Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe.
"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”
The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.
"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.
Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.
He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.
"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”
You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.
Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.
His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”
Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.
“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.
Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.
Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights.
“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”
Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.
“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”
Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.
Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"
You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist.
"Ah, fuck—b-but–"
Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach.
"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.
Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.
He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."
The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”
Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.
Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.
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Honestly I think a lot of people who have never made a gif for tumblr don't get that it does actually take time and effort, its not just rip it from a video and post it- you have to download the video, in my case I have a video player installed that grabs continuous caps, figure out what parts you need, you have to open those in photoshop or gimp, depending on where you got photoshop you might be paying for it every month and then on top of that is actually sizing, cropping, colouring, sharpening, adding text, etc. etc. like it is something that takes time and effort for which the only real reward is creating something that makes you happy and hopefully people reblog it with a nice or funny tag, so maybe keep that in mind the next time you think gif makers are being mean or unfair for being upset about reposts. It is its own little artform that is fairly unique to this website, and that's a big aspect of why I have always loved tumblr, if all the gifmakers stopped posting things would be a lot more boring around here.
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under the covers
words: 1.3k
warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, caught, drunk/tipsy sex, unprotected sex
you’re trying to hold in your giggles as rafe pulls you inside, his large hands swallowing your waist, fingers tucking into the small sliver of space between your shorts and shirt to touch your bare skin.
“shh.” rafe tries to quiet you, but he’s smiling too, letting out a small laugh before pressing your lips together in a kiss to hopefully keep both of you quiet.
“c’mon.” you whisper against rafes lips. “take me upstairs.”
“yeah, yeah.” rafe nods, hand wrapping around yours. he looks quickly around the corner before tugging you towards the stairs, making your way up as quickly and quietly as you possibly can.
“get in, get in.” rafe whispers as he opens the door to his room. you rush inside, glad that you made it up to his bedroom without being caught, both a little tipsy but not drunk enough to not care about getting caught by rafes family.
you wrap your arms around rafes shoulders as he effortlessly picks you up, carrying you towards his bed, his hands gripping your ass.
“i love this dress.” rafe says when he sits you down, flipping up the bottom of your skirt as you let out a squeal at your underwear being exposed. “shh!” rafe reminds you to be quiet, but his worried face just makes you giggle, hoping the walls are soundproof despite the house being old.
“take your shirt off.” you tell rafe as you reach behind your back to undo the corset-style ties holding your dress tight to your body.
you manage to wiggle out of your dress while rafe unbuttons his shirt, tossing it away to reveal his muscles. you swear every time you see him shirtless he gets more attractive, your hands reaching out to run over his torso, laughing quietly as you poke his nipple.
“stop it, silly girl.” rafe shoves your hands away.
“let me play with them.” you try to reach up to his chest again. “let me play with them then you can play with mine.”
“fine, for like a second though.” rafe will always indulge you if it gives him the opportunity to play with your tits.
you reach up, thumbs running over his nipples, pulling your lower lip between your face in concentration.
rafe lets out a quiet moan, his eyes squeezing closed when you flick over the buds. “holy shit, you like this.” you state when you realize that rafes cock is pushing against the fabric of his pants, having hardened quicker than normal.
“shut up.” rafe groans, knowing now that you realize how sensitive his nipples are that you’re never going to leave them alone. “take your bra off.”
“mmm, fine.” you hum, rubbing the pad over your fingers over his nipples one more time before reaching behind your back, tugging your bra off and tossing it away, adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor.
“such pretty tits, baby.” rafe coos, reaching down to cup your chest, his large palms easily holding your heavy breasts.
“gonna come suck on them?” you ask, knowing how much rafe loves to get his mouth on you.
“yeah, lay back.” rafe cocks his head towards the top of the bed, and you quickly scurry to lay yourself against the pillows, adjusting them slightly as rafe tugs his pants off so hes just in his underwear like you are, feeling a bit of relief now that he’s not straining against his zipper.
rafe crawls over your body, pressing his cock into your thigh as he ghosts his lips over your nipple before flicking out his tongue.
“oh shit.” you moan, one hand fisting in the comforter while the other grabs rafes shoulder, digging your nail slightly into the skin, but rafe loves the pain.
he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth while you moan, trying to keep your voice quiet enough to not wake anyone up. you made the mistake of being too loud one night, thinking since ward and rose were gone that gave you a little more clearance, only for sarah to pound on rafes door and tell him to keep it down.
“so good, baby.” rafe praises you, dragging his mouth over to the other side of your chest, making sure to give both sides equal attention.
you let out a shiver, the cold air combined with the loss of warmth from rafes mouth causing goosebumps to rise on your skin and your nipple to pebble even more.
“are you cold baby?” rafe asks, his voice soft and cooing, so unlike how he speaks to his friends, only allowing this side of himself out for you.
“yeah, need your cock inside me to warm me up.” you giggle, not usually bold enough to dirty talk but the alcohol flowing through you is loosening your tongue.
“of course.” rafe hums like its the obvious answer. he stands off the bed to take off his underwear, his eyes on you as you smirk and raise your legs to pull your own panties off.
you spread your legs to show rafe your pussy, already wet for him in anticipation.
“god, can’t wait to get inside you.” rafe says, taking a moment to tug the comforter from underneath you, crawling onto the bed and draping it over both your bodies. its an uncharacteristically cold night in the outer banks, despite the summer sun warming the air during the day, the winds have brought a chill to the island.
“mmm, very warm now.” you smile, the heat from both of your bodies now trapped.
“still need my cock though?” rafe asks.
“mhm.” you nod quickly. “fuck me, please.”
“aww, baby.” rafe laughs, taking your knee and raising it to wrap around his waist, sinking to his elbows as he uses his hand to line his cock up with your entrance. “you never have to beg me.”
rafe pushes his cock in slowly, knowing he can’t go too fast because he didn’t open you up with his fingers or tongue, having to resist your soft moans and whines until he’s fully seated inside.
“god, so good.” you rub your fingers over rafes scalp, taking a breath to relax, allowing your body to release its tension of suddenly having rafes cock pushing against your walls, stretching you open.
“hey, rafe!” the voice calls from outside, making you both pause, realizing at once that the door is unlocked as ward turns the handle, stepping into the room and continuing to speak, “i need you to help out tomor-”
ward suddenly stops speaking, seeing you in bed, trying to hide underneath rafe and the covers while he hovers over top of you, thankfully any nudity being covered from wards eyes.
“rafe.” ward sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “you didn’t tell me you had someone over.”
“sorry, dad.” rafe says, straining to not move, his cock still solid inside of you. “y/n is over.”
“hi mr. cameron.” you say, wondering if its clear what you are doing with rafe at the moment, hoping ward is just thinking you’re cuddling or something.
rafes hips suddenly move, making you let out a noise thats a combination of a moan and a gasp. he pulls out almost completely before pressing back inside of you, the movements somewhat slow but still incredibly obvious.
“rafe, stop!” you whisper, cheeks turning red as rafe ignores your plea, continuing to thrust inside of you, despite his father still standing in the doorway.
“jesus christ, rafe.” ward sighs with disappointment. “anyways, i need your help tomorrow so don’t stay up to late… and be safe. use protection.”
ward finally leaves, closing the door behind you.
“rafe!” you look up at your boyfriend, reaching to hit his shoulder. “you couldn’t sit still for one fucking minute!”
“sorry, baby.” rafe laughs, the alcohol clearly affecting his judgment. “had to move, your pussy is too good.”
“you’re lucky i don’t listen to wards advice and make you use a condom.” you groan, even as your leg tightens around rafes hips, encouraging him to move faster.
“aw, come on baby.” he pouts. “you wouldn’t.”
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Thrill me, Fulfill me
You agreed to help for one mission—now you are both lustful and carnal, affected by sex pollen—you are flint, he is tinder.
Warnings - sex pollen, smut, rough/possessive sex, Hydra past, breeding kink, choking kink, multiple orgasms
Words - 8k
(the 3D render is for this fic, enjoy :3)
The horizon tips on its side, and slowly, hour by hour, the day spills out and soon the night will spread its darkness—traveling through the countryside is a charming escape and in a chronicle of events, with the light of the days—you feel the light inside too, your human spirit wanders in thoughts as you sit on the BMW’s trunk with closed eyes. It is June, and the world smells of roses, moments like these leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going—in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, Bucky and freedom—your soul feels at peace.
“I talked with Sam, he wants me to help him” There is an endearing nervousness in his voice “I was wondering if you would like to come with us”
In an instant, you reply with an annoyed face “No”
“No? Come on, you need people other than me in your life”
He scolds as he nests between your legs, fingers finding their way on both sides of your hips, drawing soft circles as they travel up towards your waist.
You arch an eyebrow at him, as if the answer is obvious “I don’t need others”
“You will love Sam, I told him about us, I mean-about us living together”
“You did, why?” you clip your words, hissing them into his face as you give a wide-eyed, searching look.
“I used to invite him over to my apartment, he started wondering why I stopped. I wanted him to know anyways”
“What else did you tell him?” you look at him with an arrested expression. His smile fades, and he finds himself staring into your eyes “James?”
It is only a brief moment, but you catch his blink of surprise at your demanding tone before he offers a tentative smile.
“I-I told him about your connections and he was hoping that-” he trails off quietly and you notice a tightness around his mouth and a dimness to his usually bright eyes.
You regard him thoughtfully and he sees the comprehension dawning in your eyes. You know exactly what he is asking.
“Did you miss the part of how I built them?” you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
He huffs in annoyance “Well no, but don’t worry-”
“Oh, hey Sam, I am another brainwashed assassin and when I escaped I did it willingly, for money, nice to meet you by the way”
“I get it, but you are changi-”
You snap, pinching your eyebrows close together.
“And this is my former partner who I used to occasionally fuck at Hydra and now that we have reconnected, we are fucking and living together”
“Anything else you want to add?”
“No, that's all” you finish bitterly, furious with him for letting Sam know so much about you.
“He already met you once in Madripoor, he knows about your past. Trust me, he is a good person, he accepted me”
You let out a hollow laugh
“I am not Captain America’s best friend, James. I am nobody, I don’t even have a legal identity”
You explain in a humorous yet deprecating tone, staring into space.
“Look at me, you need to trust me” he coos, his blue eyes have a doorway to your heart, the place where his care for you resides “I know that you are scared, but you need other people in your life”
It's the caring that he lovingly gives, the passion that he shows—that convinces you every time.
“If I break your heart, I break mine, darling”
Shifting your mouth from a frown into a light-hearted smile, you let out a small chuckle from underneath your breath. His metal hand rests on the small of your back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected—vanity, fear, uncertainty—all such distortions within your own ego—condition you to stay silent about your own feelings. Your programmed mind-pattern still needs to heal, all you need is time, you will get there eventually.
You kiss him on the cheek, which kind of surprises him.
“Хубаво, ще дойда” (Okay, I will come)
His gaze flickers up to your eyes and he can detect no deceit, no mockery.
There are many circumstances that lead to arrogance: one is when you're wrong and you can't face it—but you decide to face it this time, because you know that your brain relies on the familiar. It is reluctant to experience the unknown, which is the very essence of your human life.
The past should have no power over the present, but it still does sometimes—anger and death are deeply rooted, your emotional thermostat is broken. Everything in you is broken—you view yourself as pieces and Bucky somehow sees you as a whole.
Inside, your soul was so cold that you hated everything. You even despised the sun, for you knew you would never be able to play in its warm presence—you were condemned to stick to the past, working as a hitman for years. Everything changed when Bucky decided to track you down. You knew he was spying on you, because you made it easier for him.
You were afraid of the aloneness that you trusted for so long, but that is the truth that you still store in the granary of your mind. Maybe you will tell him one day. Maybe one day you will let him know that he helps you abandon your corporeal prison.
"Я просто люблю запах страха" (I just love the smell of fear) you whisper—a knife-wielding lunatic.
You face the attackers in a kind of instantaneous flash and see the disconsolate eyes, which remain stamped on your heart like the hot coals of fear, the power of death is then borne out by you—the queen at the bloody carnival, not afraid to spill blood while Bucky tries to prevent hurting, killing people at all cost.
It is easy when you work together, just as in the past—but he is holding back, you are not used to seeing him fight so carefully—Winter’s brutality is non-existent.
You sigh as the last man drops dead to the ground. With a knife in his chest. Or, rather, a pair of knives in the chest.
Yes, you helped them locate the rumored Hydra base, but Bucky’s intense paleness on his face shows regret, because you still don’t mind killing—you give him a pitying smile when your eyes meet before your system is poisoned with something.
It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion that you forget why you are here. And then your eyes meet again, there is fascination in his gaze, menaced by some invisible danger, and you want to succumb the terrible desire to weep when you realize what it is and you look at the mysterious trembling of your hands—your gaze goes up, but Bucky is nowhere to be seen.
He knows he has to go somewhere, he heads back to the apartment and he has feelings of sorrow, regret, directionless rage, a broad feeling of impotence. The horror of this misfortune penetrates Bucky so deeply that he is close to a panic attack—as if reliving the nightmare he sometimes has—Hydra giving him the pollen back in 1990.
He wanders all through the rooms as if walking in his sleep, chewing on his quiet rage.
He knows the theoretical mechanics of the pollen and he can barely stay on his feet because of the weakness of his knees, his skin is burning and he can’t resist the urgent need to palm himself through his pants—it starts slow and will go progressively worse.
He rubs his hand over his scalp, where his long hair used to be—now shaved very close to his head and bristling against his fingers, he lowers his blue eerily crystalline eyes before closing them. He feels like he should be crying, but he couldn’t summon the tears.
—it’s all his fault. Why did he need to come to your apartment a year ago, on a beautiful August’s evening?
„I knеw that we were following me, Soldat,“ you loudly acknowledge him, drawing out the derogatory term while your back is turned to him.
Stillness wraps Bucky up in a cold embrace, a chill running down his body as he hears you speak. On the string spun of your angel voice, grief and pain drowns him. The tone drawn from memory in his dreams it’s the same, unblinking, robotic as you offer him one spare look before focusing on cutting vegetables on the wooden board.
He exhales, then he slowly enters the apartment. „It is not Soldat, it’s Sergeant now“ his breath hitches and he stops as soon as he enters the room.
There is a crack in his stoic expression, excruciating memories flooding his mind. He knew that somewhere, some day, maybe at a less miserable time, you may see each other again, but he couldn't wait any longer.
The memories are still in his mind and the pain—too ripe in his heart. The more deeply he felt, the less he was able to breath, thinking of grief, and of getting past it.
That's why he came. He needs you in more ways that he wants to confess.
„Oh? What do you want, Barnes?“ your face is carefully blank.
„I wanted to talk to you“ he starts, taking a couple of steps towards.
Shadows lick up the side of his cheekbones, making his skin gold as he slowly walks to the opposite side of the kitchen island, you hear him move the wooden seating.
„And you couldn’t just-I don’t know…have knocked on the door?“
„Sorry, I didn’t know how to-“
He says, a tremor makes his voice uneven. Bucky takes in a deep breath to balance out the embarrassment thrumming through him.
„It is easier to be loyal to past habits, can’t blame you“ you murmur, voice perfectly respectful as you think about it with a heavy heart.
You said it as a matter of fact, without the scorn and mockery, but as an accepted truth before placing the knife you have been using, on the cutting board and finally facing him completely as you step closer to the island as well, leaning forward on your elbows.
But the wintery feeling of the pollen is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring that summer's memory of meeting you.
The memory played in his head, with a hopeless nostalgia that he was completely disoriented—he doesn't care if you are heartless, vicious and vulgar, stupid, grasping with incurable programming and mental problems, he enjoys spending time with you. He would rather have misery with you than happiness with any other person, because it is shared, you have a deep and silent understanding.
He was so happy when you suggested living together four months ago—he was okay with the sleepovers at each other's apartments—never was bothered with the need to rush your companionship.
The key to personal development lies in the daily routine—creating new memories with you stretches out psychological time, and lengthens his perception of both your and Bucky’s lives. When he wakes up from a nightmare he is so relieved, because he wakes to a dream, he enjoys the miracle of living with each other as much at the table as in bed.
Bucky finally lays on the bed, his head aches. He admits that he is still human, vulnerable, and sensitive—but he begins to remember how it had been when Hydra gave him the pollen and his self revolted at this, hates himself for not being able to fight it, hates himself for bringing you here.
He is sick with conflict, destructive emotions festeres in him while this sludge eats away at his insides and Bucky is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time, it will make him become blunt and callous—there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get for him, but maybe this is what he deserves.
When you push open the bedroom door, you can’t prevent it from scraping against the uneven floor. Suddenly, in the absolute darkness of his mind, Bucky is brought back to reality. He is not surprised, for without knowing, he has been expecting you to come.
You close the door behind you as he stands up on his elbows—wondering why are you such a stubborn, blind, obtuse woman—why are you here?
Your scent carries across the room and paralyzes him with longing.
“Stay away, why did you fucking follow me?”
You stop in shock at the words he utters—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless.
He is vulnerable, slightly paranoid. Although his voice is broken by uncertainty and his hands seem to doubt the existence of things—he tries to appear composed.
You can feel his eyes traveling up your whole body, staying on your side for a split second before moving up to meet your gaze.
“James, we don’t have another choice, we don’t have time”
You can't blame him—he is scared, scared and frozen, afraid of what he can do to you...the old primitive urge for sex. It's getting harder to control it with every passing minute—every second is lived with terrible intensity. It all flows over you with a screaming ache of pain—as you see him, the need grows even faster...and all you can do is remember and feel—the effects of the pollen—like a disease of the blood, dispersing throughout the body.
He looks like a bundle of past recollections, knotted up in a bundle of flesh.You remember what his flesh has gone through—but you also remember what he put you through that day. You feel the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation, you appear solid in front of him, but you are mimicking nothingness.
“God, I smell you. So hot and sweet”
The blank hell in the back of his mind starts to break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, the pollen eats away the pith of his humanity—the chaotic words pour out of his mouth as he gets up from the bed and you self-paralyze, your back hits the door—but this is the only way that will pull you both out of the plunge of—pain, need.
Your sexual attraction to him has been heightened beyond measure, as much as you try to bury it deep down in fear, the lust is getting greater than any other feeling or emotion. Every part of him is heightened to you now...his voice included.
He stops in front of you, belatedly realizing where his feet have carried him. There is no glamor, no attempt to hide it, nothing: his need taking slowly over all his senses. The unwelcomed bubble of intrusive lust, sinking into an even more heavily occluded state—you feel it too as he molds his front to yours and pins your breasts against his chest.
You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation, waiting for him to do whatever he wants.
You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as he cages you against the door, his consciousness already vanishing and deforms itself in something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze.
“I want to taste you so desperately, it rages through me-fuck, fuck this-I want to fuck you”
His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning— it’s hard—but not harder than his cock.
“Do it, come on” you gasp out.
“If you don’t get out of here, you know what will happen”
He explains weakly, and when you say nothing, he grabs your waist with both hands, vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire.
Bucky’s control dies a slow death, shedding layers like leaves until—there will be none—he tends to be particularly rough, aggressive and possessive when given the pollen. You remember the feeling of possessiveness he had as the Winter Soldier over you, so intense it transformed into an obsession over your body.
“I'm not leaving, I need this as much as you” you say, tremulous with longing.
Bucky stares at your mouth as you speak—it looks provocative to him when you talk.
“Enough, dammit, leave”
His voice tightens, it pierces your soul—half agony, half lust.
You still have the choice of running away and finding someone else to do it, but leaving Bucky behind—you know there is not a girl in the world that can handle him, no one else has the serum, but you—your brain is ricocheting in between. It all drifts to the periphery of the mind when you meet Bucky’s eyes.
“It’s normal-” you say haltingly, your expression turns guarded.
He is livid, a sad look on his face
“We are not normal” he interrupts with a soft firmness “It’s insane to pretend we are”
You are both aware. Catastrophically aware.
“Stop talking, we’ve been through that once-”
and you look so well-equipped for this that is seems abnormal to Bucky, he is conquered by the obstinacy of you—so docile and willing to help—he wants to be emancipated for the moment from the torment of the pollen, but the guilt is still eating him.
