the transformation as my cock and balls filled out the pouch of the boxers. They were no longer, like, loose and shit. My fat ass and big bro cock were stretching the sweaty fabric to its limits, bro!

My chest followed, going from slim to bulky so fast that all the buttons on my nerd shirt hit the ceiling. Sweat instantly started to roll off my furry new pecs, and I ran my soft little hand up and down my thick, firm belly and flexed the solid abs I knew were underneath the fat. More than the boxers and the smell, my body was starting to turn me on, bruh. I was becoming, like, a total frat god.

The curly brown hair that grew in my armpits smelled sooooo good as sweat started to drip off it. I totally buried my little nerd face in my own pits and licked up my sweat as I watched my arms bulk up and get all pale and hairy. It was so hot flexing my bicep and watching it bulk up before my eyes, dude! I felt my hand grow as I tugged my big jock cock in the Sriracha boxers, thickening up and getting some hard-earned weightlifting calluses.

The last thing to change was my head. My moans got deeper, slower, and totally dumb-sounding as my neck thickened. A thick brown beard grew on my cheeks, framing my cheesy dumb smile perfectly. My nose cracked and grew into a big ol’ sniffer, even more sensitive than my old nose so I can really take in my bros’ musk.

My old black buzzcut grew out into a curly brown mane, totally greasy from all the sweat I soak it with when I work out, huhuhu. As my forehead got all pale and my eyes turned blue, I felt my cock go over the edge, and I came right into the Sriracha boxers. Pump after pump of musky frat bro cream, taking my old self with it to impregnate the boxers with even more fratty juice. As the room filled with the smell of my thick load, I totally passed out.

The next morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I was in a big bed with musky, sweat-stained sheets, a bunch of stale, unwashed gym gear all over the floor. I was still wearing the Sriracha boxers, my cum caked into the stain along with all the other bros’, along with a cap that I turned backwards as I sat up. I pulled on a tank without too many sweat stains on it and went to explore.

Turned out I lived at the Mu Upsilon Sigma frat house now. The whole place smelled like a sweaty armpit, and it was full of musky bros who were more than happy for me to get all up in their smelly pits and cracks.

I wore the Sriracha boxers for a couple days. Honestly, I dunno how long, I usually only change my boxers like once a month, huhuhu. I worked out, jerked off, got drunk, got fucked, and jerked off some more, all while wearing those boxers. Then I left ‘em in some nerd’s dorm as a prank, huhu.

It was so hot to watch the lil Japanese guy get as zonked out on the musky boxers like I had, bro. We hid in his closet and watched while he jerked off and turned into another musky white frat boy like us, then carried him to the MYS house once he passed out.

It’s been a couple weeks since then, and MYS membership has only grown, bruh! Each bro wears the Sriracha boxers for a few days, adds his personal touch to the, like, seasoning, and then we pass ‘em on to another nerd and induct him into frat life! Maybe some night soon, you’ll see these bad boys in your dorm, huhuhu. Life's perfect in the frat, bro!

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #male tf #dumber tf #race change #musk tf #white tf #fratification #broification #mu upsilon sigma #all fwkong

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sweetstarcollector · 10 months

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So phrases like "people with uteruses" or "people who have periods" never really bothered me as much as more overtly dehumanizing phrases like "bleeders" or "birthing bodies", but I saw a post today talking about the abnormal symptoms women experienced after getting tear gassed protesting, that ended with something like "we don't know the full effects of tear gas on people with uteruses". And what struck me about that is that's not really correct, because female people without uteruses (either bc they were born without one or bc they had a hysterectomy) will still experience different symptoms after being tear gassed than male people. Women metabolize substances differently than men, our immune systems are different, our hormonal cycles are different, our skin has different thicknesses, etc. All of those things have potential effects on tear gas reactions, and are not dependent on whether or not we have a uterus. They're dependent on whether or not we're female. So saying "people with uteruses" when what is meant is "female people" is not really accurate. And I realized that a lot of times when people use those kinds of phrases, they aren't being accurate.

For example, I'm sure we've all seen people say things about how the repeal of Roe v Wade will harm people with uteruses/people who can get pregnant/etc. And while yes, it definitely harms those people, the full truth is that abortion bans harm *female* people, *regardless of if they can get pregnant or have a uterus.* Because female people who don't have uteruses can still get pregnant, and in those rare cases will 100% of the time need an abortion. Female people who deal with infertility and can't carry a fetus to term can still be jailed for miscarrying. Female people who are completely sterile (for whatever reason) can still be denied medications/medical treatment on the grounds that the treatment could theoretically harm a fetus. Female people who may currently have no uterus/no longer be able to get pregnant but who have had an abortion in the past will face increased stigma.

Here's another example:

It seems pretty straightforward- menstruation stigma is experienced by people who menstruate. But again, that's only half true. Period stigma is experienced by all female people, regardless of if they menstruate. Think about the fact that we are told female people should not hold political leadership because "what if a female president has PMS and starts a war", despite the fact that almost all female presidential candidates are old enough that they would have experienced menopause. Female people have their feelings dismissed because "it must be that time of the month", regardless of if they're too young to menstruate or too old or if they have a condition causing amenorrhea. Female children grow up seeing periods- a natural function of their bodies- portrayed as disgusting, dirty and gross, as making them unclean, as something to dread and fear. This affects them before they experience menarche, this affects them even if they never experience menarche. It affects all female people.

I could come up with more examples, but you get the idea. Reducing female people to singular body parts and organs inherently denies the reality of femaleness. All parts of us (both biological and social) interact with all other parts of us to form an experience that can't be understood by chopping us up and putting our individual functions under the microscope. In order to get an accurate picture you need to look at the whole (female) human.

#Side note: I remember when I found out that it's still possible to get pregnant post hysterectomy #So many people want to get rid of their uterus because they don't want kids #(Even though the uterus is not just a baby oven and it does important things like regulate hormones)#And it might not even work 😭#my post #radical feminists please touch #radical feminists do interact #radical feminism #radfem #radfems do touch #pls radfems I want to know your thoughts

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cherryredcheol · 4 months

Text

"bug"

tldr: the way vernon uses your nickname

a/n: not proofread. also, stoner!vernon is alive and well in this.

deadpans: in the middle of the night

“bug.” he startles you. he can somehow sense your eyes on him even with closed lids. you thought he was asleep and he should be considering the time and his schedule in the morning.

“why aren’t you asleep?” you almost tell him you were just thinking the same thing about him but instead you just giggle when he cracks one eye open to peer up at you leaning over him. you hadn’t meant to wake him up but you were so hungry and he always made ramen the best for you.

“you’re lucky i love you, bug” and you thought about how true that statement was as you followed him from the bedroom into the kitchen, perching yourself on the counter as he got the hot water going to make your snack for you.

cheers: from across the practice room

“Bug!” after a long day of practice, and a longer night ahead, he shouted when he saw you enter the room with food. the oily smell of fried chicken wafted through the air and if his shouting didn’t catch everyone’s attention, that did.

he bounds across the room to you in five strides, carefully setting the plastic bags you were carrying down on the ground before squishing you into a bone-crushing hug.

“you’re the best” he whispers into your ear, his breath setting your sensitive skin on fire. you blush, telling him it was no problem, the chicken shop was practically on the way. he pulls back, smiling at you so big your cheeks hurt just looking at him. you reach a hand up to his cheek, returning his smile with one of your own. he nuzzles into your hand wrapping his fingers around your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yah! you turn to see Suengkwan, “Stop being gross in front of the food!”

giggles: when he puffs the smoke from his lungs

“bug” he chuckles when you look at him with blown-out pupils and a soft smile. you were sitting across from him on the floor of your living room as a movie played softly in the background. star wars, you think. It was nice to spend this time together after a long week of schedules and shifts.

“do you want any more of this?” he asked you, lazy smile on his face as he held the blunt out to you. there was about half left and you hate the roach so you take it from his hand, huffing a few more drags. you were pleasantly high and so was he. you hold the blunt out for him to take, and he leans in wrapping his lips around the end, and breathes in deep, looking into your eyes the entire time.

he exhales and you’re on him in an instant, joint forgotten in the ashtray on your coffee table. you climb into his lap not wanting to be away from him any longer. he smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you in place. “can’t resist me can you, bug?”

coughs: with your back turned

“bug” he sounds so pathetic. you turn around, careful of the tray in your hands holding a half-empty bowl of soup he was too sick to finish. you raise a brow at him, wondering what else he could possibly need. you had gotten him everything he asked for these last couple of days while he’s been home sick from his schedule.

“when you come back, can we cuddle?” and you melt. the way his eyes are half closed and he’s barely able to lift his head off the pillow. you nod, hurrying quickly to the kitchen to clean the dishes.

walking back into the bedroom, you can see he fell asleep in your short absence. you shake your head, supposing you should give him the cuddles he asked for earlier. climbing in next to him, already feeling warm from the heat radiating from his feverish body. he snuggles in closer, humming to himself, “much better, bug.”

chokes out: over the phone

“bug-” the broken word stops your heart. He’s clearly crying, or had been recently since his voice is still thick. he’d been in japan for over a week working on promotions with his members. the distance was tough, but nothing you hadn't dealt with before.

‘i miss you so much” he finally lets out after much prodding on your end. he was never very forthcoming about his emotions, especially negative ones. it took a long time to get him to open up to you so you knew you had to tread lightly or he might clam up again.

you stayed up that night, talking to him on the phone, calming him down so he could get some sleep for his big schedule tomorrow. sniffles gone and tears dried, you finally float the idea of going to bed by him and you can hear the pout in his voice when he asks, “stay on the phone a bit longer with me, bug?”