“Do you remember the year it happened?”
"You always ask me whether I remember the stupid years, lets just-” you say with a shrug.
"It matters, it matters to me. I hate that you remember, I hate myself for what I've done to you” He explains, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his human hand.
"James” you whisper his name tremulously “I don’t blame you for anything”
His pain is paramount and you want it to end. His pain, his guilt. You are willing to suffer for the rest of your night so that he can take the easy way out of his needs. You admit it to yourself, without bitterness—you need to sacrifice dearly on behalf of Bucky.
“I’ll lose control” What you cannot forgive is dishonesty—you would rather know the hideously unflattering truth of his devastating visions than foul evasions “If you try to run now, I will probably chase you down anyways”
With all that waiting you have lost the strength of your legs, the firmness of your breasts, your tenderness look—barely keeping your heart intact. Maddened by that prodigious talking, you shamelessly groan, closing your eyes.
“This is bad,” you whimper “Oh God, this is bad. Please, do something”
The next critical manifestation: the unbearable pain.
“Snezinka-” (snowflake)
“Stay with me” your eyes shone “Play with me, please” like those of a cat.
In that state of hallucinated lucidity—you just can’t take it anymore. Presently the need grows stronger, hesitating then no longer. The attempts to conceal the pollen’s effects don't work anymore.
“At least…give me permission this time” Bucky shakes his head, sadness vibrating through his body as he speaks through clenched teeth.
“Yes, do whatever you want” you moan, shaking, desperate for his touch.
And then you see something possessive wash over him, making your body shiver in anticipation.
“Please, I need yo-”
You say, nodding at the soul-reaching blue crystals, not looking away from him, but Bucky doesn’t let you finish as he kisses you. His lips are warm, his body is heat and muscles against you. He kisses you like a tide, gentle at first, but with the ability to drown, his fingers digging into your waist, urging you ever-nearer to him, even when it’s physically impossible to be. Then his fingers slithers over your chest, hands immediately find your breasts and he starts to massage them for his own pleasure.
His fingers curl around the edges of your soaked blood shirt, pulling and eventually tearing it away from your skin.
There is lust and there is pain, a whirling wheel—not stopping.
He wastes no time, kissing you deeply again, already missing the feeling of your skin.
“I am yours, you know that”
A simple reply, his voice cut into you like glass, his words bleeding into your skin. It isn’t something to be argued against, it’s the truth and you acknowledge that. It’s ridiculous, absurdly sentimental to think that you managed to lay a claim on him like you did in the past.
You are trying to think of something, coming up short when he presses his hips flush against yours again, the chest harness wrinkling under the tight grip of your fists, pulling him and he hems you up against the door, grinding his cock against you. You slide one hand downwards, wrapping around his hard manhood and squeeze, Bucky moans quietly and involuntarily rolls into the contact, desperately seeking relief.
“Fuck” he says, a bit too breathlessly.
„James-this is not enough“ you undulate your hips against the aching bulge.
His name falling on his ears like that sent chills down his spine, he can hear the beat of his heart, his palms belong on your skin as he closes the gap between you. Nothing is sweeter, nothing else than you—lust is spreading like quickfire in his veins, groaning in the kiss.
“I know, I know” he whispers, a hint of exasperation and affront in his tone, leaning forwards to kiss you yet again, teasingly licking at your lips as he pulls away.
Sexual perversions mix with guilt and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed.
You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. The corners of his mouth curve upward when he notices you staring a moment too long as he removes his jacket and shirt.
You remove your own pants and then you spread your legs open, positioned right in front of his standing body—one hand toys with your breast through the bra while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drags them down your legs fast before throwing them in his direction.
His breath stutters as he catches them with his metal arm, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft. It’s becoming more painful. He starts to pump his cock, the veins bulging beneath his grip—even in his large hand, it looks intimidating, the veins in his neck tightening.
He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. Your eyes continue their upward travel to his strong square-shaped face framed with short brown hair that falls to his shoulders and deep, blue eyes.
He then craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten now.
It is the impatience of the way he tears your bra from your body that really scares you: the pollen getting the better of him and you spread your legs wide, exposing your overall and the fragrance of the essences permits in the air, he smells it.
His cock nudges around your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt.
Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming, this selfish. He is so far in that his balls are right against your pussy lips.
His greedy lips are once again on your skin, devouring everything he can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back his throaty moans. He drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth. His lips are usually gentle and loving, promising long days and summer forever—but they soon turn sharp, peppermint, winter.
Animal logic. Prey. Predator… teeth dragging against your neck, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples; shooting up and down your spine.
You're perfect when you're underneath him, it's where you belong, beautiful face and pretty wide eyes locked onto his powder-blue orbits—curves cushioning him, your obedient body lush, muscular, but still feminine, your eyes flashing—and all he wants is to ruin you.
It's a sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out. You make the prettiest noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, you've got the prettiest expression as he grips your legs and folds them up to fuck his dick into you even harder than before.
“Don’t stop, don’t, please”
There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.
He continues to trail his lips down the front of your throat and you realize that he is mouthing words against your skin “Mine. Mine. Mine”
“You feel so good every time, snezinka” he murmurs at your ear as slide to your throat and he tightens his grip on both sides on your neck, reducing the blood and oxygen to the brain. When he loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by a shamelessly loud moan from your lips “I think that I love you”
“We’re drugged. That’s why,” you gaspe “Did you forget?”
Bucky acknowledges your words, they sink into him—he focuses his attention on your skin. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, skin breaks out into a pale sweat and your eyes fill with tears. His trusts are ruthless.
“There is no pleasure as good as the feel of your pretty cunt wrapped around me” a dark edge creeps into his tone.
He says as he fills out pounds you, drawing a muffled scream from your throat as he starts to thrust more rapidly, setting a demanding rhythm.
Something strange starts to rage inside him, hearing you inhale sharply as he continues to kiss and bite your neck, leaving bruises deliberately and as he fucks you deeper, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way—he wants to breed you.
And you know you will wear the bruises of Bucky’s hands as you wear the scars of Soldat.
All extremes of the pollen are allied with madness, finally consuming his brain and body.
“You are so beautiful”
He says into your skin, tears welling, confused, mingling in his throat. Old wounds never truly heal, your past will never fully heal anyways. That one tear, that tiny, salty, droplet of moisture is a means of expression—joy, and torment. Although it's just a small tear, it is the heaviest thing in the world. And it doesn't do a damn thing to fix anything in this situation.
“James-” your whole body exhaled a lugubrious lament, your heart breaks for him.
His eyes are always soulful, in some way; they seem to say things that you know he's probably never say out loud.
“I know baby, I know,” he nibbles on the side of your neck “You are so beautiful, I am sorry-so sorry, I can’t stop” his growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length “I need this, I need you”
You’re powerless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his voice sends shudders through your body, reacting in all the right ways to the words. The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, tears slipping down the old salty trails as he doesn’t stop, his head lulling on your shoulder.
He leans down, nose brushing against yours as he pants, thrusts never faltering, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb. He closes his eyes, because of the volcanic eruptions of fever still goes through his body—his orgasm is long, raw, reaching all his body senses.
Sex is unthinkable without roughness tonight—he is already thinking about his second orgasm—should he just cum in your mouth when he makes you fall to your knees… or if he should take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. Of the few times Soldat has face fucked you—gagging you to near vomiting—you’ve never miss a drop of cum. He remembers it.
His hand closes around your throat and the grip tightens, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. Your head is spinning, ears are ringing—suddenly, without warning, he withdraws completely, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. As you try to catch your breath, you feel him get up from the bed which urges you to come back to your senses faster.
In his temporary madness, an idea comes to his mind.
In seconds, he is back on top and when your vision finally clears—his lusty orbs descend to your cheeks, detailing your skin before leaning in to lick off your tears—some form of mercy which you don’t need.
He is now in that state of fire that excites you. You want to be burnt.
His eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and he smiles, nova-flare eyes blazing into your own—you look for love hiding in his eyes, in his face, and you find nothing but possessiveness.
But something is not right.
His eyes are cold and dark.And your heart stops.
He is taking you over. Staking a claim.
He slowly thrusts his hips forward, his cock pressing into your front, earning a squeal from you as he ruts back and forth dragging his length across your opening and then slowly plunges into you. You exhale, trembling as you feel the tip pressing against your opening and penetrating you. He is mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you, filling you up to the brim.
Bucky brings both of your wrists above your head and grips them in his metal arm, restraining you from moving them—and you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as Soldat used to capture his favorite prey—you—in the past.
A flash blinds you for a moment and you see him holding his phone—this feels surreal—leaving you breathless with an inexpressible delight of it. Bucky’s inner voice of lust speaks, it is so spontaneous and unannounced. Your mind searches for the logical thought of his action.
“Fuck, I can cum just by looking at it” He musters his primest tone, throwing the device to the side.
You whimper as your abdomen contracted painfully around his hard length at his words. He lets his fingers release your hands as his cold digits swipes back the hair from your face. Cursing, he grips the back of your neck and brings your lips to his while the metal ones grip your hip so tightly you are sure he’d leave a bruise. You whimper as he starts to fuck you, slamming you into the matress.
The usual warmth of his hands is not there. They chill your skin as they hold you close to his body, and you realize he is scared. The extreme joy mixes with the bone-crushing grief—what if you don’t want to be around him after this night? What if you condemn him, consider it with high and unjust resentment and leave him? It pierces his soul, but he can’t stop—he is half agony, half animal...the past beats inside like a second heart now.
Your soft fingers trail his face and continue to attempt a connection that he refuses to acknowledge at first—the past slips and vanishes like sand between the warm touch of your fingers, acquiring material weight, only in its recollection, because the more shared past there is in any relationship, the more present you need to be for each other.
“Let go," you whisper and he loosens the grips—he is ashamed of holding you so tightly "No, not of me," you say smiling.
You look right into his eyes, right into him as far as you can see, because you want him to hear you, you want him to hear you with everything you say—and his chest tightens as if some euphoric drug has gone straight to his nervous system—but it is not the pollen, it is you—reassuring him, leaving a psychic imprint in his mind.
It’s both a blessing and a curse to share the same trauma. And even though you are sometimes harsh, restless and despairing—he is your weak spot, you love him in your own way.
"You can hold on to me as long as you want. Let go of the past, let go of the pain" you say, giving him permission, taking him into your flesh, a clear invitation to madness.
Emotions clamp down on his heart, but he stays terribly silent. Bucky says nothing after that, only your name, as if your name is not a name but a question. He shakes his head and kisses you, long and quiet.
He grabs your jaw in one hand forcing you to look at him, tears coursing down your cheeks as he thrusts into you, making low, growling noises in his throat—a predator purring with pleasure while it devours its prey, picking up a brutal pace once again. Your legs tighten around his waist, hooking over his hip bones as he practically folds you in half, nails digging into his back, surely breaking his skin with your manicured fingers.
He groans at the pain and removes your hands, intertwines his fingers with yours, pins your wrists flat to the mattress on either side of your head. He holds himself up over your body as he fucks into you, supporting his weight on his forearms. His cock is slamming into you, balls bouncing against your clit just right, the sight of his well-muscled body, covered in a thin layer of sweat, invites you to utter depravity, it is what drives you over the edge.
“You look so good taking all of me” he pants against your throat “I will fill you again-so good”
Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.
You whimper and nod dumbly, screw your eyes tight as another wave of pleasure spread throughout your body in orgasmic tingles as he pulls his own climax with you. He presses his face against your neck as his hips lose any and all sense of tempo and when he finally stills, he holds himself deep inside as he leans back—with every breath, your bust heaves, sweat droplets running between them and attracting his gaze.
It pollutes his mind even more, it cripples his morality, because he is infatuated with fucking you like this again—is it the pollen at this point?
''Bear with me'' He murmurs, gritting his teeth ''I need…more” his cock slowly sliding out of your tight pussy before sliding back inside with equal slowness, sliding through copious amounts of thin lubrication and cum. Your legs wrap around his waist and prevent him from pulling out even if he wants to—your understanding, your willingness is a kind of ecstasy to him.
The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put your finger on. What is he thinking about?
A part of him cares about you.
But there’s a depravity in his mind right now that enjoys seeing you like this—your hair is in disarray, several tendrils scattered across your face and constricting your view of him, sweat pricks at your hairline and down your back. There is something unmistakably exultant in turning you into a mess—such a mess of cum and tears. Gently, he brushes the tendrils out of your face, tenderness in his touch—that’s the part of him that cares.
“I need you on the floor, on all fours” —that's the part of him that's deprived tonight.
You can feel the desire. The thirst. The absolute beast threatening to tear from his skin.
Soldat loved to fuck you against solid ground. He never truly left, sometimes Bucky is on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath, but you don’t mind, you are not scared, you never were.
All he wants is for you to be filled, marked, bruised from staying up all night, taking his cock into your body until you are depleted of all your strength. Even then, he will fuck you. He doesn’t say more, but he groans as he gets up—what a sinful twist of his lips, watching you slowly get up, your legs are incapable of supporting your weight much longer.
Your cunt hurts, too—you feel his cum dripping down your thighs, making yourself position in doggy style, legs winched apart, everything exposed to his view and he goes to stand on knees behind you, eagerly holding up his cock then he lines up your hole. He twists your hair around his fist and yanks your head back, at the same time thrusting into you from behind as his fingers slide to dig into your ass.
Bucky grunts as he slams into you “Я без ума от тебя” (I'm mad about you) his balls slapping against the sensitive nub. You choke on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. You arch your back more and dig your nails into the floor, clawing at the dirty ground as he relentlessly pounds into you. Sweat drips down his neck as he watches himself entering and exiting you.
He grips your hips tightly, slamming into your snatch with ferocity. A wave of pleasure suddenly overwhelms you, and the tingling is growing stronger once more.
“Я предан тебе…ты моя девочка”(im devoted to you)...(You are my girl)
You can only mewl and gasp as you are rocked back and forth on your knees, losing your breath every time his cock hammers into your cunt. You clench around him when you hear your full name spoken in his gravelly tenor.
He molds his front to your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. He grabs your hair and snaps your head back roughly before it travels down around your throat and squeezes tight while his other palm splays across your stomach.
His lips rests on the back of your shoulder, hissing
“Очевидно, что , нас чувства друк к други” (You can’t deny what's between us)
He carries on rutting you like an animal. Your skin slapping together, your pussy squirting around his cock as it invades your snatch repeatedly, making suction squelching noises with every thrust in of his length. It keeps on hitting your cervix, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking—you know that you will be sore later.
"You fill my heart, I fill your cunt"
But his words strike every inside your body and his honesty brings the euphoria of complete surrender.
“Enough, stop, it is too much”
You plea and nearly asphyxiate on the words as your orgasm bursts upwards from your abused cunt. A sob wracks your throat and he continues thrusting, riding your orgasm until your entire body is convulsing and you are desperately trying to wiggle out of Bucky’s arms with the last of your strength, but it's not enough compared to the strength of his arms holding your hips with renewed vigor, determined to breed you.
You catch sight of him from your peripheral vision, his eyes closed, his lips are silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, the way he fucks you. And you thought that he chose that position, because he was embarrassed, but he was not—he wanted to disguise from you how much he was enjoying himself.
You have the strength to kill him, but here you are—so obedient.
His little submissive.
His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind.
“James”
His name on your lips sooth a place deep inside him, and the urgent need to hear it in again pulses in his heart, making himself guilty of such a secret, he must perforce hold it—
—but he shamelessly let out a loud moan, he never felt so out of control. You are a disease worse than the pollen itself.
“Bucky”
That makes him groan like an animal, noises coming out of him that you never heard before, he was never this vocal. The groans are desperate, endless, but the sound of his name is unspeakably erotic to him. He can’t get enough of this. He will die without it, without you.
“You look too pretty when you’re getting fucked like that” he blurts out, without even thinking.
There is already a fissure in his mind and madness just rushes through. Praising him puts him on edge, it’s something he never thought he wanted or needed. You wreak havoc on his life.
He squeezes his eyes shut—to utilize the entire spectrum of the other senses, moans of ecstasy crescendos and his breaths come in short instances, each with a slight pause in between as his body is rack with his orgasm, cum is flooding out of your cunt, dripping of you onto the hardwood floor and there is a charm about it that makes it unspeakably desirable for Bucky.
In this stillness, he finally finds serenity.
All you want to do is crawl back beneath the mound blankets—he gently picks you up and you smile crookedly at him, something about your smile loosening a knot in his chest, because holding you in his arms is more natural to him than his own heartbeat.
Morning came in through the blinds cutting everything into ribbons, but the light can make the most vulgar things tolerable—you are aware of the aching hips, and your whole body hurts like hell as if you have been run over by a train.
Bucky steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered with a white towel around his lean hips. He takes a half step toward the bed, and his jaw works for a moment before he asks
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired, did you tell Sam what happened?”
“No, of course not. He is thankful that you helped us” He says and rakes his fingers through his damp hair, making it stand on end “He invited us to Louisiana”
You barely resists smiling at him “Okay”
He raises a brow “Just like that, okay?”
“If you give me my bracelet back”
You both look at the bracelet around his right hand. Then he bites his lip as he grins.
“Not happening” he says, his tone flattening and he can't help the smirk that tips up the corners of his mouth.
“Guess I need to buy a new one then” You peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in and you watch him climb next to you “With your name on it”
His palm reaches up to wrap around the back of your head, his fingers tangling in the depths of your hair, pulling you closer, his lips hovering over yours. Everything about him pleases you.
Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He is an obsession waiting to happen. Kissing him is terrifying, breathing the same air makes your knees weak, a liquid sensation swooping throughout your stomach—but you've been betrayed, stabbed by every single person in your life, the body heals, but it injures the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime. You are scared of love, scared of these new feelings, scared of trusting anyone, but you are trying—that’s why you gently press a kiss to his mouth.
(Her kisses are deliberate and polished. When she kisses me—she doesn't want me. She has me and knows it.)
Bucky throws himself onto the couch next to Sam, slewing his eyes over to him.
"So you are sleeping and living together, but you are still not in a relationship?"
He takes a long sip of his drink when he hears the words, tips his head back against the couch, and decides he could…maybe live with that.
"Yeah"
Sam’s lips tighten to suppress a smile "That's a bit weird, Buck"
He chuckles, low under his breath "The part where I live with my ex-coworker or the part where we sleep together?"
James takes a deep breath, and Sam can see his blue eyes searching for his, like he is looking for an answer.
”Maybe it is what it's meant to be for now” A frown settles on Bucky’s face as he considers that “She has a lot to experience, too. If you pressure her with anything, you might lose her completely”
“I don't want to be in love, but she is making me, Sam” he sighs, a headache blooming right between his eyes. He rubs at the spot, stalling as he tries to figure out what he wants to say “But you are right, she needs to heal”
Several emotions swirl in Sam’s eyes. Worry, sadness, maybe even intrigue. But not judgment. Never. “Did she agree to go to Wakanda?”
He wets his dry lips and says the most basic truth:
“No, she is too untrustworthy, I can’t believe she even agreed to come here”
Sam sees it as hope—and he wants to put that light within his friend, too “But she did”
They can’t talk about it anymore, not when they hear you, Sarah and the kids coming back, and when your gazes meet, your soft smile and the look in your eyes, they are the best interpreter of your mind—you are truly happy, seeing you like that makes him feel like he can single-handedly vanquish an army.
He has outlasted all family, desires, dreams, his grief alone is left entire—sometimes visiting the lonely desolation of nightmares, they are gleamings of his empty heart—Bucky is a heap of ashes, but meeting you—kindled him back into fire.
Oh my goshhh thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this project!
More of this ex!Asset AU? - MASTERLIST
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doodled asami. i'll add korra next
this is how i see her in my head tbh
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KEEPSAKE:: na jaemin
WARNING:: 80's au, playboy! Jaemin, car sex, riding, hair pulling, oral, fingering, teasing, fingering, slight edging, overstimulation, slight rejection, teasing, sexual tension
SUMMARY:: after a failed date you expect some sort of a reward for putting up with Jaemin Na who still seems to be hung up on his ex.
Jaemin Na has been on many dates. One would even say that he has hooked up with half of girls after a date— which were all unsuccessful. It's not that there was anything wrong in particular with the people he has taken out, it's just that none of them have piqued his interest for a second one. And it just so happens that you had been taken on one of the said dates.
When Jaemin asked you out on a date to the movies and dinner you hadn't expected the movie to be some trashy chic flick about an American actress going to Italy and falling in love with her friend's married Italian lover. It dragged on for 2 hours and you couldn't stand to sit through the first minute of opening credits. But not only did you sit through a silent car ride on your way to the restaurant but when you sat inside the restaurant it felt like this terrible date would never end.
"I used to be on the volleyball team before I graduated and I started working with my friend, she's cool- she even has a neck tattoo" he rambled on and on for what felt like a lifetime. Only nodded off as he rambled on and on about working at the old movie theater and something about how his manager only shows up to be a dick.
But low and behold the lovely waitress with a tight-lipped smile "Would you like your bill.. or would you like to swing by a little later?" She asked politely looking at the both of you. "You can give us our check now" you answered quickly before pulling 30 dollars out of your pocket when the check was set on the table.
Once Jaemin had caught his eyes on the cash in your hand he shook his head "You don't have to pay, what kind of guy would I be to make you pay for your food?" He says patting his pockets which makes you roll your eyes "It's fine" you reply flatly pressing the 20 and 10 dollar tip onto the wooden table and like second nature stand from the worn-out booth walk to the class doors pushing them open and making a b-line to the boys nice and shining Pontiac.
Jaemin grew up coddled, he was popular in high school, and he had the cutest girl in his grade. Now he's digging it with girls who never made it past the first date because he never could find a bond with them while working at the local theater and losing all the cool points he's earned on his way up in high school. Well on your end you didn't care for his past reputation, you didn't care for this date and the fact that you haven't had an ounce of fun since you had walked past your front porch was eating you up inside.
When you heard keys jangling in an instant you turned your head being met with Jaemin walking over to the driver's side of the car. Unlocking the doors you both get in and once the car starts you fiddle with the radio never wanting to sit through silence and letting the hum of the radio come out softly through the speakers.
You were so caught up in your thoughts you had failed to realize how dark it had started to get, the once blue sky turned to deep orange and yellow hues. Watching as the power lines zipped past you in a blur, if you were going to sit in this car you would be damned if you had to sit in awkward silence and do nothing.
Just as Jaemin had turned onto the highway the road was seemingly empty as it got darker out and the headlights of his car lighting up the black asphalt on the road. Your view flickering between the road and Jaemin who was watching the road with one hand on the wheel as the other slumped against the middle console.
The sight of his thighs sat stiffly while his jaw clenched. "Jaemin, if you're not over your ex why'd you ask me on a date?" You ask curiously as you tilt your head leaning in a bit pressing the swell of your chest against his hand on the console. "What? I'm over my ex, I have been for a while now. What makes you say that?" He asks as he sputters over his own words at the thought of being hung up on his ex.
"You haven't asked a single thing about me on this date. You only talked about you, and might I add you even talked about your coworker which doesn't help your case at all" you say flatly. "Seriously?! I am over my ex I swear" his voice goes up a few octaves higher as he tries to think of something that obscures the idea.
"When was the last time you slept with someone and enjoyed it then?" You ask with a twisted grin on your lips. You knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him, you wanted the satisfaction of hearing the words yourself from his lips. "I don't know. And I'll have you know that I have had great sex without my ex" he snarled at you.
"Yeah your words aren't very convincing like... at all," you say as you push your legs under your thighs "I can change that you know? I don't know if by the end of it, you'll even be thinking about her but...I'll occupy your head for a bit," you say, trailing your hand into his lap and rubbing against his thigh.
"What are you doing?" He scoffed as his eyes flicked from his lap with your hand trailing closer to his bulge earning a small gasp from him eliciting a small giggle from your lips loud enough to hear over the buzzing music. "Just keep looking at the road" you whisper as you press your lips to his warm cheek.
Your hand moves closer to his half-hard crotch clad in jeans as you palm him, the feeling of fabric pressed against him has him groaning and running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation. "It's not a good idea to be doing this... while I'm driving" he reasons, which makes you shake your head with a soft smile. "Then focus" You look up at him while your hands move to unzip his pants and unbutton them as well letting him lift his hips while you pull down his jeans far enough over his thighs.
"Shit" he harshly whispers at the feeling of your wet palm wrapping around his cock leaking precum and glistening under the orange and yellow street lights on the side of the road. Taking his cock into your fist, slowly jerking and teasing the tip with your thumb has the boy biting his plump lips while choking back a small groan.
The feeling of your warm tongue has the boy breathing heavily as his foot presses onto the gas harder spreading the car up. "Ease up, you want the car ride to last don't you?" You ask as you look up at him, your tongue pressing flatly against his tip and taking him deeper, letting your lips wrap around him.
The warmth of your mouth around him almost has his eyes rolling, letting his hand rest on the back of your head, needing to push your head down further but letting you slowly take him into the back of your throat as the tip of your nose brushes against his stomach.
Pulling back slowly you began to bob your head, the wet sound of your mouth around his cock has him lightheaded as he drives slower than he normally would on the highway. Flexing his thighs at the feeling "You're so good at this- fuck y/n" he moaned as his jaw slacked at the feeling of your tongue running against the vein on the underside of his cock that had him nearly shivering.
"keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back. His hair was messily pushed against his forehead as it was soaked from the sweat building at his hairline and his eyes rolled back "You're gonna make me cum" he says breathily as he pushes your hair out of your way turning it into a makeshift ponytail.
Using your hand you hollow your cheeks as your hand takes care of what your mouth wasn't and it had him lost, still trying to focus on the road he makes a turn to the next exit and chooses to go the longer route to your house.
His breathing becomes more and more unhinged as you use both your hands to jerk him off and licking his tip has him moaning while almost swerving into a random mailbox catching himself before doing so. "I'm so close" he moaned as he clutched your hair tighter realizing how agonizing it felt when you hadn't changed your pace at all.
"Please go faster" he begged, making you smile a bit as you moved your hands away from him completely and took him into your mouth while he bucked his hips desperately for a release. you could, feeling the tip nudge the back of your throat while your nose was nestled tightly against his pubic bone. While your eyes are closed tight to focus on relaxing your gag reflex to not ruin the tight feeling for him you move faster hoping that would push him over the edge.
"Oh- fuck" he gasped as he gripped the wheel tighter as he felt his orgasm crash on him like a ton of bricks. "I can't...I can't keep driving or I'm gonna crash- fuck" he whined as he pulls onto the side of the road and cutting the lights and engine. The only sounds that could be heard were Jaemin's heavy breathing.
Watching as you pull back with glossy eyes your cheeks and chin are covered in spit and cum which has his head pulled back against the headrest completely dazed. "You okay?" You ask as you wipe off your face with small puffs of laughter falling past your lips. "I'm good...really good," he says with a faint smirk.
"I wanna make you feel good too," he says, his eyes trailing over to your fully clothed figure, your eyes low and red almost as if you had been high, lips puffy and swollen. "You can do that" You nod as you manage to crawl over the middle console and sit against his thighs, your skirt riding up your legs.
"You're so wet" he whispered as he felt the warmth of your slick panties stick against his skin making you look down where you had been sat with slight embarrassment. His finger rubs against your clothes slit watching as the wet patch on your panties becomes bigger. Pressing his thumb down on your clit had a moan falling past your lips as your hand trailed to his wrist pulling his hand past the waistband of your panties.
"I need you, here." You mumbled as you felt his nimble fingers running against your slit making you whine desperately. Grinding against his fingers you can hear him laughing breathily as he watches you fall apart on top of him. "I'd call you desperate if I didn't want to fuck you so bad," he says as he presses his forehead against yours, watching the way you get off could make him cum untouched.
"Just shut up" you whined out with a small gasp pressing your lips against his hungrily your hand raking through his hair, your tongues lapping against the others and sucking on his pulling away with a small 'pop' you bite your lip as you keep eye contact with him. "Fuck this feels so good" you whisper your forehead still pressed against his as he rubs your clit in Figure 8's.
"Yeah?" He asks as he pulls his hand away and out of your panties earning a small whine from you. His fingers push your panties to the side. "Why?" You practically cry out. Jaemin's eyes never leave yours watching them gloss over from the loss of pleasure. "I want you to cum with me," he says just above a whisper while he takes his length into his hand pumping himself a few times before pressing his tip against your entrance, and with a harsh hiss he's slowly pushing inside your tight walls.
The warm and wet feeling has him drunk on the feeling of you around him. Pushing his seat back far enough that both of you are comfortable Jaemin watches you grind your hips against him slowly as he bottoms out inside you, the feeling being all too good for his liking.
"It's so big" you groan as your hands press against his abdomen lightly bracing yourself to start moving. The soft thudding of your thighs meeting against yours sends goosebumps all over your skin. Jaemin couldn't possibly keep his hands to himself as he finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head.
"No bra?" He groaned watching as your bare chest bounced with every movement you made which has you smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. "You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch his begin to slowly move. Jaemin couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your Pussy.
His cock is buried deep inside you moan and dig crescent-shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around makes him choke back a moan.
"Oh- god," you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans reverberated through the car.
You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight.
He slowly thrusts into you letting you get used to his size not realizing you were beginning to bounce yourself on his lap desperate to feel pleasure. His pace practically teases you and shows you how desperate you are from your small moans and whimpers.
Jaemin; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer, and begins to thrust his hips up into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.
His hips push into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "Oh my god!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.
"Just like that" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Jaemin's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.
he placed his hand on your ass, kneading the flesh harshly as whimpers left his lips at the feeling of your walls closing around him. "Just like that, yes, please please please!!" You beg, feeling yourself getting closer and closer as he punctuates his thrusts. You pull his hair, again and again, harder and you can't help but become more aroused from the sounds he lets fall from his lips.
Sitting up completely Jaemin doesn't hesitate to kiss against your warm skin, from the valley between your breast to sucking on your nipples, the warmth of his mouth has you utterly out of it while you fuck yourself on his cock begging for some sort of release. The sloppy sounds make your head spin, your hand trailing from his hair to between the both of you.
Rubbing your clit in hopes that this would send you closer to your orgasm. "Fuck- oh fuck" he moaned against your chest as you clench around him as he felt pussy drunk with you on top of him. Jaemin could barely comprehend a thing as he stopped you together.
"Get up," he said breathlessly as you pushed yourself off of his lap, you slowly started to crawl back into the passenger seat thinking even the sex was a complete bust. But the feeling of his hands on your waist keeps you from moving. "Bend over into the seat," he says moving out of your way as you feel a smirk on your pretty lips.
With your back arched and your face pushed against the headrest you knew that you were done for, Jaemin pushed inside you again and without a care in the world thrusts into you at the same pace he was going before.
"Harder- please" you moan out as the windows begin to fog over, Jaemin begins to buck his hips into you at a faster pace as the slick sound of your pussy and precum mix loudly along with the patterning of your thighs slapping against his. You feel ecstasy at the way he made you feel so full.
His large hands onto your spine making your chest push into the seat, not that you minded at all. Jaemin from behind absolutely loses his mind as his fingers card through his brown locks. Fucking into you with harsh and sharp thrusts that have your toes curling. Your ass bouncing against his lap has him tossing his head back leaving a stinging sensation in both of your thighs.
you begin to bounce and grind against him to meet his hips. It felt like he was in your stomach and you didn't mind at all, your hands the seat tighter as he used his other hand to wrap around your throat pulling your back against his chest.
"Aw look at you, all fucked out. What would your friends think about me bending you over in my car and fucking you like a slut hm?" He asks as his grip around your throat tightens, you can't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even louder.
"Right here? Does it feel good here?" He asks as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "Yeah, it feels so fucking good Jaem" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.
Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Jaemin pounds you into his front seat without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against the seat while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.
"I can't take it" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "I think you can baby, you wanna cum so bad right? So take what I give you" he orders sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are nonstop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelop you.
"Oh fuck" you gasp as the feeling of release comes closer "cum for me. I know you can" he coos at you while pulling your hips into his harder than before tipping you over the edge as your walls clench around him sporadically earning a guttural moan ripping through his throat.
"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "Inside. Please cum inside me" you whimpered before you felt the pressure in your stomach let loose "I got you, you're okay" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.
A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Jaemin into an orgasm-struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning off you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre-orgasm clarity.
"I see why so many girls like you Jaemin," you say breathlessly with a smile making him chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair slowly pulling out of you with a hiss due to loss of warmth. "Well it's a pleasure to live up to your standards," he says as he reaches into his glove box and pulls out wipes cleaning you up.
The both of you get dressed again and are seated, Jaemin starts the car and the both of you are back on the road with the faint sound of music filling the air as the both of you exchange small words every few minutes until Jaemin turns on the road your house was located.
Pulling into your gravel driveway he parks s and opens his door walking onto your side and opening it offering a hand that makes your brows shoot up at the sudden chivalry, taking his hand and shutting the door behind you he walks you to your front door and as you turn to look at him you see the small smile on his lips. "So...this was nice," he says as he looks down at his feet.
It wasn't... Not until the both of you had sex in the back of his car at least. "Right... just- let me know when you get over Chae" You pat his chest with an awkward grin on your face as you watch his head fall back letting out a groan. "I told you. I'm over her- seriously we broke up and I haven't talked to her since" he shakes his head.
You could tell by the tone in his voice he wasn't, but Jaemin was eager to see you again so it meant he was moving on. One step forward. "Let me know when you're ready for something serious, Jaemin."
You snap your fingers as you give yourself an idea, your hands find themselves under your skirt which has Jaemin in a small shock at your actions seeing a flash of your pink panties as you pull them down your legs and ball it in your hand. "Until then have the panties as a keepsake to get off whenever you like," you say, stuffing the ball of wet fabric into his pockets. and with that, you leave him at your front door with his hand in his pockets clutching your frilly panties.
Opening the door and shutting it behind you Jaemin stands at your doorstep biting his lip turning on his heel and walking back to his car watching how the windows were still a bit foggy. Opening the driver's side to the door and sitting down in his seat he sighs, dragging his finger across the glass in the shape of a U and to small dots in the shape of the tip of his index finger a smiley face left behind.
"I gotta get her on that second date" he huffed to himself as he pulled out of the driveway of your home.
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HOT THINGS HE DOES FOR YOU ── sebek zigvolt + gn!reader, 537
i. verbal appreciation. it’s a whole thing. there’s not a single day that will go by that this man doesn’t let you know how much he appreciates every little thing you do for him. sometimes it’s loud and booming, making the other students and staff in the library flinch because of the sheer volume of his voice, but other times it’s silent and soft-spoken, the ghost of a kiss against your skin in the late hours of the night. he doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal, but it means so much to you that he’s so open about how truly grateful he is for you.
ii. towers over you most of the time. he’s big and strong, and there’s something attractive about that combined with the fact that he’s practically dedicated himself to being your guard alongside his official duties to malleus. it’s not uncommon to have him lingering behind you, ready to step forward the moment you need his help. the position also makes for very good back hugs, should you request them at the right place and time.
iii. has a tendency to touch up on your appearance without you asking. he’s used to looking after silver, making sure he looks nothing less than perfect (even though silver has that unfair advantage of always looking princely even if he fell asleep in a ditch), and that habit extends to you over time. he soundlessly reaches out to you to adjust the collar of your uniformm of the fringe your hair as if you have no personal space, leaning in close enough for his lips to accidentally brush against your skin. it’s a wonder that he doesn’t notice the way your breath hitches (or does he…?).
iv. takes a while to learn how to whisper, but when he does, you can’t help but feel like he’s using it against you in some way. he gets closer than necessary when he’s whispering in your ear, to the point that his lips are brushing against your skin every time he moves. you don’t want him to tell him to move away, especially since you’re not exactly uncomfortable by the sudden close proximity, so you’re just left to pray to whatever deities exist in the world of twisted wonderland that he doesn’t notice the way your ears are suddenly burning hot and you’ve somehow forgotten how to breathe.
v. remembers the most trivial things about you, from the expression you make when you’re eating something you’re not particularly fond of to your body language when it’s too cold but you don’t want anyone to know that you’re freezing your ass off, even the way your gaze shifts around a crowded room when your social battery is depleting. one could say that he knows you better than you know yourself. he applies his knowledge very discreetly, so subtle that barely anyone notices. you do, of course, because you’re quite proud to say that you know sebek almost as well as he knows you. but you’re much too hesitant to point it out, afraid that if you were to do so, he’d stop. (a silly fear; sebek wouldn’t be able to stop caring for you even if he tried)
© trappolia 2024
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Thirteen Rounds
Pairing: Boxer!Jungkook x f!reader
Genre: smut smut smut smut smut! sex ban smut lmao; established relationship
Summary: JK's boxing coach tells him he can't come for four weeks before his title fight. Ah, four weeks isn't that long, right? ... Right?
Word count: 13.2k
Content: oral sex (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation (f.), orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sex toys, uh implied come eating? (It's not mentioned but he comes in her then eats her out sooooo it's happening 😂), cutesy nicknames that honestly even make me cringe these days lmaooo
A/N: as I said in a post earlier today, this hit 6k notes on the old blog and I know crowing about notes is tacky and no one cares (and even I don't care! That's not why I'm here!), but I never really got to celebrate this fic when I posted it and it took the fuck off. So here's to another 6k 🤪🤪🤪
FOUR WEEKS TO GO
Jungkook walks slowly, very slowly, down the corridor to the door of your apartment. He does not want to go through it. He really doesn’t want to have to tell you what he’s about to.
Four weeks no sex.
That’s what Coach said. No sex, no masturbation, orgasms 100% completely verboten. He knows this is not going to go down well with you. From the very start of your relationship, you have never gone that long without sex. Jungkook isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it; he’s not sure if you will be either. A tiny part of him worries what it might do to your relationship – you’re stronger than that, aren’t you? This won’t hurt your relationship, will it? You’ve been together for years now, four weeks without sex can’t change anything… Right? Jungkook knows in his heart of hearts that it’s right but the thought of four weeks without you is so unutterably awful that he also can’t believe it won’t change things.
He flops face-first onto the sofa next to you and squirms immediately as you rake a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Absolutely none of that from now on.
“You ok?” you ask and he can’t answer because the answer is no and he’s not going to be for another four weeks, another 29 days in fact. He mumbles nothing into the sofa.
“Just tired? Training hard today?”
Training wasn’t hard, especially. This conversation we’re about to have is hard, Jungkook thinks. Keeping his face shoved into the sofa cushion, he breaks the news.
“Jungkook,” slight impatience in your voice now. “I cannot understand you when you talk into the sofa; what’s going on?”
He lifts his head slightly but can’t bring himself to look at you.
“Coach says we can’t have sex until the fight.”
“WHAT?”
“We can’t have sex until the fight,” he repeats, quietly, miserably.
He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, still not daring to look at you.
“But that’s four weeks away! Four weeks!”
“I know!”
He takes your hand and kisses it, leaning up on his elbows. He rests his head on your thigh, bumping it gently as if he were hitting it against a brick wall. He mumbles under his breath, as close as he ever got to invective against his Coach (whom he nevertheless trusts and respects deeply). You’re being quieter than he expected you to be and it makes him nervous. He expected outraged protestations, reasoned arguments, begging and pleading. But you’re sitting and thinking.
“Why?” you ask. “What’s it for?”
“He says it’ll improve my focus, power, and aggression if I don’t come between now and then…”
You hum in response and he risks a peek at your face. You’re smirking and something about it makes his stomach drop.
“So… You can’t come, but I can do whatever I want, hm?”
He hadn’t considered that. Of course, that makes sense; you’re not wrong, but Jungkook realises this with absolute horror. Not being able to fuck you for four weeks was going to be bad enough as it is, but four weeks of getting you off without a single second of relief for him? He feels sick.
“Noooo! Baby, please. Please, you have to do this with me.”
It’s not his usual role, but he is not above begging. You shake your head.
“No way; four weeks is a long time and I’m not fighting anyone.”
“I know it’s a long time! That’s why we have to do it together!”
“On the contrary, my sweet, little biscuit, the whole point is that we don’t do it together, isn’t it?”