#vernon #hansol #hansol vernon chwe #hansol x reader #seventeen hansol #vernon x reader #hansol fluff #vernon fluff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #vernon imagines

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cherienymphe · 1 year

Text

Borderline (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, jealousy, seemingly unrequited feelings, secret relationship, semi public sex, non canon ages, underage drinking

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @silkholland

summary: The three times you had sex with your best friend...and the one time you didn’t.

JJ’s hips pressed into yours, his bare chest brushing against your own with every thrust. His blond hair was damp from both water and sweat, not an unusual look for him, but seeing him from this angle? Yes, that was pretty unusual for you. You gasped when his cock hit a sensitive spot in you, clenching around him and pressing your fingers into his arm. The action made him hiss, and he leaned in to nip the skin of your chin with his teeth.

Having sex with your best friend in the back of your other friend’s van was not planned.

Ever.

You and JJ were as thick as thieves, and partners in crime were all you had ever been. Breaking into buildings together, jumping off of boats together, and even getting into fights together. If he couldn’t count on anyone to back up whatever stupid idea he’d concocted, JJ knew he could count on you. You were always happy to go along with whatever…except for this.

As he pressed a hand into your stomach, holding you down and in place to take his thrusts, you fought to remember how you’d gotten in this position in the first place. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to wrack your brain and think about what you’d been talking about only an hour ago. It was so hard to do with JJ pushing into you and making you lose your train of thought.

You’d been talking about some Pogue, some Pogue you’d been seeing and the way he’d practically begged you to take him back at the ice cream shop. He was nice enough and cute enough, but the relationship, if it could even be called that, hadn’t been going anywhere. JJ wasn’t supposed to be listening in, but he’d never done what he was supposed to a day in his life.

“That sounded awkward,” he’d said, glancing at you and taking his eyes off of the road. “Poor guy was basically offering his soul to get back together with you.”

You’d rolled your eyes, grumbling to yourself and annoyed with him for eavesdropping.

“You got the holy grail between those legs of yours or what?” he’d teased, poking your side with a chuckle and you’d slapped his hand away.

“Don’t be gross,” you’d complained. “Believe it or not, but I’m actually a great girlfriend, JJ. Sometimes people are sad to see me go.”

You hadn’t had the chance to hear his response because one of the front tires on the Twinkie blew, forcing JJ to pull off of the road and into the grass. Between his anger at discovering John B.’s lack of care to keep a spare tire and John B.’s anger at discovering JJ blew one, your ex had been the last thing on either of your minds then. At least, that was the case for you.

You were both sitting in the back of the van and waiting for John B. and Pope to show up with his dad’s truck and a tire when JJ brought it up again.

“Pervert comment aside, I was serious, you know.”

You’d turned to him, a questioning look in your eyes. Seeing that you had no idea what he was talking about, the blond had rolled his eyes, pushing his hair away from his face and trying to keep cool in this heat.

“Any guy you date always acts like it’s the end of the world when you break up with them,” he’d explained, and your mouth had fallen open in offense.

“That’s not true,” you’d scoffed. “I resent that.”

JJ had chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“It’s so true. We talk about it all the time,” he’d laughed.

You’d straightened at that, frowning at him. We? Did he mean ‘we’ as in him and your friends sans you? That was news that you found hard to believe, and you told him, and JJ shook his head.

“No, we do,” he’d drawled, half laying down with his head against the inside of the van and one leg bent. “Not all the time obviously, but sometimes to just laugh at the lovesick fools you leave in the dust.”

“You make me sound like some kind of man-eater,” you’d mumbled. “…and I’m not. I just… I don’t know.”

You’d shrugged, not liking this conversation.

“When I’m not happy, I leave. I’m not one of those people to stay just to say I have a boyfriend or something. Sorry,” you’d pointedly said, thinking hard about what he’d told you.

It was then that JJ could tell you were genuinely a little bothered, and he’d sat up, hurrying to move closer.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s meant to be funny,” he’d assured you. “We don’t mean anything by it.”

You knew that. It still didn’t stop it from bothering you a little though, wondering if that was how other people viewed you since your own friends did.

“I know you don’t,” you’d sighed. “I’m being silly, I know, but now you’re just making me rethink my methods, I guess.”

JJ huffed, scooting closer to you until his shoulder brushed yours.

“It’s not your methods we’re laughing at, I promise,” he’d lightly said, bumping your shoulder with his. “We just think it’s funny how you seem to give these guys the best time of their lives that they’re always ready to beg for you back on their knees.”

You’d given him a look at that, and JJ wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’m not talking to you about that,” you’d chuckled. “Who do you think I am? Pope?”

“I’m just saying,” he’d dragged out. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept with any girl that had me down that bad.”

JJ was laughing to himself, and your smile fell a bit, eyeing him with a frown. You could feel it deepening the longer you stared at him, and you’d suddenly reared back a little.

“You sound almost curious,” you’d blurted out, a light laugh in your throat as you shook your head at him.

You knew that wasn’t true, but the thought had been funny, nonetheless. However, you hadn’t expected there to be any truth to that, let alone the actual truth.

“Maybe I am.”

JJ’s words had shocked you, making you freeze in place, and his even expression didn’t match your horrified frown, at all.

“Be serious,” you’d said after a while, feeling like you were in the midst of some elaborate joke.

Your best friend tilted his head at you, arms resting on his knees as he ran his gaze over your face.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

The lack of humor on JJ’s face had stumped you, and you blinked at him. For a moment, words escaped you, and the van felt entirely too small and entirely too quiet as you just stared at each other.

“JJ,” you’d slowly said, lightly hitting his arm. “Come on…”

He’d taken your hand, making your stomach drop, and your eyes widened as he fully turned to face you. There was a glint in his eye that you’d never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

“Come on what? I can’t be curious?” he wondered, voice dropping.

“No, you can’t,” you’d almost yelled, pulling your hand away and looking away in disbelief. “You’re my best friend. I bet you don’t wonder what John B. is like in bed.”

“I might! You don’t know that…”

You’d rolled your eyes at him, prepared to pretend this weird turn of events had never happened when you felt his fingers brushing your jaw. You had turned to face him in shock, eyes wide as he touched you with a gentleness that felt strange. JJ was your best friend, and his blue eyes were drinking you in in a way that felt suffocating.

“JJ…”

You could see him leaning in, and you hadn’t exactly done anything to stop it. In truth, you didn’t know why. JJ had never been anything but your best friend, never even tempted to think of him in that way. Finding out that wasn’t the case for him was shocking, sure, but not enough to keep you from pushing him away at the very least.

His lips brushing against yours had your heart skipping a beat, and for a few seconds, you didn’t kiss him back. You just sat there, letting him kiss you and getting the feel of his skin on yours in a way that was foreign. You’d blinked just as JJ deepened the kiss, clearly taking your lack of action as the okay, and you hadn’t been able to swallow down your gasp. When you hesitantly kissed him back, you’d felt JJ’s hand on the small of your back, the other fingering the strap of your top.

Everything after had been a mess of lips on lips, hands pulling at clothes, and finally skin on skin.

Your eyes flew open at a particularly hard thrust, JJ’s cock stretching you out so addictingly. Sweat clung to your skin, your clothes thrown somewhere in John B.’s van, and you couldn’t even find it in you to care about how hot it was. JJ’s hands were wrapped around your calves now, your feet pressed against his stomach as he slid into you over and over.

It was so hard to breathe for multiple reasons, but especially because you were having the best sex of your life and it was because of your best friend. The thought was enough to completely drag you out of the moment. It felt weird and good at the same time, and you couldn’t understand how that was. You couldn’t even find it in you to feel guilty over making a mess of your friend’s vehicle, feeling yourself dripping around JJ and smearing down your skin.

You’d actually almost forgotten that your friends were on the way with help and another tire. You’d almost forgotten they existed entirely until you heard JJ’s phone vibrating. You were on top of him, now, hands pressed into his shoulder and pushing yourself down onto his cock, fucking yourself onto him and chasing your high.

“They said they’re down the street,” he panted, one hand pressed into your waist while the other held his phone. “They’re close.”

As he said that, you could feel yourself getting close too, and your eyes rolled as you circled your hips.

“Fuck,” JJ breathed, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you were too preoccupied with coming.

When you finally did, you literally froze, lips falling open and a choked moan escaping just as you felt JJ’s hands tighten on you. Your nails were pressing into his skin, but if the way he deeply moaned was anything to go by, he didn’t seem to care. You could feel him stilling too, twitching inside of you, and the feel had you shuddering.

He was lazily moving your hips over his as you milked him, and you literally whined when you were forced to move off of him. Your back met the floor of the van, and you stared up at the ceiling, blinking in disbelief. You could faintly hear JJ hurrying to get dressed, but you couldn’t move.

You’d just had sex with your best friend…and it was great.

You felt yourself frowning, a myriad of emotions washing over you as you tried to process this. It didn’t seem real, and yet, the evidence was quite literally on you and in you. JJ called your name, and you realized he’d called it several times. You looked at him as he put your clothes in your hand, hurrying to help you sit up, and you felt like you were in a daze.

“Hey, hey,” he said, touching your face and making you look into his eyes. “We gotta get dressed, okay?”

He was right, and yet that still didn’t stop you from running your eyes over him, drinking him in. He both looked and didn’t look like your best friend, and it was an odd thought to wrap your head around. You couldn’t believe what you’d just done, and deciding that now was not the time to analyze your actions and the ramifications of them, you got dressed.

“Fuck, baby…”

JJ’s breathless voice in your ear only made you wetter, and you pushed back to meet his thrusts.