You lean down and kiss his nose but it is of no comfort. He’s pouting now, both furious and devastated at this turn of events. When you start running your hands through his hair again and his dick twitches, he groans; this will kill him, he thinks. Stone cold dead, this is going to kill him. He holds your hand tight and looks at you, finally, dead in the eye, eyes wide and pleading, his absolute best puppy dog.
“Please,” he begs. “Please.”
“Why don’t we have one last night?” you suggest and Jungkook groans because he knows that tone. “You can start tomorrow. One night won’t make a difference, surely?”
You slide down the sofa until your faces are almost level and Jungkook is about to rest his head where your thigh was, but discovers your breast in its place. He holds still. This is his first test and, while you might have a point, he’s got rules to follow and he can’t break now, not at the very first hurdle. He’s got better self-control than that, hasn’t he?
“Hm?” you continue. “Start tomorrow… Come on, Kookie, please.”
He wants to say yes, of course he does, but if he’s going to last four weeks, he’s going to have to practise saying no.
You slide off the sofa onto your knees on the floor and he eyes you carefully. You’re dangerous and you know it. When you trail your fingers down his spine and kiss the back of his neck, he shivers.
“I want you so badly,” you whisper in his ear and he groans. You slip your hand underneath his T-shirt and he’s sticky with sweat. “I didn’t have you yesterday and now we have to go four weeks? Kookie, I can’t take it… Be good to me, Jungkook, please.”
He loves it when you beg. Hearing his name in your mouth all high and whiny, tremulous with need and desire. If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. Goosebumps follow your hand on his back and he shivers, groaning into the sofa, fists clenched again.
“My love, stop it, please. We can’t.” His voice is weak and he can’t believe how weak he’s feeling; if you persist might longer, he genuinely feels he might snap and he’s ashamed that his self-control is apparently all but non-existent. He must do better.
“But I’m so wet already.”
Fuck. He snaps. He kneels up and looks at you, your innocent, little face, a devil in disguise. If you’re just playing with him, just teasing, you’re going to be in big trouble.
“Get up,” he commands, slapping the sofa. You obey without hesitation and he grabs you by the legs, pulling so you’re falling onto your back. He tells him yourself you were lying, of course you won’t be wet; you’re just teasing him and he’ll tell you off and ask you to take this seriously and it’ll all be fine. Then he yanks down your trousers and your underwear.
“FUCK.”
He brings his hands to his face and rubs.
“Fuck, I thought you were lying just to tease me, but fuck, you really are.”
You are. Looking at you is almost painful; he’s desperate to touch you. You’re right there in front of him, legs spread, and all he has to do is touch you. But he can’t. If he starts, he won’t be able to stop. He shuffles back away from you slightly, hands moving to reach you and then pulling back. He swears again.
When you spread your legs wider and shuffle yourself down closer to him, he has to stand. He has to do something with his hands: clenching at his sides, on his hips, on his head, over his face. He’s pacing, too, unable to look at you once again. It would be all too easy to take his own trousers off, let his dick out of its cloth prison and fuck you into the sofa. He has to bite down on his knuckles to stop himself doing just that.
“Kookie,” you coo. “Aren’t you going to touch me? I need you… No one touches me like you do.”
Jungkook is open-mouthed and he has to turn away. He growls, deep in his throat, and gently places his fists on the kitchen counter, when what he really wants to do is smash straight through it. His whole body is tense, fighting itself in an agony of indecision. He needs you to stop; he’s sure you won’t. Not when you’re having this effect on him. He should’ve seen it coming. He knew you wouldn’t take the news well; for some reason, he didn’t expect you to immediately be so defiant. You were always so pliant and obedient for him. But then, this isn’t really his rule and you and his coach didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye.
He freezes when he hears the unmistakeable squelch of you plunging your fingers in your wet heat. Then you moan. Then you whimper.
“Jungkook, please.”
He can barely control his breathing as he stands, still with his back to you, unable to block the sound of you from his ears. He should be the one drawing those moans from you; he should be the reason your breathing is hitched.
He decides quickly that you have a point. He can’t come but that doesn’t mean he can’t do anything he likes. He crosses the space to the sofa in three large steps and forces your hand away from you. He doesn’t see the expression on your face as you look up; he’s too busy staring at his next meal. He squeezes your thighs hard and lowers his mouth to you.
“Fuck, yes,” you breathe and it goes straight to his dick.
He moans loudly as he licks from your core to your clit, drinking you in. He licks through your folds, not wanting to miss a drop. He swirls his tongue around your clit before sealing his lips and sucking hard; you grab at his hair and he flicks his eyes to you but your head is tipped back, your back arching off the sofa. He pulls your thighs, bringing you even closer, smothering him, burying him but if he can’t breathe, he doesn’t notice. He notices the pitch of your whines tilt; he notices your breath come quicker; he notices your thighs twitching under his hands; he notices you tugging harder and harder at his hair. He watches you as he works, alternately swirling his tongue across your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking, until you’re screaming, your body writhing, shuddering under the waves of your orgasm.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears repeatedly, almost sure he hears you saying the same, but he can’t move his mouth from your lips; all that fresh arousal dripping from you has his name on it.
You squirm and bring your legs together, your feet pushing against his shoulders and he relents, shifting backwards but still gripping your thighs tight.
“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you but fuck, I fucking love your cunt.”
His hands move higher, his thumbs spreading your lips, running up and down, the slick noises they make like music to his ears. He whines as he drops his head to your thigh with a heavy sigh. He squeezes his eyes tight shut for a moment, trying not to lose all control even as his cock aches in his pants, desperate for you.
While he’s trying to keep it together, you extricate yourself from his grip and sink onto the floor. While he’s off-guard, you spread his legs and slot yourself between them. It’s only when his dick jumps as you slide your hands up his thighs that he realises what is happening. He leaps up and away from you in one, quick, fluid motion.
“No, no, no,” he mutters, hands tangling in his hair, twisting his T-shirt, gripping the kitchen counter, anything to stop them wandering to the bulge in his trousers. He’s painfully hard now, twitching with almost no provocation; his restraint is hanging by a thread.
“Jungkook,” you call for him, still kneeling on the floor. “Kookie, come here, let me help you.”
He growls and takes a deep breath. If he even looks at you right now, he knows he’ll snap.
“I’m going to shower.”
He has to get out, get away from you, anywhere will do.
“You better not wank in there!” you call after him. “Or I’m going to be really upset!”
He chuckles bitterly; as if he would ever choose his hand over your sweet mouth. He strips quickly and steps into the shower, turning the temperature as low as it’ll go and the power on full blast. He gasps as a strong stream of icy water hits him; he shudders and shivers and forces himself to stand still. He’s panting and his skin turns red under the blast but he can’t move, not until he’s flaccid, not until he’s stopped thinking about your beautiful pussy and your soft, hot mouth and no-! Enough of this. He calls to mind all his least favourite things, conjuring up the worst images he can, disgusting, horrible, anything. He just has to stop thinking about you.
When he’s finally showered and clean and soft, he leaves the bathroom. It’s not late, but you’re already sitting up in bed, naked as you always are, and he groans, trying to avoid looking at you.
“Hey now, that’s not fair,” you tell him, sulking with an exaggerated pout as he takes the towel from his waist and rubs it over his hair.
He almost chokes on his indignation.
“Not fair? Me not being fair? And what do you call that, out there? Is that fair, huh? And this?” He gestures to you, chest on display, arms just slightly squeezing your breasts together, as if you think he won’t be able to tell. “Is this fair?”
Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he sits next to you on the bed; he simply will not survive the next four weeks if he can’t get you on-side. He has to stop you reaching out to touch his cheek; he’s only just been able to lose his erection, he’s not sure he can manage another.
“I’m serious, y/n, I cannot do this.”
He’s not sure he can look at you anymore. The thought of spending a whole night next to your naked form, your soft skin pressed against him… He can’t. He can’t even think it without feeling a stir in his groin.
“I can’t do this. I’m going to sleep in the spare room.”
Never in his life has he been more grateful to have one. He’d sleep on the sofa or the floor if he had to, but, if he’s doing all this to improve his fighting, he needs to keep his sleep up, too.
“Jungkook! Don’t leave me!”
When he risks a look at you, you’re wide-eyed and open-mouthed, dismayed. He doesn’t ever want to be the cause of that face; his heart aches. Maybe this would affect your relationship after all. He returns to sit on the edge of the bed and takes your hand. He kisses your palm.
“I can’t- I… I can’t even look at you, right now, without wanting to jump you.” He says quietly, sadly. “I just-“
“I can put some clothes on?”
Your hopeful face squeezes his heart and he wishes that would be enough.
“No, baby, thank you but we both know that isn’t going to help. I know what’s under there.”
“So, we’re not even going to be able to sleep together for the next four weeks?”
“No, we will, I promise. I just… Right now, I just need to get away from you.”
He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood, but fails. He misses you already.
“Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”
Jungkook isn’t sure. He’s not sure the one thread of sanity he’s clinging to will last, but he has to give you something.
“Of course, you can,” he answers, with only a little hesitation. “But please… Be nice…”
You take his face in his hands and he shivers. You kiss him once, firmly, and then again, softly, sighing against his mouth. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss you again, wants to melt into your mouth and roll your tongue with his. Then he feels temptation in his groin and has to pull away.
“Night night, my little custard cream.”
“Night night, my love.”
He leaves, and shuts himself in the spare room, wondering just how on earth either of you will make it through the next 29 days.
THREE WEEKS TO GO
Jungkook isn’t home so you’re taking the opportunity for a little Me Time (courtesy of your favourite rabbit). It’s been a week since the last time you came (courtesy of Jungkook) and you’re on edge. You feel a little guilty for the way you behaved, but you’ve been good this week in penance, even though you’re already missing him terribly.
At night, when he wraps himself around you, his hard chest against your back, his strong arms holding you tight, you feel a steady pulse in your core. You want desperately to shift, just push your hips back a little, bring his hand to cup your breast, do something to address your need of him. It’s worse than usual because, of course, you always want most what you can’t have. Isn’t that a universal truth? Last night, you even wished he would go and sleep in the spare room again; having him so close to you, knowing that you can’t touch him like you wanted to was beginning to get unbearable.
Hence, Me Time.
Jungkook is out and not due back soon so you have plenty of time to take things slow. Or at least, that’s what you intend. You take a nice, long, hot bath; apply your favourite body lotion: a rich, thick, cocoa butter that makes you feel expensive; you potter around the apartment for a while in your sexiest lingerie – there’s no one to see you, but it makes you feel sexy anyway. You think about Jungkook. You think about his hair, too short for your preference at the moment; you like it a little longer, a little wavier, giving you plenty to grab onto at the nape of his neck just as at the crown; you like it when it flops into his face and he pushes it back; you like when he lets you plait it and style it, just for the two of you, just for fun.
You think about his beautiful, brown eyes: huge and wide, bright and shining, so open and innocent. You think about the way he looks at you sometimes, like you’re his entire world, like he’s looking at the most beautiful, peaceful sight he’s ever seen. You think about the way he looks at you at other times: like you’re prey; like he’s calculating exactly the right way to destroy you; his eyes dark, black, piercing; eyes that silently command and will be obeyed.
You think about his mouth: his soft, pink lips and two straight rows of perfect white teeth; you think about his mouth on yours, the unyielding pressure of his lip ring, the hard bite of his teeth on your bottom lip, his soft, wet tongue rolling against yours; his soft, wet tongue swirling around your nipple; his soft, wet tongue licking through your folds, flicking across your clit, his lips tight around you as he sucks. You think about his long fingers, their reach; his strong hands and how they direct and control you, pinning you down and lifting you up.
You think about his cock, the prettiest you’d ever seen (though you weren’t surprised, given the rest of him); in perfect proportion, neither too long nor too thick, a slight, gentle curve, smooth but for one thick vein running the length of it. It makes your mouth water just to think of it; your pussy throbs, missing it and you settle on the bed. You can feel the crotch of your underwear is already sticky and your heart is already thumping but you’re still telling yourself that you’re going to take this slowly, because you have plenty of time.
You discard your bra, teasing your nipples beneath it, twisting at the barbells that run through each of them, remembering the way Jungkook had reacted the first time he saw them, as if it were Christmas morning and they were a brand-new puppy and a skateboard. You slip a hand down behind the waistline of your knickers and exhale sharply as you spread your juices across your clit. You’re aching now, with desire, with frustration but you take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You let your fingers work slowly, gently, dipping down between your lips to your entrance, exploring your folds, teasing and tapping your clit. It was almost like stepping into a bath: enveloped in warmth as blood rushed to the surface of your skin, cocooned in pleasure as it radiates outwards from your core to the tips of your toes. Goosebumps spread as a shiver rushes down your spine.
Then you get out your rabbit and the lube and shuffle out of your underwear. You coat the toy with lube, wipe your hand against yourself and turn it on, letting it rest against you for a moment, cycling through the settings until you reach your favourite. You think, not for the first time, as you slip it inside you, smoothly, easily, how much you wish you had one of these moulded from Jungkook’s cock. He thought you were joking the first time you said it, but you weren’t then and aren’t now. You want to be able to have him inside you even when he wasn’t around – or at times like this when he is around but isn’t allowed inside you. Nothing compares to him and while this toy might get the job done, it will never be the same.
The little rabbit ears press intently against your clit as you angle it inside you and start to rock your hips, working out a long, soft moan. You tip your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the coiling pressure in your abdomen. You cycle to another setting – higher, faster, more insistent now – and whimper with every breath as your climax comes closer.
“God, I’ve missed that noise.”
You sit up with a jolt to see Jungkook at the bedroom door, eyes roving hungrily over your naked body.
“Jungkook,” you gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.”
He shrugs.
“Changed ’em... Though I might be sorry I did.”
“I thought you were going to be out... But since you’re here...”
You beckon him to the bed as you switch off the toy. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sigh as he approaches you on the bed. You’re surprised; you thought he would refuse, hold back, protest even a little. Maybe this would be easier than you thought.
He looks at the rabbit, appraising.
“How does it compare, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a smirk just ghosting over his lips.
“It doesn’t, Kookie.” You flop backwards onto the mattress again. “Nothing compares to you.”
“Let me help you.”
You sigh with relief, waiting to hear his trousers unzip or the shuffle of cloth as he undresses but it doesn’t come. Instead, you hear the quiet whirring of vibration as Jungkook turns the rabbit back on. He chooses a different setting – short, intense pulses – and slips the toy back inside you, pushing the ears hard into your clit, forcing a choked moan from your throat.
“Jungkook... Kookie, no. I want you.”
The look on his face is fierce but softens when he looks into your eyes. He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear.
“You know you can’t have me now, baby. Stop playing dirty.”
He takes a hand and pushes low on your stomach as he rocks the toy inside you and changes the setting: insistent, hard vibration that almost sets your teeth chattering.
“Fuck,” you whisper as your walls start to clench and all your muscles tighten and you’re whimpering, mewling, seconds from climax, your breath catching in your throat. You’re a band stretched to its limits and just as you’re about to snap, Jungkook pulls the toy from you and sits back on the bed, not touching you.
“Wh-.. I...”
You look at him, dazed and confused, as he stands up and takes the toy with him out of the room.
“Where are you going?” you call after him, your voice weak and strangled.
You’re itching with frustration and impatience and when he returns, only a minute later, you turn to him, outraged. He’s empty-handed and he sits on the edge of the bed next to you and tucks your hair behind your ear sweetly.
“What are you doing?” you ask, still breathless, heart still pounding in your chest.
He leans closer to you, resting on his forearm on your chest, lightly crushing you beneath his weight as he takes your hand in his and directs it to his crotch, where you can feel his dick, semi-hard under his trousers.
“I’m showing you how hard this is,” he whispers menacingly in your ear. “You’re still not playing fair, little miss.”
He stands and walks out of the room, looking back over his shoulder at you.
“If I don’t get to come, you don’t get to come!” he calls.
You give a little, angry shriek and throw a pillow at him, which misses by miles, and you storm out after him.
“I did not sign up for that!” you shout, giving him a shove.
He grins at you and raises his eyebrows.
“What’s mine is yours, baby.”
“No way! No way! You know the second you leave, I can just make myself come.”
“That’s true,” he admits as he checks his watch, “but I’m not leaving again tonight.”
Furious now, you move closer to him, your hands on his hips. You lick your lips and move a hand between you, palming his erection. His eyes flutter closed.
“Two can play at this game, Jeon,” you hiss, sliding your hand between his trousers and his boxers, running your finger up his turgid length.
“Don’t call me Jeon.”
“Isn’t it your name?”
He tips his head back and bites his lip as you finally breach his boxers, wrapping your fingers around him, squeezing lightly.
“You only call me Jeon when you’re pissed,” he chokes out.
“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”
His head tips forward again and he looks at you as you sink to your knees, pulling his clothes down with him. You see him swallow hard.
“Not sure you thought this through, did you?” you ask, swiping your tongue across his head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum. “Here you are, all hard and ready for me...”
You take a hand through your lips, sweeping up your arousal and spreading it on the head of his dick.
“And me all ready for you...”
You wrap your lips around him and take him until he hits your throat, looking up at him through your lashes, then you come up and pause, just holding him in your mouth, your tongue running back and forth across the underside. Jungkook grunts and his eyelids flutter closed. You can see his fists clenching on either of him.
“Y/n...” he groans, quiet and strangled.
“Mm?” you hum, not taking him from your mouth, and you notice the muscle in his jaw jump as he clenches. “You started this,” you remind him, as you trail sloppy, wet kisses down the length of his hot, smooth cock. “I was going to be nice to you, but you had to go and spoil it.” You run your tongue flat across his balls as your hand continues to pump his shaft and he moans.
“Fuck, I miss you,” he whines, his voice high and tight as you run your tongue back to his head, enveloping him in your mouth once again. “God, fuck.”
You hollow your cheeks and suck, your hand and mouth moving as one. Jungkook’s fist moves to your hair, gripping tight, not directing you, just to have something to hold on to. As you push lower, tipping your head to take him into your throat, he jerks.
“No, no, no, stop! Stop.”
He pushes you back by the shoulders and stands, his breathing ragged, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard. You let him stand there, recovering; you stay kneeling at his feet.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, each more aggressive than the last. He pulls his boxers and his trousers back on and looks at you, eyes wild. “No.”
“Kookie... Please.”
You pout up at him, put your hands on his thighs, and shuffle just an inch closer.
“No. Fuck, no, I can’t. I can’t.” He looks at you, alternately desperate and resolved and then shakes his head. “Baby, god, I want to. You know I want to. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
His hand is in your hair again, gently pulling you upwards, pulling you closer. He kisses your cheek and your lips, each little peck lasting a little longer than the last, until he just barely parts his mouth and you grab his bottom lip in your teeth. He moans and pulls away.
“No, no, no, no,” he whispers. “I can’t.” He swallows hard and looks skyward again, praying for strength. Then he repeats his no before stalking off into the spare room, cursing under his breath.
You sigh, more frustrated than ever, and, having spotted your stolen sex toy on the bathroom counter, you go back to finish what you started.
TWO WEEKS TO GO
Jungkook is sleeping in the spare room again. He says it’s because you’re not to be trusted, but what he means is that he isn’t to be trusted. He could barely trust himself around you before, but two weeks into the ban, he can’t risk taking any chances. Especially not with the way you’ve been behaving.
Apparently, so you tell him, there’s very little evidence to suggest that sex before a sporting event has as negative effect on performance.
“I even read,” you say, not for the first time, “that not having sex for a while lowers your testosterone so it’s not just that having sex isn’t bad, it might even be good! Don’t you want that?”
He’s trying to block you out. You’ve already told him this and he’s already told you that he’s doing as he’s told. He focuses on the TV, trying to get invested in the storyline, trying to care about the characters while you pester him relentlessly. He has to grit his teeth together and breathe carefully.
“Don’t ignore me, my little hobnob.”
You always pull out that biscuit when you think he needs to lighten up. He tries not to grin, not very successfully, because it’s such a ridiculous name – who calls a biscuit that, really? Then you slip your hands around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder.
“I miss you,” you say, kissing his shoulder and rubbing his back.
He sighs, dropping his head, carefully trying to revel in your touch without giving in too far.