It had been weeks, almost three months actually, since the incident. That was what you liked to call it because what else could you possibly refer to it as? How else would you identify the day in which JJ had convinced you to sleep with him in the back of the Twinkie? What could you possibly call the day in which you realized that JJ’s feelings about you weren’t always so platonic, and that sometimes, just sometimes, he was actually very curious about what his best friend was like in bed?

You had thought that it would be weird, disastrous even. You had actually cried yourself to sleep that same night, so scared that you’d made a huge mistake and that it would ruin your friendship with JJ forever. You’d told yourself that you should’ve spoken up, been the voice of reason when you were both careless and clearly delirious from heat.

After all, some moments of pleasure were never worth the loss of a friendship.

However, when JJ had shown up at your door the next morning, dressed and looking like his normal self as he offered to drive you to John B.’s like he often did, you got the sense that maybe you’d overreacted. Nothing about his words, tone, or expression had even hinted at what had taken place the previous day, and you’d actually frowned.

Somewhat dazed, you had nodded with a small okay, telling him you needed to get dressed. You had given him a strange look when he came inside, flopping on your couch and scrolling through his phone like everything was normal. Like shit was sweet.

Shit wasn’t sweet.

You and your best friend had quite literally rocked the van, and he was pretending like it never happened.

“Um…JJ,” you’d said when you followed him outside.

He’d been in the process of climbing onto his bike, and he’d turned to look at you, face inquiring. You had actually scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you just…going to pretend like yesterday never happened or…?”

He’d blinked at your words, features softening some as he climbed off of his bike. You’d swallowed at his close proximity, kind of unsure of how to act around him, now. He looked the same as he always did, but it was so different, now. You’d held that blond hair as he kissed down your frame. You’d looked into those blue eyes as he’d pinned you between him and the floor of the van. You’d held onto those arms as you came around each other.

You didn’t know how to pretend like you hadn’t.

“I didn’t think you’d want it to ruin our friendship,” he’d finally said.

“I don’t,” you had spoken up, straightening. “That’s the last thing I want, but…I don’t know. You’re pretending like it didn’t happen. Aren’t we going to at least talk about it?”

“…and say what? That it was great? That you were great?” he’d moved closer, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “…because you were.”

You’d swallowed at that, glancing away and feeling heated.

“Look, I know that it wasn’t your idea of how to spend the afternoon, and I just feel a little bad.”

You’d frowned at his confession.

“JJ, I’m an adult. If I didn’t want to have sex with you, I could’ve said so,” you’d told him, shoulders sagging. “No…it definitely wasn’t my first choice of how to pass the time, but I don’t think I regret it. Not unless it’s going to make things weird…”

You were trying your hardest to prevent that from happening, and when JJ chuckled, you did too.

“We were friends, and we’re still friends. Just friends who had sex one afternoon in a hot van,” he’d said with a shrug.

The way he’d worded it had made you feel better, and you were relieved when he pulled you into a hug. After hugging him back, you’d happily climbed onto the back of his bike, writing the previous afternoon off as that weird day when you and JJ decided to have sex.

He was right, of course.

You and JJ were still the best of friends who just happened to fuck each other one time. Once you were around the rest of your friends, it was easy to relax and sink back into familiar dynamics. You were teasing each other and throwing things at each other and finishing each other’s sentences again in record time. While there’d been the stray thought or two that your friends would be able to tell what went down between you two, that had soon passed after about a week.

After a month, it really did seem like nothing even happened.

You couldn’t deny that it had crossed your mind on occasion. After all, it was hard to look at your best friend and ignore the fact that you’d had sex with him. It was usually a stray thought in passing, like a little reminder notification in your head, and sometimes it was accompanied by the afterthought that it was the best sex you’d had. That was still something you had a hard time grasping, but it wasn’t long before even that fact didn’t feel weird to you.

Nights at The Chateau and on boats had accumulated into literal months since that day. It was something that you really didn’t even think about, now. Not when JJ hugged you or when he pinched your side or even when he held you close with an arm around your neck. Why would you? Nothing about your friendship had changed, something you were beyond grateful for.

So, it was kind of a shock to you when JJ had cornered you against John B.’s fridge one evening.

You were getting something to drink, and you’d gasped when you felt a chin suddenly resting in the crook of your shoulder, a chest pressed to your back. He’d startled you more than anything, and JJ had laughed to himself at your reaction.

“Anything good in there?”

Your answer was on the tip of your tongue when you felt his hand on your waist, fingers kneading into your skin where your shirt had ridden up. You’d frowned to yourself, stomach twisting a bit before slowly pushing his hand away.

“Just the usual,” you’d dragged out, slipping from between him and the fridge.

You were making your way past him when he reached out, a finger hooking in your belt loop as he gently pulled you back. You’d given him an odd look as he pulled you closer, a nervous chuckle escaping. His blue eyes were fixated on you, and he’d pulled his lip between his teeth as your frown deepened.

“JJ…what are you doing?” you’d slowly asked, worriedly eyeing him.

Your question had made him pause, pressing his lips together as he stared at you. You’d watched him blink, his face pinching together just a tad before he’d let you go. If you had known better, you would’ve noted how reluctant he’d seemed to do so. The air had felt so weird as you studied him, and just like that, he’d chuckled and broke the spell.

You had watched him scratch the back of his head.

“I don’t know,” he’d confessed, shaking his head before brushing past you, throwing a small sorry over his shoulder.

That had been days ago, and as much as the interaction had concerned you, you’d forced yourself to let it go. You’d been glad you did because in the days that followed, it was like it’d never even happened…

…but then JJ had driven you home...and he’d gotten off of his bike with you, and before you’d been able to thank him…he’d kissed you.

So shocked by it, you had stumbled back, looking at him with wide eyes. It was hard to place the look on his face, like he was confused by his actions just as much as you were, but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and gently taking your arm.

“JJ, what-?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he’d softly mumbled, moving closer as he pulled you closer. “I don’t know.”

He kept repeating that as he leaned in, kissing you again, and his breath was shaky as he did. You’d placed your hand on his chest, and he reached up, holding it there as he moved his mouth against yours. Before, you’d told yourself you should’ve been the voice of reason, recalling how scared you’d been that night that your friendship as you knew it was over. You didn’t want a repeat of that, nor did you want that to come true, and so you’d pulled back.

“JJ, we can’t-.”

“Why?” he’d breathed, licking his lips. “…because we’re friends?”

“Yes,” you’d slowly told him. “…and I want to stay friends.”

The desperation in his gaze threw you.

“We did it before, and we’re still friends…”

You’d faltered at that, looking away when JJ had forced you to look back at him. One of his hands slid down to your waist, trailing over your back and side, and you shuddered at the feel. You could hear how uneven his breathing was.

“I…haven’t really stopped thinking about that day,” he confessed, making your heart skip a beat.

“What? Y-you said…”

“I know what I said,” he blurted out. “I know, but…”

JJ leaned in, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again.

“I want you so bad,” he breathed against your lips. “You get me so hard, and you don’t even know it.”

All of this was overwhelming news to you, and when JJ deepened the kiss, you could feel yourself traveling back to that afternoon in the Twinkie. The voice of reason in your head was fighting against the heated feeling that was slowly consuming you. You were thinking of what his skin had felt like on yours, what his hands had felt like on you, and what he’d felt like inside of you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen again.

Never mind the fact that you and JJ were friends, but you weren’t this kind of girl. Casual sex was never and had never been your thing. You liked relationships, always had. You liked having boyfriends, and getting flowers and gifts, and having sex with someone you could call yours. You’d written that afternoon off as the one wild thing you’d do for the next three years.

It wasn’t supposed to happen again.

…and yet, you found yourself leaning on JJ’s bike, one leg raised with your knee resting on the seat as he pushed into you from behind. Your shorts were around one ankle, your underwear long ripped off, and JJ’s hands were curled into your hips as he dipped his cock into you.

You couldn’t even stop yourself from gasping and moaning, trembling at the feeling of him fucking you from this angle. The bike shook from his movements, and one of his hands moved to hold it steady. His lips grazed your ear, and despite the fact that he was literally inside of you, you were still supposed to be just friends, but the words he whispered didn’t indicate that, at all.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, cursing when he sank into you again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week, you know that?”

You suddenly thought about that day at John B.’s, JJ’s weird behavior, and you frowned through the haze.

“Just wanted to feel you wrapped around me…choking me…sucking me dry…”

A high-pitched gasp escaped your lips, and you struggled to stay upright. The sound of skin slapping against skin could be heard in your yard, and you prayed to whoever was listening that your neighbors didn’t decide to get curious today of all days.

JJ’s free hand traveled along your frame. Kneading your waist, squeezing your breast, curling around your throat. It was too much, and to your surprise, you could feel yourself coming. If JJ was shocked too, he didn’t show it, fucking you through it and turning you into a babbling mess. You were so wet, the sound of it meeting your ears every time JJ pushed his cock into you, completely sheathing himself inside of your walls, determined to find his release there.

You were meeting him thrust for thrust, determined to come again. You felt like a woman possessed, fucking yourself onto him and squeezing his cock. You didn’t even care that you were fucking your best friend again, only concerned with wanting to feel him come inside of you. The aftermath was something you couldn’t focus on, right now, and you knew you’d come to regret that line of thinking. When JJ came, he came before you this time, spilling into you and pushing into you so hard it jostled his bike.

The feel of him coating your walls sent you over the edge, squeezing him so tight that he cursed over and over, hand tightening on your neck as you struggled to breathe. You saw stars, and unlike last time, there was no rush to get dressed. JJ remained inside of you for a while, just holding himself there and basking in the aftermath of what you just did…again.

When he finally did pull out, you weren’t as dazed this time.

Instead, you frowned.

You were still shaking as you pulled up your shorts, a million thoughts running through your head. What did this mean? What were you? Were you friends who just happened to have sex twice…or did JJ intend for this to be a regular thing? You couldn’t stomach the latter, knowing the kind of girl you were and hating yourself for going against what you knew you were comfortable with.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

One time could be a mistake, a lapse of judgement or just an afternoon of fun, never to be repeated. Twice? Twice was a choice on both your parts. JJ for making the move again, and you for allowing it. You stepped away from him when you were fully dressed, and you didn’t know what to say. You could still feel him in you, both figuratively and literally, cringing at the way he dripped out of you and into your shorts.

He was saying something about hanging out at Sarah’s place tomorrow, but you couldn’t really focus on it. You were too in your own head, but JJ didn’t seem to notice, leaning over to place a brief kiss to your lips before starting his bike. You watched him drive away, and you found yourself feeling incredibly…alone.

You sipped on your drink with a frown, heart clenching at the sight before you. The sound of partygoers would’ve normally been music to your ears, but all you wanted in this moment was some time with your own thoughts. That and to be far away from JJ Maybank.

Realizing your cup was now empty, you forced yourself to look away from the sight before you. You turned your back on blond and blonder, stumbling across the beach to get another drink. You almost tripped over your own feet and probably would have if it weren’t for Kie.

“Woah, hey! You okay…?”

She steadied you, and when you glanced up, the concern in her eyes was evident. You’d never been much of a drinker, and especially not to the point of inebriation, but you weren’t exactly yourself. You hadn’t felt like yourself for a while, now.

“I’m fine,” you told her, but it was a lie.

You weren’t fine.

You were in love with your best friend…and it was all his fault.

JJ had always been attractive. Even if that had never meant anything of consequence to you, you could still admit it. He was funny, charismatic, kind, and way too forgiving for his own good. He was always the life of the party, and he’d never failed to make you smile. He’d always been that way, so none of that was enough to make you fall for the guy, but then he had to go and start having sex with you.

Granted, it only happened twice, but twice was enough.

You weren’t a casual girl. You didn’t even know how to go about being a casual girl, and now that he’d added sex to your dynamic, it was hard to keep seeing him as your same best friend. It was hard not to stare, not to linger on the way his laugh traveled through the air or the way he shook his hair out of his face when it got wet. You’d found yourself drinking him in on more than one occasion when he was fixing his bike, swallowing at the sight of his stomach when he used his shirt to wipe his face.

In the months since the last time you’d had sex, it had snuck up on you.

You felt more excited to see him more than any of your other friends. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, and when you weren’t with him, you’d absentmindedly wonder what he was doing…and who he was doing it with. The thought always made your stomach turn, and you’d get the feeling like you’d be sick.

Like now, for example.

You poured yourself another drink, frowning at how close he and some girl were standing. They hadn’t stopped smiling since they met, and you wondered to yourself just what was so damn funny. You blinked back tears as you downed the drink in seconds, quickly getting another. You ignored Kie’s voice as you disappeared into the crowd, wanting to be as far away from JJ as possible.

You felt so stupid…because you knew this would happen.

You knew yourself, and you knew this would happen, but no. You just had to listen to JJ and let him in your head and convince you that everything would remain the same. Now, here you were, months later and dreaming about and sulking over your best friend. Every time he so much as touched you these days, it was almost enough to do you in. You were torn between feeling grateful you hadn’t had sex with him again since that evening in your yard or feeling sad that you hadn’t.

“Woah, hey, where…where are you going?” John B. wondered as you moved past him and Sarah.

“Home,” was all you said.

You could hear footsteps behind you, and you grumbled when the brunette stopped you.

“Like this? Y/N, you’re so drunk,” Sarah said from beside him, reaching for your drink.

You gave her a look as you held it out of reach, daring her to try and take it. She threw John B. a pleading look, and he sighed.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Why don’t we all just call it a night, and you can crash at my place…”

You both loved and hated the sound of that, but your desire to collapse and cry yourself to sleep won. You reluctantly nodded, allowing Sarah to take your hand as John B. disappeared behind you. You weren’t in a talkative mood, and you were so glad that Sarah respected that. She was helping you into the van when you heard the last voice you wanted to hear.

“Why did you let her drink that much?”

“I’m not a child,” you answered before John B. could.

Everyone seemed shocked at your tone, but you couldn’t find it in you to care, opting to lie down. You closed your eyes, ignoring everyone until you felt a jacket being placed on you. The smell of it was familiar, and you didn’t even open your eyes as you shook it off.

“Y/N, it’s like 60 degrees-.”

“Why are you even here?” you wondered, opening your eyes and fixing your gaze on JJ. “What happened to your girl of the night?”

The blond didn’t respond right away, looking at you strangely, and for a moment, you almost thought he could see right through you. It made your heart skip a beat, and he slowly shook his head.

“That wasn’t…that wasn’t anything. Besides, even if it was, you’re drunk,” he said, like you were more important or something.

You rolled your eyes at that, closing them and forcing back tears.

This wasn’t like you. At all. You didn’t cry over guys and get so drunk you could barely stand and snap at your friends. JJ was turning you into someone you didn’t recognize, and you hated it. A year ago, your friendship was as strong as it could’ve been, and now…now you could barely look at him. Before, you wouldn’t have even given a second glance to JJ and some girl, but now the thought was almost enough to send you spiraling.

Why did JJ even have sex with you in the first place?

Everything was fine.

When you blinked, you took in the change of scenery, and it wasn’t hard to guess that you’d fallen asleep somewhere along the way. You were in a familiar living room, and you didn’t need to sit up to know you were on a familiar couch. How you got there was a mystery, and you could faintly hear the voices of your friends from down by the water.

You wouldn’t be joining them, preferring to isolate yourself, and the thought made your eyes water. This thing with JJ was even affecting your other friendships, and you sniffed, sitting up. Your mouth felt so dry, and you were just about to journey to find some water when you were startled.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong with you?”

You jumped at the familiar voice, and you pressed your hand to your chest. You hadn’t even noticed JJ to your left, lounging in the dark like some creeper. You didn’t answer him, simply huffing and attempting to stand. You probably would’ve collapsed if it weren’t for the blond.

“Nothing is wrong-.”

“I don’t think I can ever remember a time when you were drunk…especially this drunk.”

“Why do you care?” you loudly wondered.

You didn’t miss the frown that covered his features, and you knew you were being a bitch. JJ was your best friend…of course he cared, but you were so lovesick and frustrated and drunk and angry that you weren’t thinking straight. Sleeping with JJ had changed too much for you because now you wanted him to care about you the same way you cared about him…and because he didn’t…sometimes it felt like he didn’t care, at all.

…and that wasn’t true.

“Of course, I care,” he softly said, forcing you to sit down.

He sat down with you.

“You’re my best friend…”

Those words had you closing your eyes, and you couldn’t stop your head from dropping.

“Hey…” you felt his hands on you. “What’s wrong?”

You could only shake your head, and you felt his hands on your face, now.

“JJ…”

You always told each other everything, but your relationship with him was so different, now, and you genuinely didn’t know how he’d react if you told him the truth. You didn’t think you could take it if he got that look on his face, the one where he looked both sheepish and in pain all at once, before telling you he didn’t feel the same. You knew it was true, but you couldn’t handle it if he told you outright he’d only wanted you for sex.

In your drunken state, you couldn’t handle that…so you kissed him instead.

If JJ was surprised, you couldn’t tell. Especially not with the way his hands tightened on your face. The presence of your friends right outside and down by the water was so far from your mind. Your drunken brain could only focus on JJ’s hands running down your sides and pulling at your dress. He seemed just as eager to be inside of you as you were to feel him there. You let out a sharp moan when his fingers brushed over you, and the blond shushed you.

“You have to be quiet,” he whispered, fumbling to release himself.

You pulled on his shirt as you laid down, pulling him on top of you, and you shuddered when you felt the tip of him poking against you. He was so hard already, and your heart clenched as you wondered if that was for you or leftover from her. JJ’s lips were hungry against yours as he reached down to push your panties to the side.

Your mouth parted into an O shape against his lips as he slowly pushed into you. It had been months since he’d stretched you out this good, and you almost couldn’t contain yourself. When he was fully inside, hips firmly pressed to yours, he held himself there for a while. It was as if he was basking in something he’d missed too, and you were too impatient, lifting your hips against his and letting out a small whine.

At that, JJ pressed his hand to your mouth before pulling his hips back. Only the tip of him remained inside of you before he surged forward, pushing into you with a force that made your eyes roll. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, and you breathed through your nose.

Every push of his cock had you shuddering and clenching around him, missing this and him so much. You felt so full when JJ was fucking you, more than you had with any of your previous boyfriends and the thought had you faltering.

JJ wasn’t your boyfriend.

He never would be, and as he fucked you against John B.’s couch, a few tears escaped. You wanted him to be, but this was just sex. That had been established since the beginning, and it was your fault for giving into something you knew you weren’t cut out for.

You felt like you couldn’t get close enough to JJ, wrapping your legs around him and lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. His fingers were digging into you and holding you so tight there was no doubt they’d bruise. His face was in the crook of your neck as he curved his hips into yours, breathing labored as he stuffed you full of his cock.

When he lifted his head, he removed his hand, kissing you on the lips before his lips traveled to your cheek and then jaw and then neck. He was kissing you and tasting you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from shuddering at the words that escaped his lips.

“You feel just like heaven,” he breathed. “You always do.”

You softly moaned his name, wrapping your arms around him and holding onto him.

“Always keep this pretty pussy nice and tight just for me,” he mumbled. “…always fit me so perfectly.”

He was murmuring incoherently, fucking you and kissing you and biting you. You could hear the squelch of him plunging into you, gasping as he hit something inside of you that made your back arch and toes curl. You were so drunk and he felt so good and you were on cloud 9.