“I miss you too, love. Just two more weeks.”
You sigh, aggravated, and sit back.
“Yeah, two more weeks; we’re only halfway through. We have to do all of this all over again. Is that really what you want?”
“No, of course it’s not!”
Of course, he doesn’t want it. What he wants is to pin you down and eat you out ’til you’re screaming and then he wants to fuck you like his life depends on it, spend himself on you so hard he literally can’t move. What he wants is the opposite of this. Why can’t you understand that?
He turns to you, shifting his body around and reaches for your hands.
“Of course, it’s not what I want. I want you all the time. Why do you think I’m sleeping in the spare room again? I can barely stand sitting with you like this; every part of me is screaming at me to just take yo-“
“Then do it! Do it! I’m telling you, the science is on our side!”
He has to take a deep breath; he knows you may well be right. And he doesn’t like the thought of doing all this for no reason, for, if the article you read is right, the possibility that he’s actually less strong, less powerful in the ring, but he’s on a path and he has to stick to it.
“I’m doing what Coach says,” he tells you, sounding more resolved than he is. “I hired him for a reason and he’s already said he can notice a difference. This fight is so important and I have to follow him to the letter. I am sorry. I am…”
He is what?
He puffs out his cheeks and sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. There aren’t words for this or, if there are, he doesn’t know them. He leans forward and grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a kiss. He knows he shouldn’t, knows how dangerous this is, but he misses you so much and he’s so upset and you’re so upset and he has to do something.
You scoot forward and sit yourself in his lap. His heart hammers in his chest, anxiety or desire or a heady mix of both, he’s not sure but his mind is slipping away from him and he’s not sure he cares anymore. He wraps his arms around you as his tongue finds yours. You’ve hardly had this much of each other over the last week and he’s ravenous. You moan into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue and he feels a stirring in his crotch. He can feel you, just above him, and he wants to push you down, roll your hips over his, but he daren’t; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself if you do.
He's breathless with the need of you and it catches in his throat as you grind into him. He moans and bites hard at your bottom lip; you keep going, kissing him hard so that he can’t speak.
Jungkook gathers up his strength and pulls back, holding you tight in place so you can’t chase after him. He’s breathing heavily and his hand trembles as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear.
“Y/n…” He doesn’t know if it’s a plea or a warning; he doesn’t have any more words to follow. There isn’t anything he can say or do that will make this situation anything other than torture. Nothing will make you feel better than being fucked by him, fucked hard, nothing more and nothing less. He knows because he feels the same. He’s almost dizzy with desire; he’s giddy but clinging with desperation to the last remnants of his self-control. There’s a tiny voice at the back of his head proud of him for having come this far, but he can’t listen to it because we all know what comes before a fall and he can’t afford a fall like this.
It's the title. It’ll be his first title. This win will put him on the map. This win will establish him as a real, professional boxer, one to beat; this will be, he hopes, the first of many belts, many titles. His coach has real faith in him, he believes he can make it to world champion if he works hard enough. And Jungkook wants it. He wants to work; he wants to win. And now, he has to win. Losing is not an option. And once he has won, once this is over – in two, long, painful weeks – it’ll have all been worth it and he’ll be able to have you six ways from Sunday, every day of the week.
“Please don’t stop,” you whimper and the open, desperate pleading of your glistening eyes goes straight to his dick. “Please, please.”
He’s had to resist your pleading before; he’s even enjoyed resisting your cries and pleas, but that’s when he’s been in control; that’s when he’s been ramping up to wrecking you once, twice, three times, as many times as you can take. This is ramping up to nothing and your pleading only makes him feel broken.
You bring your face to his again and he can’t back away. You kiss him with urgency, running your hands over his body beneath his T-shirt, teasing his nipples until he’s fully hard, straining against his boxers, pressing against your crotch. You strip off your own top and Jungkook’s resolve crumbles. He dips his head, lifting you slightly from his lap to kiss your breasts, to flick his tongue over your nipples and swirl them in his mouth, one at a time, until they’re tight and hard. He bites hungrily and you mewl above him, whining his name. It’s like heaven to him and he can’t believe he hasn’t had this for two weeks; the two weeks stretching out in front of you are paling, forgotten in some faraway corner of his mind.
He's kidding himself that he can last a little longer with you lifted up like this, your hips no longer grinding your core into him. He keeps his mouth occupied at your chest and squeezes your glutes in his hands, then slipping them into the wide legs of your shorts. When he pulls your underwear to the side with one hand, and slips the fingers of his other hand into your warm, waiting slip, he sighs with satisfaction. You’re tight and soft and so, so wet.
You take his face in your hands and pull him back to your mouth. The kiss is all tongue and heavy breathing, messy and far from pretty but you’re each so desperate for the other that nothing else matters. You kiss his cheek and his jaw and bite down on his earlobe, whining breathily as he presses insistently against your front wall, each curl of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. He slips his other hand behind your underwear and spreads your slick over your clit, rubbing insistently, knowing you’re getting close. He can tell by the sounds you’re making, sounds he’d work out of you every day of his life if he could.
“God, Kookie, baby, yes.”
You plant your lips on his neck, muffling your whines and whimpers as the heat builds inside you. Jungkook groans, shivering as you suck on his neck, as your cunt clenches his fingers tight, as your legs shake on either side of him. He doesn’t stop, can’t stop even when you’re tugging his hair, even when you’re squirming, even when you’re screaming his name. He’s far away now, lost in the bliss of your velvet heat. He’s insistent and you’re so sensitive that he pulls another orgasm from you with a cry and a shudder that takes your whole body. He’s so focused on you as a way of distracting himself from his own intense, aching desire. He’s painfully hard; he can feel the spreading circle of pre-cum on his boxers; he’s not entirely sure he won’t come even if you don’t touch him.
Then you flop against him, spent, and your hand grazes his crotch and he jerks violently.
“Fuck!” he gasps and tears prick in his eyes. He can’t look at you; he stares far away, out of the window, trying to stop his dick throbbing, trying to slow his heartrate, trying without success to calm himself.
“Kookie,” you whimper, your voice shaky. “Let me-“
“No,” he whispers, no strength in his voice, no strength anywhere in his body except his stiff, swollen cock. He closes his eyes and he can feel a tear trickle down his cheek, followed by your lips as you kiss it away. He flinches at the contact and whimpers when you stroke his hair.
“I can help you,” you whisper but he doesn’t hear you.
He’s lost, his mind strangled with desperate desire. His brain is whirring, swimming, floating away from him; his fingers tingle and shake and his heart thumps erratically in his chest. He’s never been this excruciatingly turned on before and knowing that he can’t see it through is heart-breaking.
You move your hand towards the waistband of his trousers and he grabs your wrist. He’s gripping so tightly, he’s sure it’ll hurt, but he can’t be gentle now.
“Don’t-,” he starts but his words are swallowed by a sob.
You press your forehead against his and he can’t stop the whimper as you kiss him, so light, so soft. He holds your face in his hands, barely even really touching, trying not to tangle them in your hair and pull you closer. You stay like that, just looking at each other for a minute or more, his eyes never leaving yours. He knows he needs to calm down, knows he should be calming down now that you’re still but his breathing doesn’t settle and he can hear the thump of his heart and the roar of his blood in his ears.
“Baby,” he says eventually, his voice croaky and hoarse. He has to do something and it has to be something drastic. He needs a shock to the system, a full reset. “I need-… I need you to get something for me.” And he needs you to get it because he’s not sure he can walk, not sure he can move at all.
“Anything.”
“Ice. And water.”
“Huh?”
“Ice and water; I need a big, big glass- a jug of iced water please.” His voice wobbles at the end and he’s trying so hard to regulate his breathing, trying so hard not to feel the pulsing in his underwear.
“Ok…”
You shift on his lap but he can’t let you go. His fingers twine in your hair and you have to pry them out to allow you to get up.
With the relief of you off him, the air around him clears and he jumps up, taking off his T-shirt and pushing his trousers to the floor. Once again needing to do something with his hands while he waits for you, he holds them out to the side, not daring to let them anywhere near his erection, fists clenching and unclenching. He feels like he might really be on the edge of a heart attack or an aneurysm. He feels abnormal, like nothing he’s ever felt before. He could keel over.
He can hear you, the ice clinking in the glass and he taps his feet, impatient. When you hand it over, he takes it with both hands and up-ends it all over himself.
“Jungkook!” you cry, as water splashes all over the floor and the sofa and the coffee table, but it sounds distant, the shock of the water temporarily sending him far away. He’s gasping and shivering and blinking hard, then screwing his eyes tight.
“I need you to go,” he tell you, still unable to look at you.
“Go where?”
“Anywhere, baby, literally anywhere,” his voice is still wobbling, his teeth chattering. “If we’re still in the same room in five seconds, I think I’m going to die. Come or die, either way, I don’t know but please, please just go.”
“Ok, I’m going, I’m going.”
He can barely hear you; he scrubs his hands over his face, swearing over and over and over again, begging the universe to let him calm down, to make these next two weeks go as quickly as they possibly can.
ONE WEEK TO GO
Jungkook hasn’t taken any more risks since that night. And he has also told you, almost every day since, to behave yourself, to stop doing that; he’s asked if you’re trying to kill him and the truth is: yes. You’re sick of it now; it takes almost nothing to get you hot: just the thought of him, randomly popping into your head as you’re trying to send emails at work, and you’re getting wet. You can’t sleep anymore. He’s still in the spare room but you lie in your bed, thinking about him lying in the other bed, and you can’t help yourself. You make yourself come again and again but it’s never enough. You can’t believe that he’s not only managed to ruin all other men for you but also your own damn self. You know how to push all your buttons but it’s not the same when it’s you doing it, it's not the same without Jungkook between your thighs.
You know there’s only a week to go, but it’s too long and you’re too frustrated and you’re reaching your boiling point. So, you do what any other sane person would do: naked protest. You stop wearing clothes in the house entirely, getting dressed only to go out and stripping as soon as the front door shuts behind you. When you first walk into the kitchen as Jungkook is eating breakfast, he chokes on his cereal and you have to slap him on the back; you feel his eyes following you as you make yourself a cup of tea and some porridge.
Now he’s just ignoring you. He’s doing his best to stay out of any room you are in, but that’s fine. It’s a small apartment and you’ve hidden his noise-cancelling headphones, so you know he can hear you when you moan and whine, wanton and gratuitous, as you do your best to fix your frustration.
He still hasn’t broken. You’re impressed, honestly. You didn’t think that he would be able to hold out this long and, as aggravated as you are, as deeply, unutterably frustrated as you are, you can’t help but admire his self-control. Unable to be in the same room as you, he texts you and tells you that his trainer is impressed with his performance and is confident about the fight; he believes he can win. He had fucking better win is what you think, but you text back something a little more supportive.
Six days before the fight and Jungkook is in the shower. You’re at a loose end, so you decide to join him. You thank the lord that he didn’t lock the door; he’s got his back to you and doesn’t notice you there until your hands are on his waist. He cries out in surprise and goes to turn around but you hold him still, kissing his shoulder and his back and the nape of his neck. You run your hands up his abs, grab his fulsome pecs, and peeking around his shoulder, you’re delighted to see he’s already hard.
“Were you about to masturbate in this shower?” you ask him, only half-serious.
“No,” he groans. “This is how badly I want you, y/n. Why are you making this so hard?”
You giggle at his choice of words and he growls deep in his throat. He turns around and cages you in against the screen with his hands either side of you.
“In six days,” he tells you, his voice low, face serious, eyes pinning you to the spot. “In six days, I am going to fucking destroy you. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for a week; I’m going to fill you up so completely, my cum never stops dripping out of you; I’m going to make you scream so loud, our neighbours want to call the police; I’m going to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you again, then I’m going to fuck you some more and I’m still not going to be done. I’m going to take this cock,” he says, grabbing it at the base and hissing hard through his teeth as he does, “and I’m going to wreck your pretty little throat and your pretty little pussy, is that what you want?”
You can only nod, mute with desire, as you can feel arousal drip down your legs and you shiver, despite the warm, steamy atmosphere. Jungkook nudges his nose against yours, eyes still black as pitch, and he whispers in your ear.
“In six days.”
Then he leans back and stands back under the stream of water.
“Now get the fuck out.”
You’re so overwhelmed, you just do as he says and he follows behind you, shutting the door – and locking it – as soon as you’ve crossed the threshold. You blink hard and, as you come to your senses, you feel too many things at once: hot, frustrated, desperate, livid, heartbroken, a little bit intimidated, a lot excited, and over and above everything else, impatient.
Jungkook stands in the shower, turning the water icy again. He’s shaking, trembling all over, and before he can get himself under control, he’s sobbing. Hands against the tiles, shivering with cold and shuddering through ragged breaths, he drops his head and cries. Cries because he’s so frustrated, because he misses you so much, because he’s so tired, because he hates disappointing you, because he’s anxious, because he’s not sleeping well at night without you, because a tiny, paranoid thought niggles at him that this is going to make you leave him, because he can’t live without you and if he didn’t know it before, he knows it now.
He cries under the cold water for so long that it stops feeling cold against his skin and when he finally steps out of the shower, his skin is livid red and icy to the touch.
He goes to stay at a friend’s house that night.
“Look, I love you so much and I miss you so much that I can’t be around you,” reads his text. “Just thinking about you makes me want to die a seriously Little Death. The fight will be over soon; just six more days and I promise, I’ll give you everything you want and more. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, please, please wait for me.”
“I love you, too, my little Bourbon,” you reply. “But I might never forgive you for this.”
“I promise, I’ll make you forgive AND forget, just wait ’til Saturday.”
He stares at his phone, wishing the messages said something different. He knows you’re joking, thinks you’re joking, hopes you’re joking, at least a little bit.
He sends a string of different kiss emojis and you toss your phone down beside you. Considering your small arsenal of sex toys without hope, you pick one at random, knowing even before you’ve started that it’s not even going to touch the sides of your desire. Your need for Jungkook has become a yawning chasm that stretches further than the eye can see; and it is a need for Jungkook specifically. For one mad moment a few days ago, you had considered the possibility of going out and getting fucked by someone else, but the second you thought it, it repulsed you: you don’t need a dick, you need his dick; you need his mouth; you need his hands. You need him, no one and nothing else. Accept no imitations. Which is really rather a pain right now.
You try to focus on your body, on the pleasure building there, the pleasant thrum in your core as you work with the vibrator in your folds and against your clit. You try to think about nothing, removing Jungkook from the equation, just emptying your mind and focusing on the physical sensations of your body.
It doesn’t work and you get so frustrated that you throw the vibrator in the bin and then, that not being enough, scoop up the others and chuck them in there, too. What’s the point of them, you think to yourself bitterly.
These had better be the fastest six days of your life or you aren’t sure you’ll survive.
FIGHT NIGHT
It was finally here. Jungkook had been working towards this for months, years, for his whole life in a way. It was both the pinnacle of his career and the first step of what he hoped would be a very long journey to the top. The final fight in his bid to be The Ring’s Super Middleweight champion: his opponent, Saul ‘Canelo’ Alvarez. Jungkook has him on reach and height, and he’s also lighter, which he thinks will be to his advantage. Canelo might be a slugger, but that’s where Jungkook excels. People think that his lightness is a disadvantage, that he doesn’t have the strength to throw hard enough punches, that he’s weak, that he’s Amir Khan. But he’s better than that. He’s agile and yes, slighter than other super middleweights, but he’s also strong and he’s also powerful and there’s nothing like seeing the surprise in his opponent’s face when he got his first punch in and they realised that for themselves. Of course, now he’s getting better known, he’s losing that element of surprise but it’s hardly the only thing he’s got in his keep.
But he’s not thinking about that. Today, just like all the other days this week, he’s thinking about you. His coach keeps telling him that he’s strong, that he seems focused, that he seems strong, but Jungkook isn’t entirely convinced. All he can think about is you; his mind is already beyond the fight and he’s anxious that this is going to be his undoing, that he’s going to have survived these past four weeks only to be so keyed up and desperate in the ring that he loses.
He wishes he could see you, just for five minutes, but you’ve been banned from his presence on fight days. You’re also banned from the gym on training days. Jungkook agrees with Coach that that’s probably for the best but it doesn’t mean he likes it. You are a distraction, there’s no denying it, but today, he really feels like he needs it. He needs you. Even an ounce, even a drop of you will do.
He pulls out his phone and dials your number.
“Kookie! Are you ok?” You sound concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”
“We never speak on fight days; I thought something might be wrong.”
Jungkook sighs and leans his head back against the wall.
“Something is wrong: I miss you.”
“Jungkook! Don’t scare me like that!”
He laughs and knows he was right to call you; just hearing your voice is like a balm to his fraying nerves. He already feels more relaxed.
“I’m sorry, love,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear your voice; we haven’t spoken this week.”
“I know and whose fault is that?”
“I know, I know, it’s mine, but I can’t wait to see you. Even if I lose this fight, as long as I’ve got you, I’m good, I’m a winner.”
“Hey now, you’re not going to lose, my little oat and raisin cook-”
“You don’t like that flavour cookie, do you?”
“Well, I don’t, no, but I thought I’d go with the least sexy flavour, in respect of how easy it is to get a ‘rise’ out of you at the moment.”
He snorts, appreciative of the weird, little effort.
“I think you’re right: raisins are not sexy but cookies are sexy biscuits, aren’t they? By default? Sexier than normal biscuits, right?”
“So you’re saying we need a raisin biscuit that isn’t a cookie.”
“Yeah.
“Garibaldi?”
Jungkook laughs.
“I don’t even know what that is, love, but sure, it doesn’t sound sexy.”
“Ok, then, I know you’re not going to lose, my little garibaldi.”
He laughs again and tells you that his coach has said the same thing (“… not in the same words”). He wishes he could stay on the phone with you longer; having barely spoken to you this week, he misses your voice, your presence, your conversation, just as much if not more than he misses your body. He sees his coach crossing the room, approaching him and he rings off reluctantly, but relieved he got even a minute with you before tonight.
He’s pacing in the dressing room; it’s almost time. He considered asking you not to come to this one; he’s not sure that he’ll be able to focus knowing you’re so much as in the room. The usual rule is that you’re allowed to attend but you have to sit somewhere in the back, somewhere he won’t be able to see you; he’s not sure if that’ll be enough tonight. Coach is talking to him, trying to hype him up, but he can’t hear a word. He just knows he needs to end this fight as soon as he possibly can and that means not going out there all guns blazing like a reckless thug in a bar fight; it means taking a step back (and he physically does it, takes one step back), taking a deep breath, and remembering the strategy, remembering the training. He’s ready for this (“You’re ready for this, JK,” Coach cries); he’s going to destroy Canelo (“You’re going to smash it, mate; you’re going to destroy him!”); and then he’s going to destroy you and himself in that order.
Canelo seems thrown off by Jungkook at the start: his size, maybe, his strength, his Southpaw stance despite being right-handed, Jungkook can’t be sure, but he wins the first round decisively and it’s exactly how he needs it to go: he likes to be the underdog but he likes an early lead. Spite and competitiveness can get you surprisingly far in life. He was right that Canelo is heavy and Jungkook is able to run rings around him; he thinks he might genuinely be able to get this wrapped up early, if he can just manage to hit him hard enough.
That turns out to be an ambitious goal and, halfway through, he’s slightly down on points. He’s frustrated; he can’t quite work out why his punches aren’t landing. Are they really not connecting? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Are the judges just not seeing them? He’s not sure what he can do about that. He spits out the water Coach squirted in his mouth and he’s nodding at his advice. As he stands to get ready for the seventh round, his eyes roam the crowd, not looking for anything, just looking. Then his stomach flips. He sees you.
You’re sitting in your seat, anxious and uncomfortable. It always makes you anxious to see him fight, even though you know he’s trained for this and he’s as safe as anyone else would be in the same situation, but you flinch every time Canelo lands a punch. Jungkook hasn’t lost a fight all year and you’re surprised to see him losing – even if not by many points. You hadn’t really considered the possibility of him losing, because he doesn’t. He’s Jungkook. He’s the Baby Assassin of Busan. He doesn’t lose.