“JJ…” you breathed. “I have… I have to tell…”

You trailed off, sinking your teeth into your lip to swallow down a moan. You were shaking beneath him, legs falling from around him, now as you let him fuck you. You moved your hand, reaching under his shirt too run your fingers across his torso.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, head thrown back as he grinded against you. “JJ, I have to tell you something.”

He cursed, looking down to where he disappeared into you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slowly pushing into you. “You can tell me tomorrow.”

You wanted to tell him, now, but you could feel yourself hurdling towards the edge, and your drunken brain was too focused on trying to remain quiet. JJ’s hand covered your mouth again as he felt you getting close, his face buried into your neck as he became determined to make you come.

You kept your eyes on your drink, the same drink you’d had for the better part of an hour. Ever since that night a few weeks ago, you’d been kind of scared of alcohol, and ever since that night days ago, you’d been scared of JJ. Not genuinely, of course, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be around him and act the same around him.

You still remembered the feel of his hand on your waist in the water. Everyone else had gone inside, oblivious to your pleading gaze as the last thing you wanted was to be alone with JJ. Not because you were afraid you’d have sex with him again, but because of the opposite.

Waking up alone and still in your clothes from the previous night on John B.’s couch hadn’t made you feel as worse as knowing that you’d had sex with JJ again, and this time, you were the one to initiate it. The level of disappointment you’d felt had been astronomical, and you’d wanted to cry for being so weak and pathetic and cowardly.

You’d had sex because it was easier than telling him you were in love with him.

It was easier than facing rejection.

You’d officially hit rock bottom, and it was that morning that you’d decided something had to give. You’d gone straight home to shower, and you’d developed some resolve by the time you got out, telling yourself that this couldn’t go on like this forever.

Seeing JJ after that third night had definitely felt like a punch to the gut, but you told yourself you needed to get over this. He acted the same as he always had, you guessed, and you swallowed down any feelings that arose when he hugged you or grabbed you. You reminded yourself that once upon a time, you’d felt nothing at all at his touch, and that it needed to be that way again.

You’d been mentally preparing yourself to have the inevitable talk whenever that came up again.

You hadn’t expected to have it so soon.

Before, where there’d been literal months in between, this time, it was only mere weeks. His hand on your waist in the water after everyone else had gone inside had startled you, and while the sight of his wolfish grin did elicit butterflies, it also made your stomach churn in a negative way too. It was hard to miss the slight from on JJ’s face when you’d pulled away.

You’d been able to hear him following you to the edge and out of the water.

“What’s wrong?” he’d wondered, and you’d swallowed, slightly miffed because you thought you’d had more time.

JJ had never wanted to have sex again so soon, and you didn’t want to linger on what that could mean. It was just sex to him, anyway, and you didn’t doubt that he’d be disappointed, but you knew he’d get over it. For the sake of your friendship, you both needed to get over it.

“I don’t really want to do that anymore, JJ,” you’d slowly murmured, grabbing your towel.

The silence that met you was loud, and when you looked over, you confirmed that he was deeply frowning at you. It was hard to place the look on his face, but the surprise was easy enough to spot, and you wrapped your towel around you as he came near. Water dripped from his blond hair and down his face and onto his chest.

“I don’t… I don’t get it,” he lightly chuckled, but it lacked humor. “I thought everything was fine. Did I do something-?”

“No,” you had assured him, shaking your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, trust me.”

You’d watched him run his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he studied you. His blue eyes hadn’t looked so warm then, and he’d scoffed.

“The old ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing, huh,” he’d drawled, rolling his eyes towards the sky. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are…”

“Then why aren’t you being honest?”

“I am,” you’d firmly told him. “I don’t want that anymore, JJ.”

You’d shrugged, glancing away.

“It was fun…sure, but we knew it couldn’t last and…”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” he’d wondered, tilting his head. “It couldn’t last so might as well end it, now, right?”

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve said that he was angry, and his reaction confused you. You’d shaken your head at him, holding your towel around him.

“Why does it matter? It’s just sex to you, right?”

JJ had blinked at that, like he’d forgotten that, and you’d pulled your lip between your teeth. The whole ordeal was hard enough, and you hadn’t understood why JJ was making it harder. When he hadn’t said anything more, only nodding, you’d finally decided to join your friends inside.

That had been days ago, and your hopes that things would go back to normal had been squashed when JJ had been giving you the equivalent of the cold shoulder ever since. He wasn’t cruel, of course, and it certainly wasn’t noticeable by anyone else…but you knew.

You knew it in the way he didn’t direct his jokes towards you or in the way he didn’t hug you anymore or how he didn’t even offer to drive you home. It was little changes that completely flipped what you knew of your friendship, and it had taken you by surprise.

…because JJ was mad at you.

…and you didn’t know why.

Your friendship had wound up in the one place you hadn’t wanted it to be, and more than you ever had before, you desperately wished you had never slept with him in the first place. Here you were, at a party and fighting with your best friend, only you couldn’t understand why. To add insult to injury, you had to leave your other friends in the dark about it. You couldn’t even imagine taking it from the top with them, dreading to hear Pope go on a whole ‘I told you so’ rant about Pogue on Pogue macking.

Feeling utterly alone and filled with regret, you decided to just cut your losses and go home.

You wondered if JJ took the whole thing personally, like it was specifically him you were rejecting and not the casual sex of it all. Surely, he had to understand that this whole thing should’ve never started to begin with. Had things been so peachy from his side? Had he had none of these thoughts, none of these doubts about what you were doing? At all? You found it hard to believe, and then you remembered Kie saying something once about men being simple creatures.

Maybe JJ really had thought that everything was perfect, and why wouldn’t he? He could sleep around with whoever he wanted and still turn around and get it from you too. From his point of view, he was probably on top of the world.

You were halfway to your house when you heard it, the sound of a bike, and you really didn’t think much of it until it started to slow. Looking over, the last person you expected to pull up beside you was JJ, and you paused. You eyed him as he stopped, and you watched his shoulders heave with a heavy sigh.

“Hop on,” he said.

You opened your mouth to say something when he continued.

“It’s late and…you shouldn’t be walking home…”

He wouldn’t look at you, and you found his behavior so odd. Still, as weird as he was being, he was right. It was late, and no matter how much of a weird place your friendship was in, you weren’t going to turn down his offer to take you home.

You swallowed at the feel of wrapping your arms around him. It reminded you of both the simpler times of your friendship, and the more complicated where your feelings for him were literally making you miserable. When he parked at your house, you were surprised to see him getting off the bike too, and you eyed him, watching him sigh again before looking away with a taut jaw.

“Can I come in?”

You blinked, taken aback, but unable to refuse.

“Of course,” you softly told him.

You had a feeling this conversation wouldn’t be light, and you wondered if you should play pretend at first and offer something to eat or if you should just tell him to get right to it. You turned to face him just as he locked the door, and you blinked at him.

JJ looked…troubled as he leaned against the door, just frowning at you.

“I don’t…I don’t want to break it off…”

That admission didn’t really shock you, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” you mumbled, recalling his reaction that day.

“I thought things were good,” he quietly said.

“For you, maybe,” you scoffed. “Not for me…”

You crossed your arms over your chest, plopping down onto your couch.

“So, that’s it,” he said it more like a statement than a question. “Just like that you decide its over.”

You swallowed down the words you really wanted to say, confessing to him how you felt, but you knew it would only hurt you. You reached up, rubbing your temples as you stood. JJ was still leaning against the door, staring you down, and you shook your head.

“I don’t understand this, JJ,” you whispered. “You can and do sleep with whoever you want. Why does it matter that I don’t want that to be me anymore?”

“…because the thought of you sleeping with anyone else makes me sick,” he sneered, shocking you.

The vitriol and malice in his tone had your eyes widening, and before your eyes, it was like a mask dropped, revealing the angry guy underneath. You scoffed, glancing away with a shake of your head.

“We’re not together, JJ,” you slowly started. “…and besides you don’t have to worry about that anytime soon.”

Only God knew how long it would take you to get over your best friend, but as he approached you, you wondered if that day would come sooner rather than later. You gasped at the way he grabbed your arm, and again, there was that troubled look in JJ’s eyes, like his own actions shocked you just as much as they shocked him.

“I didn’t…”

His voice was quiet, and he trailed off, releasing a shaky breath through his nose as he stared at you. You watched his blue eyes rake over you, drinking you in and studying everything about you. You watched his face fall some, and he stepped closer. His hold on you kept you from taking one back.

“I thought I could sleep with you and that would be it,” he started, huffing to himself. “I didn’t know I’d be thinking about you almost every day since…fighting the urge to fuck you in front of all out friends…”

Your eyes widened.

“I didn’t think I’d drive myself crazy thinking about the day you finally got another boyfriend, and you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t be mine anymore.”

You were at a loss for words, somehow both hearing what you wanted and what you didn’t.

“I tried to just let it go, fight it, but I couldn’t…and I…I had to have you again, and I tried to fight it again, and then you…you kissed me this time,” he said through clenched teeth. “You wanted me and then you just broke it off.”

You furiously blinked, trying to gather your thoughts, but JJ kept talking.

“I wanted to break something. I wanted to break someone’s neck,” he spat, moving closer. “Now, that I’ve had you… I don’t think I can just let you go.”

Both of his hands were on your arms, now, and you pressed your hands to his chest.

“JJ, wait-.”

He swallowed your words, kissing you, and any fight against him was futile. Your mind was trying to make sense of this turn of events. There wasn’t anything to be happy about because you didn’t know if JJ actually felt something for you, or if this was pure possessiveness. Ownership. You wanted to talk about this, but the way he ignored your protests and resistance had you rethinking everything.