But things go from bad to worse. The next rounds see Jungkook falter, making uncharacteristic mistakes and misjudgements that cost him points. As the bell rings at the end of the tenth round, you can see the frustration in Jungkook’s face from here. Your stomach twists; you know how much this fight means to him and how upset he’ll be if he loses. You try to rouse yourself; it’s not over ’til it’s over. There are two rounds to go and he’s not so far behind he can’t make it up. There’s still a chance.
When Jungkook stands for the eleventh round, you see him scanning the crowd in your direction. You panic, should you hide? Duck? Cover your face? Too late; his eyes find yours and the second stretches into eternity, just you and him, before he’s tapped by the ref and he turns away. You shouldn’t have come. You’re a distraction. You’re going to make it worse.
Jungkook is going to lose.
The bell rings and Jungkook feels sprightly, buoyed, suddenly less tired than he had done in the last round. He dances energetically around the ring, keeping Canelo moving, keeping him throwing punches and missing, throwing more punches and missing again and again. You’re on the edge of your seat; this is the Jungkook you know. All at once, he lands three punches on Canelo and leaps back out of his retaliatory reach. Then he settles in a bit closer and lets Canelo land a couple on him; this… isn’t the Jungkook you know. You can’t work out what he’s doing; you’ve not seen him do this before. You turn to the clock, watching the seconds of the round tick by. Thirty seconds left. You check the points. Jungkook still behind.
This is more like it, Jungkook thinks. He can end it. He knows he can. He just has to let Canelo let his guard down a little more, tire him out a little further. Jungkook is not letting this get to twelve rounds. It won’t happen. Not on his watch.
You’re so focused on the screen: the points, the time, that you miss what causes the crowd to suddenly surge and scream. Canelo is standing with the referee in front of him, looking a little dazed. The ref lets them continue and the round commences again. Before Canelo has even blinked, Jungkook has hit him with a left hook that you know he put all his weight into. Canelo falls to the mat and doesn’t get back up. The ref starts counting. The crowd count with him.
“8… 9… 10!”
The ref waves a wide cross in front of him; the commentator declares it a knockout; and the crowd is screaming. Jungkook’s arms are in the air, his coach lumbering into the ring to envelope him in a hug, along with everyone else, it seems, the ring suddenly full of people. You lose sight of Jungkook. You’re on your feet, straining to see over the heads of the people in front of you, who are doing the very same thing. Tiny red fists emerge from the mêlée and it’s him; you exhale a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. You’re desperate to get to him. It’s over. The fight’s finally over. And he won. By knockout after a hard fight. This is absolutely the best outcome, better even than you’d hoped for. You bet he’s on cloud nine and you can’t wait to join him there.
Jungkook is buzzing. He’s done it. It’s finally over. And that means there’s only one thing on his mind. He can’t focus, is barely there as they hand him his belt, as he lifts it above his head to show the screaming crowd. People are congratulating him, slapping his back, rubbing his hair; at some point, someone takes his hands and rips off his gloves – he’s not sure where they end up. The fight was televised and a man with a microphone approaches him. He tries hard to focus on the questions, answering as quickly as he can and then the presenter asks just what he’s going to do now he’s won his first Super Middleweight title.
“Well,” he answers, “I haven’t come in four weeks so I’m going to go find my girl and fuck her in the dressing room ’til neither of us can walk straight!”
He points right at you, flicks a peace sign to the crowd and jogs back the way he entered 45 long minutes ago.
He keeps jogging all the way to the dressing room, stopping for precisely nobody. Coach tries to grab his attention, tries to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs him off. Wild horses can’t keep him from you now.
He swings open the dressing room, for a moment disappointed that you’re not there before him, but, of course you wouldn’t be. He’ll have to wait; it’s been four weeks, he can cope with another four minutes. Probably. He paces back and forth, back and forth; he chugs half a bottle of water; he almost wipes the sweat off his body, dries his hair, but then he remembers how much you like him dirty like this. Just the thought of you has got him hard already. He palms himself through his shorts and immediately has to stop himself; to come before you’ve even got in the door is unthinkable, unforgivable.
The door opens and there you are.
“Fucking finally.”
Jungkook slams his hands either side of your head, leaning down over you, sweat still dripping from his hair. He lowers one hand slowly to lock the door, his dark eyes never leaving yours, and then returns it next to your head.
“Did you have to wear fucking jeans?” he asks, laughing lightly. Of course, she’d wear jeans, he thinks, fucking tease. “Couldn’t find a dress? A skirt?”
“Sorry,” you answer, and you’re already breathless.
Jungkook kisses you, pressing his whole body against you and you sigh; god how you’ve missed this. He turns you around with one knock of his hand on your hip and he unbuttons your jeans impatiently. He shoves them roughly down your legs and you step out of them and your shoes at the same time.
“Oh baby, I don’t care. All I care about is finally getting to fuck you like you deserve. Please tell me you’re wet already. I don’t think I can wait a second longer.”
He’s usually more considerate; he would usually take his time. But this is not a usual situation. You laugh.
“Kookie, I’ve been wet for weeks, just hurry the fuck up, would you?”
He doesn’t need telling twice. He strips off his shorts and boxers and as he presses the head of his cock against your entrance, and it twitches, he gasps.
“Shit.”
He takes a few breaths, tries to steady himself. He kisses your neck, buying himself some time. He’s on a hair trigger and he’s not entirely convinced he won’t blow his load in one thrust.
“Just so you know,” he tells you, figuring there’s nothing else for it. “I’m going to last about ten seconds right now, but I promise, I’ll be ready to go again. I swear this won’t be it.”
“Just fuck me, please, Kookie. I’ll take ten seconds over none.”
Your whole body shudders as he presses into you for the first time in four weeks. You both moan low and Jungkook pauses at the bottom. You can feel him breathing heavily against your skin and he takes your trapezius in his teeth, taking a generous bite and not letting go as he drags himself backwards before thrusting in again. Your walls are spasming already; you’re so tight and he’s stretching you just right, filling you up like you’ve not been filled for 29 long days.
Ten seconds, as it happens, was an over-estimation. The way you grip him, the way he can feel your walls fluttering against him; you’re so hot and wet and tight and it’s been so long and he’s so sensitive. He lasts for all of a handful of thrusts before he’s groaning and shooting hot, white ropes of cum into you.
“Fuck, shit, sorry, baby, fuck!”
You can’t help but laugh as you turn around, keeping your legs tight together. He grins sheepishly at you and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.
“I’m sorry, love, I did tell you.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”
His hands meet across your lower back and he pulls you close for a kiss.
“I’ve missed you, too, Kookie,” you mumble against his lips, half your words eaten up by Jungkook’s mouth. You feel his tongue against your lower lip and you open up for him, sliding your tongue over his as he licks into your mouth. God, even this you’ve missed. You’ve barely even seen him in the last week, let alone got close to him, let alone touched him, let alone kissed him, even chastely. It’s overwhelming now to have him so close to you, all over you. You never want him any further away.
He moves his hands lower and lifts you up under your bum, carrying you to the sofa, where he strips you of your top and bralet – the black, lacy one you know he likes. You almost pout that he takes no notice of it but he catches you eye and grins.
“I notice, I know, I love you, thank you, but god, I don’t want a stitch on you right now. Nothing is better than you like this.” He stretches his hands out over your naked body and climbs over you. He ducks again, swallowing your next moan as he pinches at your nipple.
His mouth is everywhere, burning wherever it touches. You’re sweating and breathless and you think you won’t last much longer than ten seconds either when he finally touches you. Your cunt is quivering in anticipation, your clit throbbing a hard pulse, its echoes shuddering through you. Your back arches as Jungkook moves lower, his mouth on one nipple and then the next and then lower and lower still. He crawls off the sofa onto his knees and pulls you around, legs dangling from the edge. He spreads your thighs wide and takes a moment, looking down at your soaking wet pussy through half-lidded eyes. He licks his lips and clicks his neck from one side to the next before fixing you with a mischievous grin.
“If you even think about teasing me,” you gasp out. “I will fucking murder you.”
He laughs and kisses your inner thigh.
“You over-estimate my self-control, my love. I’m at my fucking limit.”
He is. He isn’t even close to finished with you. His cock is already stirring again as he dives straight in, licking a broad stripe from core to clit and moaning lasciviously as he does. You’re already so sensitive, whining and whimpering as he sucks and slurps at you, his face buried so far into the crux of your thighs, you don’t know if he can breathe. Almost immediately, you’re cresting, arching off the sofa, thighs clamping together on Jungkook’s head as a streak of hot pleasure surges through you and fresh arousal gushes over his face.
He brings his hands to your thighs and forces them apart without breaking contact with your cunt. He doesn’t stop, no matter how you squirm; you can’t catch your breath to tell him you’re over-stimulated, to beg him to stop, to give you a second’s break. A scream breaks in your throat as he pushes three fingers inside you and you’re seeing stars. He finally takes his mouth from you and breathes heavily against you, his breath sending sprinkles of goosebumps across your skin. He curls his fingers inside you and then tips your hips just slightly, suddenly hitting the perfect spot. You’re incoherent, animal, as you moan and whimper, stuttering to another orgasm under his ministrations.
You don’t have to find a way to ask him to remove his fingers as the waves of your orgasm roll through you but just as you are about to breathe a sigh of relief, his mouth is back on you. He’s gentle this time, more patient. He kisses your lips, licks through your folds slowly, moaning, his brows knitting together because it’s been so long since he’s tasted you and there’s nothing he’d ever rather eat. He buries his tongue in your hole, bumping your clit with his nose; if it were anyone else, it might be accidental, but you know Jungkook knows your body perfectly and knows exactly what he's doing. You’re raw, over-wrought, dehydrated. Your vision swims and your voice gets stuck in your throat, able only to gasp and stutter, not even able to scream his name out loud as you scream it in your head. Your hands tremble, one pushing back the hair on your head, the other finding its way to Jungkook’s hair, tangling there as if you could even dream of giving him direction right now.
His eyes flick to yours and they’re black, pupils dilated, lids fluttering quickly to a close again as he moans, vibrating lips sealing around your screamingly sensitive clit. Your hand pulls sharply at his hair, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You feel like every atom in your body has been electrified, every touch, every movement – yours or his – sending sparks straight to your core, where they’re churned up into a tight ball. Like the death of a star, your body collapses in on itself, contracting and tightening as you are reduced to little more than a silent scream, and then explodes, a supernova of ecstasy exploding within you, scattering bits of you all over the room.
When you open your eyes, you can see stars wherever you look, which isn’t far because you can’t find it within you to move a single muscle.
“You ok, my love?”
Jungkook’s face swims into view, a dopey grin on his sticky, wet face. He looks drunk or high or both. He pushes the hair off your face, your flushed cheeks, fucked-out, dilated pupils staring straight at him; he thinks you look high or drunk or both. He kisses you so you can taste yourself on his lips and you’re suddenly hungry again.
“Kookie.” Your voice is hoarse and low, still strangled with need.
Jungkook hums against your mouth as he lifts you up, pressing your back into the back of the sofa.
“Kookie.”
You manage to grab his face between your palms and hold him still, giving you a chance to focus on him, see him properly.
“Tell me what you need,” he says, as eager to please and energetic as a new puppy and you have no idea how. He should be tired; he knows he’s going to crash hard, but right now, there’s adrenaline surging through him like there’s no tomorrow. He’s wired; he’s excited; he feels almost manic with love and lust and he’s so high, he can’t see the ground. He feels like he could go all night and he’s certainly going to try.
“I need you inside me, right now, right this second. Please, please, please.”
You aren’t exactly unaccustomed to begging but nothing will stop the stream of ‘please’s tumbling from your mouth. Nothing, that is, except the head of Jungkook’s perfect cock in your folds, waiting, teasing at your entrance.
He’s lifted you again, setting you on the arm of the sofa, him kneeling on the cushions; with nothing to rest against, you cling to him tight as your breath catches in your throat. He watches closely as he pushes into the tight, wet slip of your cunt, watching himself disappear into you. You want to make a joke about lasting another ten seconds but you don’t have the energy, the capacity, the mental agility to make it; you just about manage to cry his name as starts to thrust, smooth and slow at first, but soon, quicker, harder, accompanied by quiet growls and grunts as he grips you tight. You really do feel drunk, giddy, hysterical as he’s finally, finally back where he belongs. You feel tears prick in your eyes at the relief of it, the pressure, the pleasure.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “Shit, I can’t wait to fill you up, stuff you fucking full. Can you take it, baby?”
He’s relieved he hasn’t come again already, though he knows he could. He’s holding back because he’s still so close to the edge. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to lose it again.
“I can take it,” you reply, voice high and tight. “Give it to me, Kookie- fuck.”
He grabs the hair at the back of your head and pulls it back, exposing your neck so he can kiss you, lick you, bite you there, moaning against your skin as you whimper and stutter.
“Kookie, shit, please. I need you to fuck me forever. God, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he grunts. “Shit, won’t stop. I’m yours, baby.”
“Only mine.”
“Only yours.”
You press your lips to his clavicle, then lick a bead of sweat travelling down his throat. Jungkook moves faster still, his grip on you painfully tight as he threatens your cervix with every thrust. You’re so sensitive, you’re at an almost constant spasm around him; your limbs still heavy and weak, tingling like they’re both going numb and coming back to life. You simultaneously want this to last forever and feel like you’ll die if a single extra ounce of pleasure is put on you. Then Jungkook sucks at that one spot on your neck that makes you melt and you swear, voice wavering and breaking.
“Give me one more, baby,” he demands, so low you almost don’t hear it.
“I don’t have it,” you whimper.
“Yes, you do, c’mon, y/n.”
And he slips a hand between you, never letting his pace falter.
“Jesus, fuck!”
He touches you gently, but it’s enough to have reality slipping from view, your vision burning white, your blood roaring, screaming in your ears as you cum again. You hold him tight, your nails digging into his back, your teeth hard on the delicate flesh of his neck. It rolls through you, knocking your breath from your lungs, and once it’s passed, you’re trembling, shaking.
Jungkook is holding his breath, straining to last to fuck you through your orgasm; you’re so tight around him it’s like his brain loses signal, just a siren wailing an emergency. No thoughts, no words, when you collapse against him, he exhales, and releases into you with a long, high-pitched sigh.
He lies back onto the sofa, taking you with him.
“That was more than ten seconds, right?” he asks, breathless.
You laugh and pat his shoulder.
“Well done, little jammy dodger; I’m proud of you.”
“For lasting more than ten seconds or winning the title?”
“What title?”
The question leaves your lips before your brain has engaged and Jungkook laughs, first a little and then a lot, so much that you can’t help but laugh with him, can’t help but laugh until you’re crying, your abs hurting, you’re silent in your mirth, breathless and voiceless and hysterical.
When you finally stop, you bring your face level to his. He still has tears of laughter in his eyes and streaking his cheeks. You wipe them away with your thumb and he turns his head to kiss your palm.
“Both, I guess?” you answer.
He grins and shakes his head.
“I almost lost. I thought I was going to fucking lose,” he tells you. “That second half, I-…”
“What happened?”
“I saw you. I saw you in the crowd and I almost fucking came right then and there.” He laughs, though it was anything but funny at the time. “I couldn’t concentrate on the fight; all I could think about was trying not to get a fucking boner. Shit what a stupid fucking idea it was not having sex for four we-”
“I fucking told you!”
“I know, I know. I will never not listen to you ever again for the rest of my life, I swear. God.”
“No more sex bans?”
“No more sex bans. I am never, ever not having sex with you again.”
“Good.”
You lift yourself onto your elbows on his chest and kiss him first on the lips, then the jaw and neck and anywhere within reach.
“Speaking of never not having sex… Are you ready to go again?”
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Be Our Girl?
If you saw Tumblr immediately flag this, no, you didn't.
This is the first request I received as part of my JJK Fic Readers Supporting Noury event. There are still slots open, so please click the link for more info!
Thank you to @enchantedsylveon for their support and the wonderful request 💜. I went way over the word count because I got possessed by the spirit of horny. Forgive me 😅
Pairing: Geto x Gojo x afab!reader (aka SatoSugu x afab!reader) Rating: Explicit (18+ minors DNI)
Word Count: 6.8k
Request: Morally grey, obsessive pleasure doms Gojo and Geto take care of their girl while she's on her period.
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Warnings are found below the cut!
A/N: This is my first time writing a threesome AND my first time writing for both of these characters....... So, Leeeeeroy Jenkins!
Warnings (besides what it says on the request): Use of pet names (princess, baby, etc), references to mental health issues, multiple sex positions, dacryphilia, cursing, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, cum eating, banter during sex, breeding kink, cervix fucking, deepthroating, praise and light degradation, y'all get the gist this is some filth (affectionate)
It was early one morning, far too early for any sane person to be awake as you sat on a couch, trapped between your two long-time friends. On one end of the couch, Satoru Gojo pouted and stared out the nearby window, nursing a can of soda like it was hard liquor. Geto Suguru occupied the other end, glaring at the wall like he wanted to burn a hole through it. He was doing his damnedest to avoid paying his best friend any attention as you sat between the two men, grumbling under your breath. You were unlucky enough to be quite literally in the middle of their dispute.
The two young men had been fighting so much recently, and it had honestly hurt your heart to see. Their bickering had affected their efforts in school, nearly destroyed both of their mental health, and strained their relationship to a breaking point. Shoko had advised you to leave it alone, saying the boys needed to figure it out on their own or just fuck already, but as their other best friend, you just couldn’t take much more of it. Especially when Satoru made a habit of coming over at three A.M. to complain about Suguru.
Funnily enough, that was precisely what had led to the current situation. Satoru had shown up, knocked so hard that he nearly broke your door down in the process, and shoved his way inside your apartment despite your many protests.
Now, there were multiple reasons why his visit was horribly timed. The first would’ve been immediately evident if the strongest sorcerer wasn’t so preoccupied. You were wincing in pain when you answered the door, clutching a hot water bottle to your lower stomach, and Gojo had been too oblivious to notice. He simply brushed past you, already ranting as he headed directly for your plush couch.
“‘Toru, wait-“
“That emo bastard can’t get it through his thick skull that we’re supposed to be friends. He-” Satoru paused mid-rant as the emo bastard in question sat up on your couch, groaning. Suguru had been fast asleep until now, and the raven-haired man looked pissed that he had been woken up.
The deep circles under Suguru’s eyes had only grown more exaggerated in the past few days, and his long, beautiful raven hair was a tangled mess. You could see the weariness he carried creep under his skin more and more, and it honestly terrified you. Suguru had confided in you that he could barely sleep anymore, and like the good friend you were, you offered for him to sleep on your couch, hoping the proximity to a close friend would help ease his mind.
“You’d better be talking about someone else,” Suguru hissed at Gojo, dark eyes flashing with anger as you slammed the heel of your hand against your head.
“I can already feel another migraine coming,” you muttered under your breath. “‘Satoru, as I was trying to say, you may want to come back later because I. already. have. company.”
You punctuated your words with brief pauses, not even bothering to try and hide the annoyance in your tone. Gojo pursed his lips dramatically, rolling his eyes. He immediately turned on his heel to leave, but you beat him to the door. “Oh, no. You didn’t listen to me, so you get to stay. I am not in the mood for this to be a revolving door today.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but one look from you silenced him. You motioned for Geto to scoot over on the couch, and the sleep-deprived man shot you an incredulous look as Gojo pilfered a soda from your fridge.
Nearly thirty minutes of awkward silence had passed between the three of you on the couch before you’d finally had enough. You had been trying to be a good, patient friend, but this morning was the absolute last straw. For half of the previous night, you’d been curled up in a ball with the most abysmal cramps, completely unable to sleep. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, you had drifted off… only to be woken up by Gojo thirty minutes later. Your cramps were still coming in awful waves, and no medication was helping. You simply wanted to melt into the floor, but you were being forced to babysit two of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers who had ever lived while they behaved like petulant children.
A particularly harsh cramp had you gritting your teeth, barely able to speak as you forced two words past your lips. “That’s enough.”
Both of your companions’ heads whipped around, and you felt the weight of two completely different gazes. One was ice-cold, and the second felt like scorched earth; they were polar opposites, but each held the same intense gravity.