JJ wouldn’t let you get a word in, keeping his lips on yours, and you yelped into his mouth when he tore at your shirt. You sucked in air when you turned your head away, pushing against him.

“JJ, stop-! What are you…?”

You gasped when he shoved you onto the couch, and you felt like you were having an out of body experience. The very same best friend that you loved was pinning you beneath him, pulling your skirt down because you dared to put a stop to whatever this casual fling was.

Any thoughts entertaining the revelation that maybe he actually felt the same way this whole time was gone. This wasn’t love. This was about a guy feeling like you owed him something, owed him a part of you, and you yelped in pain when his teeth sank into your chest.

“JJ, stop,” you tearfully pleaded, pushing against his face.

“Why? Huh?” he wondered, hovering over you and holding you down.

His blond hair hung into his face, and his blue eyes were hard, staring you down like you’d done something wrong.

“So things can go back to the way they were before we slept together? If I say I don’t want that then what?”

You sniffed, trying to close your legs, but it didn’t prevent him from pushing into you, stretching you out in a way that was so familiar. You shuddered at the feel, and JJ pressed his tongue to the inside of his lip, watching himself slowly disappear into you.

“You don’t have half a clue what you do to me,” he murmured, leaning down and pinning you beneath him. “You don’t even get how you’ve ruined me for anybody else.”

He snapped his hips against yours, a harsh grunt leaving him, and you gasped. One of his hands had your wrists pinned to your stomach, the other forearm was pressed into the couch beside your head, holding himself up so that he could alternate between looking at your face and looking down to where you two connected.

“I…I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t… I can’t let you go.”

You turned your head away.

“I can’t let you end this.”

Your face crumbled at that, wondering if you’d just told him how you felt, if it would have ever come to this. Then again, it was better to know what JJ was really like, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it better to know that he wasn’t the sweet and caring guy you always thought he was? Surely, it had to be better to know that he was capable of anything under the right circumstances too.

That was what you told yourself, but as he plunged into you, sliding his cock into your now slick walls, you almost wished you’d remained in blissful ignorance. As you shuddered beneath him, you wondered if this was where you would’ve wound up eventually even if you had refused him that day in the van.

“Fuck,” he cursed, slowly thrusting into you and forcing a whine to climb out of your throat. “Just imagine…”

He pushed into you to the hilt, holding himself there and reaching up to brush his fingers along your jaw.

“If you had never shown me what I was missing.”

#jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx #obx fanfiction #jj maybank imagine

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bunicate · 7 months

Note

i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3

dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !

pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+

you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.

after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.

you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.

It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.

when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.

it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.

and then you see it.

it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.

that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered

“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.

you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.

he excites you.

you know it and he knows it.

“sure you don’t.”

he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?

it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.

you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.

before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .

and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.

so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.

he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.

you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?

just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.

it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.

even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.

two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?

soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.

you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.

“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.

“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”

and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?

“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.

“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.

there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.

it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.

things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.

“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."

and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.

"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”

you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.

“y-yes sir.”

such dangerous words.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut

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xxshadowbabexx · 29 days

Note

LMAO don’t mind me spamming you 🫣

maybe something with possessive/perv daddy kink + price and somno with the object of his desires? i’m frothing

ily <3

Devoured

warnings: dubcon, but it turns to enthusiastic consent, f!reader, somnophilia, cunnilingus, possessiveness/pervy-ness, daddy kink, praise, body worship, language, edging, begging, p in v sex, breeding kink

Gross. Disgusting. Perverted. Not quite the words anyone would use to describe the Captain John Price, but then again, no one could say they knew him. Not really, at least.

Maybe he didn’t even know it himself.

He groaned, muffling it by biting his lip and gripping his cock at the sight of your sleeping body. So pure, so perfect. He couldn’t think of you as anything else, which is why he was here now.

The 141 went to the pub after getting back from another successful mission, and some sleaze had been giving you eyes all damn night. He even had the audacity to offer to pay for your drinks. He asked you out, too, and of course you said yes. Naturally, Price had to have a “friendly” talk with the lad, and convince the man that he was in fact not free tonight, and would not be taking you out.

You looked disappointed when you heard the news, but Price didn’t mind. He was just doing what was best for you. He always did what was best for you.

And what was better for you than him?

He smiled to himself at the thought, moving to cup your cheek with his free hand. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Going t’ treat ya so well, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin before backing up.

He stoped groping his leaking cock, moving instead to peel the sheets off of your body.

Christ, you looked heavenly in your little pajama bottoms that just barely showed off the curve of your ass. He was starving for you.

Slowly, carefully he pulled your pajama bottoms off, reeling when he saw a lack of panties. Instead he was met with the sight of your glistening cunt. He couldn’t believe his luck, of all things you were already wet and he would get an instant taste of your sweetness the moment he swipes his tongue through your folds.

But the most important thing on his mind was whether it was him you were picturing in your wet dreams. It had to be, didn’t it?

He was confident in the fact, and used two of his prying fingers to spread your slick-soaked folds. He hesitated for a minute, memorizing the breathtaking scene in front of him before diving in. He moaned at your saccharine taste, hands coming up to wrap around your thighs so he could pull you down on his face.

You sat up at the sudden movement, eyes scanning the room for danger, only to freeze when you realize the perpetrator was between your thighs.

“Pr- ah fuck, Price?” you questioned, unsure. This had to be a fever dream. There was no way the man you had lusted after was here, devouring your cunt like the best damn meal.

He looked up at you, blue eyes piercing yours and you swear you could see your slick decorating his facial hair.

“Yeah, ‘t’s me, dove,” he mumbled, lips attaching to your clit and sucking hard.

“Oh god-“ you threw your head back, hands finding rest in his hair, pulling the thick locks tightly.

He hummed into your pussy, practically making out with it, and if this was how he ate you, you wondered how he’d kiss you.

You couldn’t help but grind down on his face, loving the feeling of his nose nuzzling your clit, tongue teasing your hole and mutton chops scratching at your lips and thighs. It was sensory overload in the best possible way.

John was eating cunt like he never was before, overtook with everything that was you. And you could feel it as that coil in your belly tightened, could feel his obsession seeping through with every movement.

“Da- fuck John, ‘m so close,” you whined out, back arching and eyes closing as you felt the thread within you pull taut.

A pathetic sob left your tongue when he pulled back, licking his lips as he sized you up.

“What did you say, doll?”

“I said I was fucking close!” you complained, eyes rolling and exasperated at his blatant obliviousness to your oncoming orgasm.

He chuckled, smiling up at you, “That’s not wha’ I meant. Were you gonna call me daddy?” he teased

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks before you even realized what he had said. Oh. Oh.

He laughed, loud and boisterous at your flustered expression. “It’s alright, love. You said you were close, right?” you nodded, “Well then, you ought to beg your daddy to let you cum, I think,” the corners of his eyes creased as he mocked, utterly enjoying himself.

“Please…”

“Hmm?” he hummed, leaning forward, “Please what, darlin’?”

“Please make me cum daddy,” you felt shameful saying it, but it worked. His strong hands were squeezing your hips and thighs the moment the final syllable left your mouth.

He latched back onto your pussy, sucking, licking, and nibbling every inch he was blessed to touch. He was slobbering and moaning into it, eating your pussy for his pleasure.

Lying down, you miss the way he ruts his hips into the mattress, coating your bed lining in his thick, salty precum that’s been oozing steadily since he got his first taste of you.

One hand lets go of your hip, moving to prod at your hole, which greedily sucks two of his fingers in. You revel in the much needed penetration after his long teasing.

You both moan at the feeling.

His long and thick fingers struck that sweet spot deep inside you, matching the rhythm of his hips driving into the mattress.

You bucked up into his hands, driving him deeper and deeper while coincidentally grinding your clit on his face.

It was all so much and in the best possible way, the coil inside you was burning, aching to be snapped. But you couldn’t snap it, not without asking at first.

“Please, fuck daddy, ‘m so close. Please let me cum- please, please,” you moaned, hips canting pathetically as you hurdled towards your release.

Price moaned, “Good fucking girl. Go on, cum for daddy,” he praised, and you felt yourself snap.

You moaned, loud and unholy as you came. Your eyes were squeezed shut and back arching as you shook around his fingers and tongue. You were chanting his name like a mantra, only slowing down when you finally returned to your body.

You panted, opening your eyes to see John smiling up at you and rubbing your thigh.

“Feeling alright, love?”

“Fucking fantastic,” you grinned.

He stood up, positioning his cock at your entrance, “Good, ‘cause I’m not done with you yet,”

He smiled down at you, condescendingly as he pushed his way inside in one long stoke. The stretch of his thick cock burned your insides and caused you to attempt to close your legs, only to be stopped by his body between yours.

“That’s it, lovie, big fucking stretch,” he whispered against your skin as he bottomed out.

“Feel so full,” you whined, eyes teary from the pleasure as he started to thrust in you.

“”O’ course you do. Fucking squeezing me so tight,” you groaned picking up the pace.

He leaned back as he thrusted deep into you, thick cock splitting you open. His hands kneaded the fat of your thighs before pushing them up to rest on his shoulders as he leaned forward to kiss your face.

“Fuck John-“ you moaned as the new angle hit you even deeper. You felt helpless, bended in half and completely at his mercy.

You were loving every second of it.

“Yeah? Feel good doll?” he rasped, pressing kisses all over your face.

“S’good daddy, s’ fucking good,”

John’s dick twitched inside you, “Gonna cum all over my cock, hm? Gonna let me breed this filthy pussy of yours aren’t you? Cause it’s just mine. Say it,”

You whined throwing your head back, and he took the chance to suck deep love marks into the column of your throat.

“Say it, dove,”

“It’s all yours daddy!”

He chucked, “What’s all mine?”

“My pus- ah- pussy, my fuck- body. Fuck, I’m all yours daddy I swear. Always yours,”

He grins, silencing your lips with his has his hand creeps downward to circle your clit. You shudder at the touch, oh so close to another orgasm.

You mewled into his mouth as he sucked your tongue. You were spasming around his cock as he flooded your senses.

He pulled back slightly, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips as he whispered, “Can feel you tightening ‘round me sweetheart. Go on and cum on daddy’s cock,”

And fuck did you. Your head was thrown back in an ungodly cry of his name as you shook around him. He kept circling your clit and thrusting into you oh so right it felt like all the stars aligned.

You swear you could see heaven.

“Tha’s it. Good. Fucking. Girl,” he accentuated each word with a powerful thrust, sending your head spinning as you fell deeper. You tried wiggling away, pushing at him with your hands as the overstimulation built up.

“‘T’s okay, lovie. Just a little more. I’m so fucking close. Gonna breed you real good, okay? Gonna make sure everyone knows what’s mine,” he growls, pushing himself as deep inside you as he can before shooting his hot load directly at your cervix.

You gasped out at the feeling of him flooding your womb, only grounded by his thumb stroking your cheek.

“It’s alright, doll. I’m here. I’m here an’ I’m not going anywhere,”

taglist

@theloneshadow24 @frogtowne @ladyxtiger @whitetiger846

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #john price #captain john price #captain price #price #captain john price x reader #captain price x you #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #tw: dubcon

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getonite · 29 days

Text

YOU KNOW I LOOK TOO GOOD TO NOT BE HIDEOUS!

( synop. the voice inside of dazai's head swallows him whole ) contains. 1.8k+ wc — gn!reader ; dazai angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers ( hinted ), dazai gets a hug, alcoholism, drunk!dazai, pre-ada but post-pm, mention of vomit, dazai has a panic attack + cries, implied sh scars. ( the author is back on their torturing dazai bit ; this song literally belongs to him, okay. kinda pt2 to my prev dazai fic. )

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

#( mission ) — o. dazai #bsd x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #bsd fluff #bsd angst #dazai x reader #dazai x gn reader #dazai fluff #dazai angst #anime x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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dragonnarrative-writes · 3 months

Text

Part 7 - Date Activities

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Non-descriptive mentions of torture, numbers and math, brief nudity, allusions to cannon-typical violence (Ghost's backstory), red herrings, bones

“Where ‘m I?” You slur around a dry tongue. Struggling to balance your weight on your hips, try to wrap your arms around yourself. Too late, you realize that there’s not enough slack on the chain to complete the motion. “Where‘re we?”

You want to scream. You want to cry and hide your face. You’re horrified to realize that you want Simon, your version of Simon, to materialize on the edge of the bed and comfort you. Unfortunately, all you can do is blink and sway.

“If you’re dizzy, you should lay back down.” Simon’s voice from that jaw-less skull is so disconcerting. In your nightmares, the skull mask sounds inhuman. Distorted, echoing. The burning bush overlap of every person who’s ever made you unsafe. Now, it’s just Simon’s measured speech.

But the rest of him is just as big and dangerous as you remember. He’s dressed like he expects to have to fight someone. His black jacket is covered by some kind of utility vest with a bunch of pockets. A handgun sits in a thigh holster, and on his other hip is the Big Knife. He’s not wearing his usual boots, these are heavier looking. If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d be terrified.

The masked killer on the other side of the room tilts his head and regards you for a long moment. The weird silence is such a Simon thing to do that you let yourself take your eyes off of him enough to take a quick look around the room. His chair is by the only door, a solid looking wood. To the left side of the room, there’s a bare folding table. On it, from what you can see, sit bottles of water, a bag of grapes, and some brown packaging. There’s another folding chair. At the foot of the mattress, there’s a huge, black hard case. The kind you’ve seen in action movies.

“Right now,” Simon finally answers. “You’re in the safe zone."

You blame the drugs in your system. It’s the only reason you can think of to look him in his eyes and blurt, “That’s not a fuckin’ answer, you cryptic asshole.”

You’re glad you’ve learned to read his eyes, because they’re amused when he stands. Even across the room, he towers over you. You clutch at the blanket to, what? Protect yourself? But Simon just crosses to the table and picks up a bottle of water and a sleeve of saltine crackers. He chucks both of them at your legs before returning to his seat.

“Sip the water, eat slowly,” he instructs. “And I’ll tell you the rules of the game.”

You can’t think of a reason not to, so you struggle for a moment with the bottle cap before bringing the bottle to your lips. Your mouth feels gross and fuzzy, but the water is cool. The crackers, when you finally tear the packaging, are exactly what you needed. You wish you had some ginger ale.

“You told Kyle that I’d taken you hunting,” Simon starts. “But I hadn’t really. First time was a happy coincidence. Second time, you planned the date activity and I kind of hijacked it, yeah?”

If your neck wasn’t so thick, I’d strangle you, you think. You take another sip of water.

“So I thought to myself, what parts of hunting might my sweet, clever girl be interested in? How can I make sure she’s having just as much fun as me? And I remembered your little cubes.”

You narrow your eyes at that. The Rubik’s cubes were one of the first signs that he’d been breaking into your apartment. By now, he knows that you know how to solve them. Two weeks after he’d moved in next door, though, he hadn’t figured that out. It had made your skin crawl to come home from work and see the colors in the wrong places. Now, sometimes, he’ll present the cubes for you to solve while you talk. When you hand him the completed puzzle, he scrambles it up and hands it back.

“You didn’t kidnap me to make me solve a giant Rubik’s cube,” you say.

“No,” he answers. If you could see his face, you think he’d be smirking. “But the first part of the game is a puzzle. You have to get out of the room.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you want to scream. Instead, you slowly eat your way through the crackers and sip your water and think. The metal cuffs on your wrists are far enough apart that you can easily reach the locking mechanisms. They’re just tight enough that you can’t wiggle out, but they’re not uncomfortable. You can’t see where the chain to the ground is latched, so if there’s a clasp on that end, maybe this will be more simple than you think. You doubt it.

Daylight is streaming in through the window behind you. The shadows of the bars are very obvious, so the only way out of the room is going to be through the door. Simon’s sitting on the hinge side, but the only way you’ll get out before he blocks the way is probably if he’s on this side of the room. Facing the table, maybe. Preferably not standing.

Maybe you can strangle him with the chain.

You freeze as soon as the thought enters your mind, cracker halfway to your mouth. Wrapping the chain around the neck of that death mask only makes sense. But the idea of killing Simon makes you feel like vomiting.

When you look back at him, his eyes are as heated as they ever get. “Don’t worry, precious. I made you a promise last night. No killing, no wounds. No “Saw” puzzles. Just a little escape room. Told me you like those.”

Had you? That sounds like something you would have said, back in the beginning, to see what he would do. You take another sip to clear your mouth and settle your stomach. You’re already feeling better. “What are the rules?”

“You’ve got ninety minutes to get out of the cuffs and get into the chest. Once you’ve done both, the timer stops, and I explain the next part of the game.”

“Can I ask you questions once I get started?”

“Of course,” Simon says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

You bite your lip. “When does the timer start?”

“You tell me when you start,” he says. “We’re not in any rush.”

“What’s in the chest?”

“That,” he answers, eyes crinkling with an obvious grin this time, “you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

That is not an answer you want to hear, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You rack your brain for any more questions. There are, of course, about a million. But the one that sticks out is, “Why were you so nice to me, last night? You could have just drugged me. You did, anyway.”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looks at you. He holds eye contact, so you don’t look away. After a full thirty seconds, he hums. “You said you missed me. That you wanted to be with me. You asked me to stay. I liked it.”

The way he says it, warm voiced and slow and soft, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. There’s a spark of something in his eyes that you don’t want to examine. You’re too afraid to look away. But then he blinks and lets his eyes drift up and away from you. The breath you didn’t know you were holding whooshes out of you.

“Guess I’d better get started,” you say.

When you stand to the side of the bed, you find that you’re wearing one of his shirts, a pair of underwear, and a pair of socks. The room isn’t unbearably cold, but it’s not comfortable. The chain to your cuffs is much longer than you expected. You think it’s long enough for you to walk all the way around the room, unimpeded. If so, it’s long enough to get out the door, with a little extra slack. It’s locked to a loop bolted into the floor with a key lock.

You walk around to the table to get a good look at everything. There’s the water. The brown packages are four MREs, which you recognize from camping trips back when you were a teenager. There’s actually a few different fruits - grapes, apples, bananas, a bowl of chopped watermelon of all things. All of that is gathered on one side of the table. The side close to the empty chair has a manila folder. A glance inside shows printouts, three pages of text and forms, with some of the information redacted.

You let the folder fall closed and walk over to the chest. There’s two combination locks, each with four dials, one with numbers and the other with letters.

That’s two wrist cuffs, the lock for the chain, and two locks on the chest. If the cuffs share a key, this might be doable. If not… “Two or three keys, and two combinations?” you ask.

“Two keys, two combinations,” Simon confirms.

You do a quick calculation in your head. “A little more than 20 minutes per puzzle. That’s pretty tight, but doable. What happens if I don’t get it done in time?”

You turn to look at Simon and catch him looking at your legs. When he meets your eyes, his are smirking again. “You lose time in the second part of the game. And you’re going to want that time.”

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you walk to the wall across from the table. There are some cracks in the paint, a couple of scattered, discolored spots. But it doesn’t seem deliberate. So you leave it and head back to the table. The folder is tempting, but obvious, so you start with the fruit.