“The two of you are going to talk this out. This all passed ridiculous a long time ago.” You continued, gesturing around dramatically with one hand, holding up the other to silence the noises of protest that left both men. Your throat felt dry and raw with anger. All of the frustration and pain in your body had coalesced into a single, white-hot ball of emotion, which was currently clawing its way out of your throat with a vengeance.
“I’m not finished. Geto Suguru, I want you to feel better, but you have to open up to us. If you keep all your emotions bottled up, you’re going to go insane one day and start a cult or something.”
Geto looked down at his folded hands, clearly a bit stunned by your outburst. Normally, something like this would’ve never happened. You were always such a caring, sweet girl, and you had never lost your temper in front of either man. Both Gojo and Geto instantly knew that they’d fucked up for you to be this viscerally angry and use their full names at the same time. You had never called them anything other than their first names for the many years you’d been friends.
“And you, Gojo Satoru, need to calm down and try to understand your best friend more. The two of you need to actually talk. You’ve just expected Suguru to come to you for help all this time, but you could also reach out first.” Gojo had the decency to blush in embarrassment, setting his soda can down on a coaster while you scolded him.
You stood rather abruptly, intending to leave the two men to sulk while you crawled back into your warm bed, but you forgot about one very important thing in your addled state. The hot water bottle was still on your lap, and it hit the floor with a loud clang the second you stood. Water splashed everywhere, finally catching the attention of both men. Gojo’s icy gaze met Geto’s earthen one as the full situation finally clicked in their heads, and they shared a look that clearly read “oh shit.”
The loss of the water bottle’s comforting warmth was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Fat, hot tears started to roll down your cheeks as you felt your uterus violently contract again. You doubled over, and both men stood, rushing to your side as you cried out in pain, fully sobbing.
“You’re making all of us worry, especially me. I just can’t keep listening to my two best friends complain about each other instead of talking through their problems, and I feel horrible right now, and I just-”
Geto ran a comforting hand down your back. “Shit. Shhh… We’re sorry for making you worry. Right, Satoru?”
Gojo sighed as the raven-haired man stared at him pointedly. “He’s right, we’re very sorry. C’mere, let’s get you back into bed.”
He held his arms out as you sniffled, wiping at your eyes. With one swift motion, Gojo scooped you up in his arms as Suguru quickly towled up the water on the floor. Somewhere deep in your mind, you realized that you could feel Satoru’s warm skin against yours; he had turned off Infinity for you. He cradled you for a few precious minutes, purring soft reassurances against your ear that had you relaxing into his arms.
“S’ alright. I’ve got you.”
Suguru rolled his eyes and finished cleaning in almost record time. He pushed his friend toward your room, entering first to scoop your sheets aside and plug in your big heating pad. Gojo laid you down on the soft mattress, and you immediately snuggled up underneath the sheets. Another sharp stab of pain made you wince, and the two men shared another pointed look and a collective sigh, finding enough truce in their argument to climb into the bed on either side of you.
Geto passed the heating pad to Gojo, who gently placed it against your lower stomach before pulling you against his chest. You clung to him happily, nuzzling into his warmth. However, this new position also made you oblivious to the way Geto’s eyes flashed in frustration at the sight.
The raven-haired man pulled your back against his chest in retaliation, splaying a possessive hand over your hip as Gojo smirked at him. You murmured in appreciation, unconsciously shifting to lay against them equally as you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Geto and Gojo locked eyes and finally relaxed, seemingly arriving at some unspoken agreement. They joined you in a deep, comfortable sleep, and it was by far the best sleep any of you had gotten in months.
The three of you only grew closer after that night. It had only taken a week for Gojo and Geto to patch up their relationship, and they emerged with a stronger bond than before. When Shoko asked about the change, the boys cheerfully credited your period-induced breakdown as the catalyst that led them to reconcile. Gojo would grin cheekily, the action only mirrored by his raven-haired counterpart’s self-satisfied smirk as the two repeated the very same answer to everyone else who asked. They also pointedly ignored how you blushed and stammered at them, “Please, stop telling everyone about that.”
“No can do, sweetheart.” Satoru winked at you over the rim of his dark glasses before sighing dramatically, poking at your soft, pouting cheeks, “Besides, where would we be without you? You put us in our place, so you deserve all the credit.”
Geto chuckled, a darkly amused glint in his eyes as he placed his large hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’re right. We both need our girl to keep us straight.”
–
Time flew by as the three of you graduated and rejoined Tokyo Jujutsu High as young teachers. Life was… interesting; some things had changed for you, but many things still stayed the same. For one thing, you, Satoru, and Suguru were still incredibly close. Even though there were always missions to complete, students to educate, and monsters to kill, the three of you made time to spend together.
Quite often, your “quality time” with the two men was spent in the form of a massive movie night at your apartment. There had been many discussions about moving it to Gojo’s ritzy new place, but the routine was already too ingrained in the three of you. So, every other weekend, you all piled on top of your plush sofa to watch cheesy movies, cycling through picks from every genre imaginable until everyone fell asleep.
However, as much as you enjoyed the tradition, you had almost canceled tonight’s marathon. The worst part of your period was supposed to be over by now, but the heavy cramping hadn’t let up at all.
“Those two better be glad I love them so much,” you muttered, blushing slightly as you caught your accidental choice of words.
Love? No, I don’t love those two. We’re just friends. Really good friends.
Thoughts continued to whirl around your head as you hurriedly tidied up your living room and small kitchen, preparing everything for the night. No, you most definitely weren’t in love with both of your best friends at the same time. You were so good at ignoring how the two men had only grown more handsome and attentive to you since their big argument, and you definitely never imagined them taking you to bed….
By the time you had nearly convinced yourself that denial was just a river in Egypt, there was a cheerful knock at the door. The knock lasted for all of two seconds before Satoru pushed it open, grinning widely. The white-haired man still wore his blindfold but had traded his usual all-black uniform for a pair of suspiciously designer-looking grey sweatpants and a soft, black t-shirt.
“I brought treats!” He chimed, setting his armful of baked goods and sweets on the counter.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “‘Toru, did you rob a small bakery? You know you’re the only one who will eat most of it.”
He noticed how you greedily eyed a bar of dark chocolate, snatching it up and waving it at you teasingly, “Oh, so you want me to take it back, then?”
You pouted, trying to reach for the bar as Satoru weaponized his height against you. He held the chocolate just out of reach, and you jumped, almost brushing the very edge of the wrapper. You landed awkwardly, stumbling backward into something- no, someone- very solid. A rich, amused chuckle tickled your ear as Suguru caught you, reaching up to pluck the bar from Gojo’s hand as his hand cupped your hip.
“Having fun without me, already?”
“‘Toru’s being mean,” you complained as Suguru passed the sweet to you with a snide grin directed at the other man.
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, removing his blindfold to wink at you. “I’ve wounded our princess so she can have the first movie pick tonight.
Your heart twisted and fluttered in your chest at the use of that pet name and the sight of his gorgeous cerulean eyes, but you shoved that feeling aside as quickly as it appeared.
“I can forgive you… this time.”
“And you can make the first batch of popcorn,” Suguru added, his signature sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I’ll make sure to burn yours,” Gojo grumbled in response, heading for the kitchen as Suguru herded you toward the couch.
You plopped down onto the middle of the couch, and Geto settled to your left, promptly handing you the chunky knit blanket you favored. Funnily enough, the arrangement the three of you sat in was as much of a tradition as the movie night itself; you were always in the middle of the two men. The three of you were always sandwiched together, but that didn’t make you flustered. Jujutsu sorcery took such a high mental toll that you had long figured any cuddling was strictly platonic.
Geto looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you almost sighed in happiness as you caught the comforting scent of sandalwood soap and incense that always surrounded him. You tipped your head against his shoulder, smiling contentedly and nibbling into the chocolate bar as the two of you flipped through movies, looking for the perfect one. Gojo cursed loudly in the other room, and you giggled at the loud banging coming from the stove.
A few hours later, you finally got to Geto’s pick: a cheesy B-grade horror movie. Bags of candy and popcorn lay strewn over the coffee table as the three of you watched the final girl run from yet another masked killer. You had excused yourself to the bathroom half an hour ago to take some medicine and change into a fresh pad, but your cramps stubbornly refused to give up. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin the night, so you suffered in silence, silently wincing in pain every few minutes.
Geto and Gojo shared a look as they felt your body tense for the umpteenth time, and the raven-haired man clicked pause on the remote while his counterpart rubbed tiny circles over the small of your back.
“What is it?” Suguru asked, his voice and expression both filled with concern.
“Nothing, really. I’m fine.” You tried to reassure both men, but they gazed at you, unimpressed and clearly not buying your story.
“We know you well enough to know that’s not true.” Gojo gazed at you, suddenly more serious than he’d been all night. Geto squeezed your shoulder gently, and both men scooted even closer to you, clearly unwilling to let it go.
“Fine,” you grumbled. “I’m on my period, and my cramps are really bad right now. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want tonight to end yet, even though I don’t feel well.”
Geto’s gaze softened, and Gojo laughed quietly, “You know we couldn’t leave our girl when she’s in pain.”
Your cheeks flushed hotly at Satoru’s words.
“You know I’ll never get a boyfriend if you keep calling me that.”
The words left your lips before you could even think about what you were saying; the temperature in the room instantly felt ten degrees colder. Suguru’s deep, coffee-colored gaze narrowed instantly, and Gojo tipped his head down to look you in the eyes, his pale irises shining almost eerily in the dim light.
“Do you not… want to be our girl?” Suguru leaned down to whisper against the shell of your ear, his voice a velvet purr that made you shudder. You felt both men hold you tighter, their grip infinitely more possessive; Geto nipped at the shell of your ear lightly, drawing a small moan out of you.
“Sugu…. I….. mmmmph..”
Gojo traced a finger underneath your chin, tilting your eyes to meet his calm gaze. The new angle of your neck gave Geto the perfect angle to kiss up and down the column of your neck, which he promptly took advantage of, ghosting his lips across the sensitive skin. You shuddered, whimpering slightly as Satoru held your face still in one of his large, calloused hands.
“He asked you a question, baby,” Satoru crooned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his unfairly perfect lips.
Embarrassment mixed with growing lust dusted your cheeks, and your eyelashes fluttered in sync with every sinful drag of Geto’s lips against your skin. Your head was growing fuzzy, yet your body felt light as a feather as you relaxed between the two large men. Any thought of your previous pain had faded away in a sea of bliss and disbelief until another vicious cramp tore through your abdomen. You jolted upright, worry flashing in your eyes. The two men paused immediately, backing off to let you speak.
“Even if I do want this…. We can’t right now. I’m….” You trailed off in embarrassment, staring down at the hem of your shirt.
“Do you think so little of us, sweetheart? You think we’re frightened by a little blood? Geto crooned, and Gojo grinned in response, gasping in mock indignation.
You shook your head slightly, stammering in protest. “I-I don’t think you’re afraid of it, just that ‘s gross.”
Gojo caressed your cheek with his thumb, and Geto nuzzled his nose against the crook of your neck in reassurance. “Nothing about you could ever be gross; what you’re going through is the most natural thing in the world.” The raven-haired man murmured.
“And b-both of you want me?” You responded in a daze.
“Yeah. It’s been that way for years,” Satoru smiled, unashamedly staring at the swell of your slightly parted lips as you gasped in response.
“It’s been the three of us for our entire lives, and you kept it that way. I don’t see why it should ever change,” Geto added with a low note of amusement. He caressed your waist, and another shudder ran down your spine. “You’ve been ours for years… we’ve just been waiting for you to realize it. Let us take care of you, baby. You’ve done so much for us.”
Every nerve ending of your body crackled like a live wire as the two men waited with bated breath for your response. Your mind whirled as you tried to string together an actual sentence. Finally, you were able to moan a single word. “Please…”
The effect it had on the two men was instantaneous. Suguru groaned, reattaching his lips to your neck and pulling you back into his lap. Your back hit his broad, muscular chest, and you melted against him instantly.
“Fuck, you have no idea how long we’ve waited for this…. How many men we’ve chased off because they didn’t deserve you.” Satoru mumbled, surging forward to claim your lips with his own, pinning you against the other man. The kiss started out soft but quickly grew more insistent as you moaned and whimpered every time Suguru grazed your decolletage with his teeth. He started to pull the neck of your shirt aside for better access to more skin, and you writhed in his arms as he left bruises in the wake of his lips.
At any other time, you would’ve questioned Satoru’s confession, but right now, you felt hot, almost delirious with budding desire, as he reached down to trail his fingers over your clothed pussy. He rubbed directly over your little clit, but the pleasure you craved was muted by the thick added layer of your pad, and you whined in protest. “‘Toru, need you s’badly.”
“You hear that? Our princess needs you, Satoru.” Geto purred as the other man continued tracing the outline of your pussy.
You rocked your hips against his fingers, desperate to feel more, but you only succeeded in teasing Suguru as you accidentally rocked your ass directly against his rapidly growing erection.
He hissed loudly, trailing one of his hands under your shirt to cup your bare waist. Gojo chuckled at the sight of his best friend’s suffering, sucking on your bottom lip before pulling away with an audible pop. “Careful now, or you’re gonna make it hard for him to last.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Suguru groaned in response, trailing his hand up to paw at your breast. You whined as he lightly pinched and rolled a nipple between his clever fingers, and the raven-haired man chuckled roughly, “Look at how dirty our girl is, not even wearing a bra. She’s so damn sensitive.”
Your pussy throbbed at his words as Gojo leaned back, kneeling on the couch to watch the show you and Geto were putting on in front of him. Your gaze was half-lidded and hazy with lust, but you could still clearly see the way the muscles of his arm flexed as he reached down to palm his own erection. It stood proud, visibly tenting the dark grey sweatpants he wore, and your mouth watered at the mere outline of his dick. It looked so long and thick, and you could only imagine the bliss of it stuffing you and dragging against your deepest, most sensitive parts.
He brushed a strand of white hair off his face, looking at you with another cocky smirk as he addressed the other man. “Oi, help me out here, Suguru. I seem to remember something about cramps… I think they’re improved by medicine, a heating pad, or something else. Now, what could that be?”
Gojo paused for a clear, dramatic effect, his wolfish grin only growing wider as your breath caught in your throat. You were so distracted that you didn’t even realize Geto’s lips had trailed back up to your ear as he responded in a dulcet whisper, “I think the answer might be ‘they’re improved by orgasms.’ What do you think, pretty?”
“Yes, god yes,” you begged, rubbing your thighs together. The dull ache of your period had faded away into the haze of lust, but your pussy throbbed, begging to be filled.
Satoru winked at you, leaving the couch and walking into your bedroom for a moment. You whimpered as he left, and Geto chuckled again at your reaction, giving your nipple another rough pinch. “There’s no god here, baby, just us. But we’re gonna do you so good… Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
You lay against his chest as Suguru pushed your shirt all the way up, tucking the hem between your teeth to give himself full, unimpeded access to your chest. He maneuvered the two of you around slightly, leaving you in his lap but allowing both of your legs to dangle off the edge of the couch. “Let’s give Satoru something to look at when he comes back, hmm? Bet he’d love to see these perfect tits.”
He took each of your breasts into his warm hands, alternating between kneading the soft, supple flesh and pinching your aching nipples. You could only moan softly through the fabric of the shirt stuffed in your mouth as Geto took you higher and higher into bliss with every movement.
Gojo walked back in not a minute later, holding a few fluffy, black towels. His beautiful eyes widened at the perfectly pornographic scene spread out in front of him, and he cursed under his breath, rushing back to the couch as Geto smirked at his best friend’s needy expression.
“Careful, or he’s not gonna last long,” he teased, tugging off your shirt as he parodied Gojo’s earlier sentiment.
The white-haired man huffed and shook his head sarcastically, but you certainly didn’t miss the way he threw his own shirt off and knelt between your legs as quickly as he could. His eyes were shining with ravenous desire, and your pussy throbbed as you realized that Geto’s teasing had an edge of truth.
Gojo smiled up at you, tucking a towel between your hips and Geto’s lap before hooking his hands into the waistband of your pants, gently tugging them down and tossing them away.
“Gonna let me taste you, baby?” He keened, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the inside of your thighs as his long fingers toyed with the hem of your panties.
You bit your lip as a million worries flooded your mind, but Suguru caressed your face, whispering conspiratorially, “Think about how pretty he’s gonna look between your legs. He can finally put that smartass mouth of his to good use, right?”
Satoru nibbled his way up your skin, sucking a dark hickey at the apex of your thigh as Geto continued to lavish your breasts with affection. You whined and moaned, keening with every touch. It felt like your entire body was on fire, and you’d go up in flames without the touch of both men. Any embarrassment you could’ve felt had long since evaporated; all you could do was beg for more as both men left their mark on your body.
“‘Toru, please… Wanna cum so bad.” You whined, begging for relief, and Gojo glanced up at you with an expression that would’ve terrified anyone else. He may have been in a traditionally submissive position, but there was nothing submissive about his body language; he looked like a fallen angel with the way his pale hair framed his face.
He slipped your panties off, breathing becoming heavier and heavier as all of your perfect body was finally revealed to his ravenous gaze. Satoru threw your legs around his shoulders, leaning back just enough to inspect your cunt. His pale eyelashes fluttered as he used one of his long fingers to part your puffy, swollen folds, completely mesmerized as you moaned his name and your cunt clenched in sheer anticipation of his touch. You were obscenely wet from the mixture of blood and arousal that trailed down your legs, and Gojo couldn’t wait any longer.
“Our girl’s got a perfect fucking pussy, Suguru,” He mumbled, diving in to lick a fat stripe all the way up to your clit. You moaned wantonly, your head lolling back against Geto’s strong chest as the man behind you held your body upright, still enamored with the way your breasts fit in his hands.
Period sex was very new to you, but you could already tell that it felt different- not different, better. You felt more sensitive than ever before, and not just between your legs. Your breasts felt heavy and full; you had a sneaking suspicion that you could’ve cum from Geto toying with them alone.
Gojo’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss as he ate you out like a man starved. He lapped up every bit of arousal and blood from your weeping pussy, fucking you with his tongue before trailing delicious circles on your swollen clit with his tongue until you screamed his name. Your thighs wrapped around Satoru’s head, and the white-haired man moaned desperately, taking the opportunity to slip two fingers deep into your cunt. You keened at the delicious stretch, and Suguru groaned at the sight.
“T-Toru… Ah-! Sugu….” Tears of pure bliss started to gather in the corners of your eyes as Satoru’s fingers rubbed mercilessly against your G-spot. You felt a familiar band of pleasure start to stretch in your lower stomach, and you whined in desperation. Suguru grabbed one of your arms, pressing desperate kisses against the delicate skin of your inner wrist as his other hand toyed with a nipple in time with Satoru’s thrusts.
“S’close.. Nnnnngh, gonna cum… pleasepleaseplea-” The band of pleasure snapped suddenly before you could even finish your sentence, launching you over the edge of the most intense orgasm of your life. Tears fell as you shattered in between the two men, crying and rocking your hips against Satoru’s face while your core fluttered around his fingers.
“You’re fucking perfect,” Suguru growled as he scooped you up. He cradled you in his arms and leaned down to kiss you as Satoru stood, licking the blood and cum off his fingers.
The taller man grinned as the two of you kissed passionately, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek.
“Baby, you cryin'?” Satoru simpered before leaning in to lick off another tear. When Suguru pulled away to tell him off, Satoru pulled him into a searing kiss, slotting his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Geto’s eyes flared in shock before he leaned into the embrace, moaning as he tasted your arousal on his best friend’s tongue.
“I thought you deserved a taste, too. Isn’t she sweet?” Gojo asked innocently as he pulled away to kiss you as well. You whined and ran your hand over his bare chest as the white-haired man nipped at your already kiss-swollen bottom lip.
“Bedroom. Now.” Geto stood abruptly, his voice hoarse as he broke the embrace between you and Gojo. He carried you in his arms, shoving another large towel on top of your sheets before gently laying you on top of it. Your head lolled to the side, and you reached down to play with your puffy little clit, moaning softly as the men finished undressing in front of you.