Bag of grapes, three apples, five bananas. You open the package of watermelon and poke around in it. No keys. Not in the bag of grapes, either. The apples and bananas are whole. But one of the bananas has a series of numbers followed by Xs written on it in black ink. 11 21 32 XX. You pry it from the others, carefully, and take it over to the folder.

The metal chair is cold when you use your hand to pull it out. You turn back to the bed and grab the thin blanket to cover it, then have an idea. You shake the pillow from the pillowcase and strip the sheets from the bed. No key, but the pillow has another set of digits and Xs written on it. 7 13 26 XX. You lift the mattress to look under it, but there’s nothing else, so you let it fall.

“Can I have a pen?” you ask, absently. You’re surprised when Simon plucks one from his vest and holds it out for you. You snort as you walk over to take it. “Can I have the key to the cuffs, while you’re at it?”

Simon’s eyes do something complicated as you take the pen. Then he tilts his head, reaches up, and pulls a thin chain from under his shirt. On it dangle two keys, one a tiny cylinder of a thing, the other a proper key. He lets them both drop against his collarbones.

You dart your eyes between the keys and his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“’D prefer if you opened the folder,” he says with a shrug. “But I do have the keys. Cost you… 15 minutes for one.”

“Did you just make that number up?” You laugh. Then it hits you and you glare. “You’re distracting me and stalling.”

“You asked,” he points out, chuckling as you whirl on your heel to go back to the folder.

That is neither disputable or worth responding to, so you don’t. You drop into your seat and open the folder. The first thing you do is jot down the numbers and where you found them on the inside. None of the numbers are repeated, so you leave them for now. Then you pick up the first sheet of paper.

It’s the service record for one Simon J. Riley.

A lot of the information is redacted. Most of the page is blacked out lines. But you see that he enlisted in 2001, had some kind of redacted gap from 2003 to 2004, then resumed his service. Then it jumps out at you. 2007, KIA. You can’t help but look up at him, and find him watching you already. You scour the page for any other information, but there’s nothing. So you flip the page.

This one is some kind of tactical… memorandum? Too much is redacted for you to be able to get much information about who the report is for, so you just start reading.

Mission to Mexico. Drug cartel, name redacted. Compromised leadership. Someone got double crossed. You start feeling sick at the description of torture, but most of the details are obscured, so you push through. Then a line makes you pause, and you have to re-read it. You flip back and forth between Simon’s service record and the report.

“Simon,” you say slowly. Your stomach is really twisted in knots, now. You’re afraid to look at him, but you make yourself meet his eyes. “Were you buried alive?”

He says, “Yes.” Your heart breaks.

The next few lines are blacked out. You really don’t want to ask, but, “How did you get out?”

“Blood, sweat, and tears,” he says, vaguely. “Probably not something you want to think about, sweet thing. Don’t want to waste time.”

“I need to pause the game,” you tell him. “because I just read that you were buried alive.”

“An explanation will cost you an hour,” Simon offers. His eyes are crinkled like he’s smiling.

“Simon.” Your voice is sharp to your own ears. “What the fuck?”

“Tick tock.”

You know from past experience that getting any more information from him will be like getting blood from a stone. So you make yourself read on. There’s a confusing bit about… brainwashing? Without the full context the report is a mess. Multiple civilian casualties, then… mission objective complete? Lots of blocked out text, surrounding a single word. ROBA.

You jot that on the lower half of the folder, then skim through the documents again for any numbers. Besides the years in the service record, there’s nothing that jumps out. So you jot down 2001, 2003, 2004, and 2007.

You decide this is a good enough place to start with the puzzles. The numbers on the pillow seem simple enough. You’re not good at math, but you’re good at patterns. You eliminate a few possible addition patterns, recognize it probably isn’t pure multiplication. Considering who Simon is, you gamble that there’s probably no fractions or decimals involved, so it’s probably going to be some combination of multiplication and subtraction. And as soon as you think of that, you see it. Times two, minus one. So the last number is 49.

The the second puzzle, from the banana, tickles your brain because you know you’ve seen it before. The numbers aren’t doubling. And it’s not simple addition. Adding in sequence seems to work. Adding 10 to 11 makes 21, then adding 11 works to get to 32. Plus 12 would make the next digits 44. That seems almost too easy, but these kinds of puzzles usually are. And it is a possible answer, so you write it down.

The only other potential numbers are the dates. If you pick the last four digits, that’s 1347. Another code. Unless it’s 2222. Or 0000. Or 2020...

Now you have a few potential 4 digit codes, and a possible 4 letter code.

“Time check?”

Simon looks at his watch. “Sixty-two minutes left.”

You hum an acknowledgment, and flip the pages in the folder, and the folder itself. There’s nothing else, so you leave the papers on the table and take your notes over to the crate.

Simon makes an interested noise through his nose. “That was fast.”

“Haven’t found the keys, yet,” you answer, “Gotta get a move on.”

You start with the letters, because it seems straightforward. And then you’re a bit stumped, because the lock doesn’t have a B available in the third slot. Or an A in the first. So you’ll have to find a cypher or something before you can tackle this one. Disappointing, but you still have time. You move over to the other lock and hope you have what you need. 4944 doesn’t work. Neither does 4449, 9444, or 4494. 2222, 0000, and 1347 are all a bust. You make your way through 1374, 1437, 1473, 1734, and 1743 before you give up.

“Fuck,” you grumble.

Crouched as you are, you have a new vantage point to consider. You scuttle your way under the table without putting your knees on the ground, and look at the underside. Sure enough, there’s a doodle of two bananas with a pillow in between. The dates were most likely a red herring. Or they’re the cypher to the letters.

“I got the numbers wrong,” you grumble.

“You’re a smart girl,” Simon says. “You can figure it out. Fifty-seven minutes.”

You scoot from under the table and make to stand up, but something on your leg catches your eye. Dropping onto the now bare mattress, you lift the edge of your shirt, Simon’s shirt, and see writing on your inner thigh, upside down so you can see it easily. Four digits, 01 10, and another fucking banana.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan.

Simon snickers from his chair.

You grab your folder and pen and jot the new string of numbers down. 01 10 11 21 32 XX. Obviously, adding in sequence no longer works. It’s gotta have something to do with the number of 1s in the sequence, so you try to let go of math related assumptions. The first two numbers swap their digits. Then two ones. Then a two and a one. Then a three and a two. Zero plus one is one. One plus zero is one. One plus one is two. Two plus one is three. Three plus two is… five as the first digit? Sliding the tens to the ones place is one, zero, one, two… three. 53.

Banana pillow banana, then, is 5493.

Before you go to check, you stand up to lift your shirt up to look at your belly, then higher to look at the skin of your breasts. You ignore the low wolf-whistle Simon makes to do a quick inspection. Nothing jumps out, so you let the shirt drop a bit and pull your underwear away from your hips. You feel a bit silly staring at your own crotch, but it’s Simon so you figure nothing’s really off limits. And you’re rewarded with the discovery of a piece of tape with a doodle of a heart on it. The tape is garment quality, which explains why you didn’t feel it.

The heart doesn’t really give you much, but you pull it out and slap it on the folder anyways.

“Forty-nine minutes,” Simon says when you look up at him.

Back at the chest, you click the dials to the number sequence you identified and grin to yourself when the lock gives an easy snick as it opens. The other lock is still a mystery, but you’ve got one down, and still plenty of time to request the cuff key if needed.

You turn to look up at Simon from where you’re crouched. “How much does a hint cost?”

He pretends to think for a moment. “For that lock? Flash me your tits again.”

“Nasty,” you roll your eyes as you stand up. You lift the shirt up to your neck and are startled when he sits forward to rest his hands on your hips. The skull mask gets even closer, and then he’s kissing over your heart, eyes locked on yours. He leaves his lips against you through his balaclava, thumbs rubbing over the place where your hips meet your belly.

You stare down at that bone face from less than two inches away. You used to hope it was plastic. Now you know for a fact that it is not.

And then he lets you go and sits back, crossing his arms over his large chest. He looks at his watch.

“Forty-six minutes.”

You gape at him. “Where’s my clue?”

“That was your clue.”

“That’s the least helpful clue ever,” you complain.

“You found all the other ones,” Simon points out. “But I’ll tell you the solution if you let me fuck you.”

You scoff. “I don’t need you to tell me. I can figure it out.”

“I know,” Simon’s grin is easier to make out this close. “My clever girl.”

You grumble, but you can’t help but grin as you try to think of what the four letter sequence could be. On a whim, you try TITS. The letters are present, but that’s apparently not the combo. Heart has too many letters, but maybe has something to do with feelings. The lock doesn’t have the right letters for LOVE, forward or backward. Same with HATE. You try SRSK for Simon Riley the Serial Killer, but that’s not it. You’re on a date, so you try combining his initials with yours where it fits, but that’s not it either. In a fit of pique, you try TITS again.

Then you take a deep breath and think about Simon and you. Your relationship. DATE, KILL, and CARE are a bust. AMOR, EROS, HOLD, BOND. None of them work.

You’re getting antsy because you still need at least the key for your handcuffs and you're running out of time, but you make yourself take a deep, slow breath. SLOW and DEEP don’t work. And then you pause and look up at Simon’s face. At the skull.

BONE.

Nope. But it was worth a shot.

But thinking about skulls and bones makes you think of skeletons. Dead bodies. Cemeteries. Simon’s service record, breaking your heart.

BURY.

The lock clicks open.

You’re giddy as you swing the lid of the chest open. And, almost immediately, you scramble backwards, shoulders colliding painfully with Simon’s knees. Without thinking, you clamber up until you’re perched in his lap, staring in horror at the human skull grinning up at you from atop black cloth.

A piece of tape is on the right temple. In Simon’s scrawl, it simply says BRANDON.

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