You watched shamelessly, taking in the sight of their beautiful bodies. Both men were tall and muscular, but Satoru was taller with more of a lean build, almost like an acrobat or a swimmer. Suguru was truly the Yin to Gojo’s Yang; he was stockier and deliciously broad. It was an undeniable fact that both men were gorgeous.
“Sugu… Toru…. Please. Wanna feel you both in me,” You begged, rocking your hips against the movement of your fingers, not even caring about how needy you sounded.
The bed dipped with their weight as both men joined you on the bed without further hesitation. Geto knelt in front of you, motioning for you to get on all fours and face him. You hummed in delight, rolling over and pushing yourself up to face him. Suddenly, Gojo pinched your plush ass with a snicker. You gasped in shock, and Suguru took the opportunity to slap his thick cockhead onto your tongue.
“We’re gonna fuck you raw from both ends first, baby. Gonna really make you ours. How’s that sound?” He questioned with a smirk, rubbing his fat tip over your tongue.
Your gasp quickly turned into a purr of delight as you worked his tip into your mouth, greedily licking at the prominent vein that ran underneath his shaft. Geto’s raven-dark hair fell around his shoulders like a curtain as he moaned loudly. You could taste the salt and musk of his pre-cum as you worked his shaft deeper and deeper into your throat.
Gojo cursed lowly as he lined up his swollen cockhead with your opening. You wiggled your hips back at him, wordlessly begging to feel the stretch and delicious length of him deep inside you. He pushed in at an agonizingly slow pace, trying to give you time to adjust.
You moaned in ecstasy, and Geto gasped, bucking his hips slightly as he felt the vibrations of your throat around his shaft. “Fucking hell, baby. You’re sucking my dick like you were made for it.”
Gojo pushed in further, finally bottoming out with his fat cockhead nestled snugly against your cervix. You whined at the dull ache, but the feeling was addictive. You rocked your hips, desperate for more, and the white-haired man moaned. “And she’s sucking me in like she wants to get pregnant tonight.”
Your eyes flew open, and you gasped around Geto’s dick, drawing another ragged moan from the man. It wasn’t what you had intended at all, but you couldn’t hide your reaction to Satoru’s lascivious words, especially since he could feel your core fluttering in agreement with his statement.
You could feel the wickedly delighted grin spread across his face as Gojo grew deadly silent for a moment. “Oh, Suguru~ you should’ve felt the way she just clenched around me when I said that. Our girl is even dirtier than we thought.”
“I told you she’s perfect.” Geto slid into your mouth even further, sighing in bliss and his own ecstasy as he pushed into your throat, entwining his hands in your hair. You gagged for a brief moment; his dick had more girth than Gojo’s, and it was the biggest you’d ever taken like this. The raven-haired sorcerer moaned and crooned down at you, stroking the column of your throat where his cock was nestled so deeply.
More tears fell as your eyes watered in the bliss of being so completely used by the two men. You felt so full, so complete, and you couldn’t help but moan again as your nose rubbed against the dark trail of hair on Geto’s lower abdomen.
“Shit, gotta move. You ready, baby?” Gojo groaned, shallowly thrusting his hips. You tried to moan in assent, but the sound was strangled by the dick in your throat.
Geto tipped his head back in ecstasy, laughing hoarsely. “She wants it s’badly, ‘Toru.”
The two men started to move, alternating their thrusts in perfect rhythm like they’d planned this moment for years. Every deep thrust from Gojo would send you falling forward onto Geto’s cock; you could only wordlessly cry in bliss from the position the two men fucked you mercilessly.
Satoru pinched and kneaded the tender flesh of your ass with every thrust. He swiped one of his fingers between your legs, collecting the creamy mixture of his pre-cum and your arousal, offering it out to his best friend with a smirk. Geto sucked it off with an audible pop, groaning at the taste as Satoru returned to collect more. You choked again as you felt one of his long, clever fingers tease your tightest hole, circling the rim with predatory intent.
“Relax, baby. Gotta get you ready f’me.” He slipped his finger in, beginning to work you open as you relaxed into the intense but euphoric sensation.
“Our slutty princess wants all her holes filled, huh?” Geto groaned, looking down at your fucked-out expression. “Gotta cum again for us. Gonna make you cum so hard that you can’t think straight.”
Satoru slipped a second finger into your ass, working you open even further as the two men fell slightly out of sync with their thrusts. They were both breathing hard, grunting and begging desperately for you to cum with them. As if on command, you fell apart for the second time with an obscene moan. White sparks flashed through your vision as your orgasm shot through you, even more forceful than the first. Your cunt spasmed around Gojo so violently that he came on the spot, painting your blood-swollen womb with his pearlescent seed.
Geto cursed at the sound of Gojo’s strangled cry, pulling completely out of your mouth. You panted and moaned below him, your body shaking with every thrust as Gojo fucked you through your orgasm. Suguru groaned as your tongue lolled out, begging to be coated with his cum. His balls felt almost uncomfortably full as he stroked his shaft rapidly, intent on giving you what you begged for so prettily.
It only took a few seconds for Geto’s own orgasm to crash through him. The smooth movements of his hips and hands stuttered as he groaned lowly, painting your pretty face with his seed. However, most of it landed in your mouth, and you happily caught it with your pink tongue, holding it out for him to inspect.
“You’re going to… be the death of me one day,” the raven-haired man moaned as he felt blood immediately rush back to his cock. Instead of swallowing, your eyes shone mischievously, and you turned around to pull Satoru into a searing kiss. You mimicked his earlier actions, but this time you were pushing Suguru’s cum into his mouth.
Gojo moaned wantonly at the sharp taste, swallowing his share as his own cock twitched back to life. Geto pulled you away from the other man, maneuvering you to face him as he brought your hips down, filling you with his cock in a single thrust. You screamed hoarsely, cunt spasming from overstimulation as Gojo laughed roughly, wiping the remainder of his friend’s cum off his lips before positioning himself behind you.
The white-haired man watched greedily as you bounced on Geto’s cock, taking a minute to lean back and stroke his dick until he was fully erect. Gojo pulled your hips back, stilling Geto’s thrusts, and he growled in response.
“Gotta let me in too,” Gojo chided, swiping a finger over his fat tip to coat it with pre-cum as he positioned it against your other hole. Your eyes widened, and you gasped as he started to push into you, stretching you slowly but mercilessly. Geto pulled you in for a ravenous kiss, devouring your litany of moans as he struggled to keep from thrusting into you. After a small eternity, both men were seated fully inside you, and you whined their names over and over like a prayer, begging them to start moving.
“Toru, Sugu… nnnnhgh, ‘m so full,” you cried, leaning your head against Geto’s shoulder as the two men cradled you in their arms. Their hands roamed over your body, caressing and groping every inch of you as they began to move, stretching your body past the very limits of pleasure. Your eyes glazed over; you couldn’t tell who was kissing your neck versus who was rubbing achingly soft circles on your clit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as the two men brought you to climax again and again.
Soft rays of dawn were peeking through your bedroom window by the time the three of you fell onto your bed, breathing hard but finally sated. You looked around at the sheets and at your lovers, blushing hotly at the dried red marks that covered almost every surface in the room. The towels had not lasted long.
Geto chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly, “We’ll clean up. Don’t worry.”
“And we’ll prepare better for next time,” Gojo added with a grin, poking your cheek.
Your whole body felt like jelly, but the two men were determined to care for you properly. Suguru walked into the bathroom, and you could hear the sound of water filling your bathtub as Satoru fetched a glass of water for you, helping you sit up to drink properly. He scooped you up, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as he walked you into the bathroom, depositing you in the warm water. The three of you washed each other in blissful silence, with both men being extra attentive to your sore body. Afterward, they changed your sheets and put you in clean pajamas, slipping their own sweatpants on to climb into bed next to you.
“Thank you…” You murmured, already drifting off to sleep between your two lovers.
Geto kissed your temple silently as Gojo laughed softly, “Of course. We have to take good care of our girl, after all.”
Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @khaleesihavilliard @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @cindyneko-strider @unoriginalidea @eldritchbeauty @markleeisdabestdrug @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @akiiireix @tojispookiebear @dangoank0 @ifuckinghateschool @barryatsumu @voids-universe @mahgyu @themoonmonologues @byul9158 @pseudowho
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food as the love language prompts, part 1
hey guys! this is a various prompt lists about food/baking/cooking. feel free to rb this list, use it in your stories and like this post. no credit necessary <3 enjoy your writing!
character a makes character's b favorite meal after a long day (at work, at school, etc)
going to the local farmer's market to get their food
making their groceries together
doing the groceries list
surprising the other with their favorite treat
trying a new recipe (could be a total success or a total fail)
sharing a family recipe with each other
trying a recipe from another country
making a birthday cake
stopping by a chocolate shop
memorizing the other's coffee shop order (and surprising them with it)
owning a bakery/chocolate shop/coffee shop
character a is a barista and character b is a regular client. character a has character b's order memorize and they write their number on their cup one day
going on a farm/orchard to pick up their own fresh fruits and/or vegetables
making bread together
attending a banquet
going to a special dinner event (e.g. medieval times)
ordering some take-out or delivery from their favorite restaurant while having a movie night or a night in their living room while watching tv
sharing a box of chocolates
eating their favorite chocolate bar
doing the breakfast
making a lunch
making the dinner
baking some pies
doing a weird shaped food (e.g. using a cookie cutter with a special shape)
making some pancakes or waffles
doing a breafast in bed
eating some ice cream in a parlor
sharing the ice cream pot they have in the freezer and having a small talk
going on a fishing trip and eating the fish from it
making some smore's in front of the bonfire
going to a local food festival
listing their favorite recipes to make a cook book about it
almost burning the kitchen or the whole house because of a recipe gone wrong
character a comes back home to a very good smell while character b is cooking something
waking up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack
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As we begin the month of October and many of the prompt fest such as Inktober, Kinktober, Whumptober, Flufftober, Podfic Fest, and all the others that will bring new content, a friendly hint:
Do. Not. Do. This.
Reposting artwork, fic, podfics, whatever without permission or credit is stealing. It’s also just a shitty thing to do at all times but especially right now in today’s climate with AI. I know it’s sad to lose content you get comfort from but this is not the answer. All it’s going to do is drive creators away.
We share our creations with love. Please don’t be an entitled asshole in return.
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modern byler au where will has a secret tumblr account where he posts his fantasy art (d&d OCs, baldur’s gate, lotr, etc) and every time he posts, mike reblogs with extraordinary, world-stopping levels of enthusiasm. i mean he’s got his own tag reserved for will’s posts and uses it to look back at his favorite pieces of art to get inspiration for writing new campaigns.
and all the while he has no idea that it’s will, because will’s been so secretive about his art for the past years as he’s been improving on his own, and he’s far too embarrassed to show it off to his friends/family for fear of judgement, even though realistically he knows they would be supportive.
and every time he sees that one account that always reblogs with the sweetest tags and comments, he feels giddy inside knowing his art has affected someone, someone who doesn’t know him, someone who isn’t biased towards him as will byers, but just appreciates his work objectively.
so mike’s a huge fanboy of this semi-famous tumblr artist, and he and will have been feeding into each other’s d&d and art ideas in this endless cycle of support entirely on accident.
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The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Word Count: 3.3k
Summary: You and Eddie have some time to spare before D&D starts. It escalates quite quickly.
Warnings: Smut, Unprotected Sex, inappropriate use of a D&D table
Available on: AO3
A/N: I’ve fallen down the Eddie hole and I can’t get out. I’m a D&D player myself, so I had to use that poor playing table here.
♣ Eddie Munson Masterlist ♣
It was dark when you entered the cold hallways that lead to the Hellfire Club.
Your club shirt was freshly washed and ready for a long night of Dungeons and Dragons. Or, how other people would say, time for satanic rituals.
A low chuckle left your throat when you thought about it and all those newspapers and magazines talking about it, causing panic for parents. Yours didn’t care, also didn’t know you were playing the game. Otherwise they might care but then again, they were probably too busy.
All they cared about was your family image and “Stay away from Eddie Munson, he’s bad news.”
Thankfully they didn’t know that you were into bad news.
His cologne already covered your senses when you entered the Hellfire Club. Later on it would smell more like sweat and tears in here, depending on what he would throw at the group during the session.
You smiled to yourself when you saw him standing at the table, preparing his Dungeon Master screen with little notes.
“You’re so early,” you said and he looked up at you, a small grin on his lips.
“You know I have to prepare, sweetheart. The Dungeon Master is always early.” Eddie pushed himself away from the desk and walked over you. “Better question is, why are you this early? It’s at least thirty minutes until the others arrive.”
He put his hands on your hips and raised an eyebrow at you. You didn’t even realize you were that early, you just really wanted to see him before the others joined for the night.
Your relationship had been secret for a few months now and so far, no one had seemed to notice. You were just two friends playing that dumb fantasy game with other freaks. At least that's what it looked like to the other students.
No one knew about stolen touches under the lunch table and late nights in his trailer. No one needed to know that. For some reason it felt better that it was just the two of you. Easier.
If your parents knew about your relationship with the ‘School Freak and Drug Dealer’ Eddie Munson, they would try to cut your contact with him. If the other students would know, you would be a freak couple which you didn’t mind but it was just extra hassle right before graduation. Only a couple of months and you were out of here, off to college, mostly free from your parents and you didn’t need to hide anymore.
“I guess I just really wanted to see you,” you said with a shrug and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before taking your jacket off, placing it on your chair where he had already prepared your character sheet.
He turned around and looked after you, a happy grin on his lips. You knew his life wasn’t easy and that you had changed quite a lot for him, yet you would never get used to that happy little grin that was always directed at you.
“Besides,” you started, a little mischievous grin forming on your lips, “I wanted to see what you were up to behind your screen.” You quickly turned on your heels and hurried behind his seat, trying to get a glimpse at his notes.
A huff left his mouth when he started to come after you with quick steps, grabbing your hips and turning you around to face him and not his DM screen.
“That’s not very nice. Wouldn’t want my girlfriend to gain any advantages for the upcoming combat.”
A shiver ran down your spine. You loved when he called you his girlfriend, something he could only do when you two were alone. Gods, you yearned for the day he could say it openly.
“Combat huh? That’s good to know, given we’ve left off far away from any combat situations.” You bit your lips when you heard him groan in frustration.
“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath and you laughed which seemed to mesmerize him. He always looked at you as you were his sun.
His look then turned into something intense and his eyes darkened slightly, his grip on your hips getting a little tighter.
“We still got like twenty five minutes,” you mumbled before swallowing hard, the knot already building in your stomach.
He took a step forward and your backside hit the edge of the table. “Would hate to ruin your prep though,” you quickly added but it was too late.
He already swiped the DM screen off the table, a few notes and papers scattered across the floor with it and within a moment he had placed you on the table before him.
“I’m sure I’ll be a little more merciful during combat tonight if you can convince me to be nice,” Eddie said as he started to kiss your neck, making you lean back a little, opening yourself up to his kisses more.
This was actually the first time you were doing this in here. Normally there wasn’t enough time or Henderson was way too early but tonight it seemed like a good moment.
You certainly thought about it before. Being a Dungeons & Dragons player had just this extra kind of appeal to do it on the playing table.
Goosebumps covered your body when the long haired boy grabbed the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it over your head. It was a little cold down here. For now.
“I’ll warm you up, don’t worry,” he said as if he just read your mind. Your hands were still holding onto his arms covered in his leather jacket, gripping the fabric a little too hard for just some harmless makeout.
You needed him. Badly.
He didn’t lose much time and started to push your bra down on one side, playing with the hard peaks and you weren’t quite sure if they were hard because of the cold or because you were already aroused after so little of his touch.
A soft moan left your throat and your legs wrapped around him almost automatically. He took this as an invitation and laid you down on the table behind you, the cold wood pressing into your back, making it arch. Thankfully he didn’t start to prepare the map and the character minis yet, so they were still safe and sound in their box.
“You’re wearing too much,” you whined and clawed a little more at his leather jacket. His three layers of clothes were always such an annoyance when you tried to get them off on your own.
“As always, sweetheart. As always,” he chuckled and then leaned back to get rid of everything, throwing it somewhere on the ground where he had thrown your shirt too.
You let your hands run over his chest slowly, trying to reach as much skin as possible from your position and then stopping at his pants.
“You sure?” he asked and raised an eyebrow, a hand of his covering both of yours.
He was acting like this was your first time having sex somewhere despite the fact that he had been inside you more times than you could count. And yet, he took the time to ask because it was a different environment and you could change your mind any time.
“Yes, let’s not waste too much time. You know how early Henderson is here sometimes.” Your answer was followed by a little laugh and then he just grinned, letting go of your hands so you could open the button, shoving his pants and underwear down to his ankles. That had to be enough.
Your mouth watered a little when you saw his length already standing at attention, begging for your touch.
One of your hands grabbed his hard cock, pulling slightly and causing him to step back further into you. Your legs wrapped around him once again and his heat radiated against your sensitive center.
He grabbed your wrists and put them at the side of your head, looking into your eyes for a long moment before smirking and then kissing you roughly. You gasped against him which caused him to put his tongue in your mouth, his naked lenght pressing harder against you.
“Eddie, please,” you whined, feeling how the wetness was pooling between your legs in your panties.
“Soon,” he whispered against your ear, “I want you to feel all night long what I did to you, right here.” He bit your earlobe before kissing your neck again, still holding onto your wrists.
Bastard, he was taking his time with you so your panties would be drenched before taking off your clothes, knowing you would feel it during the whole session later on. He loved shit like that.
You did too, if you were honest.
So he was grinding against you and out of pure reflex, you were grinding back against him. He didn’t seem to mind the rougher fabric of your jeans against him as he was busy placing kisses on your nipples and the soft flesh of your breasts, sucking lightly, leaving a bite here and there. One of them would give you a hickey for sure.
You had this rule that there were no visible hickeys allowed or people might start to ask questions. Thankfully, the skin of your breasts right under the edge of the bra weren’t a place that people got to see, so it had turned out to be his favorite spot to leave love marks.
Sweat started to build on your body from the pure torture he put you through, you hated when you couldn’t do anything. You wanted to touch him, to feel him, to have him inside of you but he took his sweet, sweet time.
“Cmon Munson, we really don’t have that much time.” You tried to sound stern, hoping he would finally take your pants off but he just laughed against your skin.
“You’re right, you’re right. Don’t pressure your Dungeon Master,” he mumbled against your belly where his lips had just arrived. “This is a special location to do that shit, so I want to make you feel special.”
Eddie leaned back and started to open your pants, painfully slow and you could have cursed at him. The grin on his lips told you he knew exactly what you were thinking.
You unwrapped your legs shortly for him to pull your pants down and you kicked them off one ankle quickly before wrapping them back around him, pulling him closer to you within a heartbeat.
“You look so gorgeous with that blush on your face and your bra in that chaotic position,” he said and chuckled, grabbing your one free breast with his hand while the other one was still mostly covered by your bra. It might have been uncomfortable but all you could think about now was his length between your legs, skin against skin. His cold rings against your heating skin made you shiver even more and you had a hard time swallowing the moan.
You could see precum glistening on it and it seemed that the waiting and teasing had affected him quite a lot.
When you thought he would push inside of you, he surprised you and crouched down a little. He let his tongue glide between your folds and you moaned loudly, not expecting him to do that right now.
“You’re so goddamn wet and taste so good.” He stood back up again and lined himself up against you, licking his wet lips before leaning down and capturing your lips into a kiss. Only a second later you felt him press against you, the tip of his cock pressing against your tight entrance.
It was no trouble for him at all to get inside you with how wet you were. You both moaned against each other's lips when he sunk himself into your wetness. When his full length was completely inside of you, he stilled and pulled away from the kiss, looking into your eyes.
“Fuck, that look,” he mumbled and you felt him twitch inside of you. “I want to, disrespectfully, fuck the shit out of you.”
“Please, go ahead. Show me what you’ve got, Dungeon Master,” you replied to his wish and he growled, placing his hands next to your head so he could support himself. You grabbed his arms, bracing yourself.
Eddie pulled out of you, clenched his jaw for a moment in the process before slamming right back into you.
You had to bite your bottom lip or the moan would have been too loud to be appropriate. No matter how often the two of you had sex, it always felt like a high you would never come down from.
Even in the faint light you could see that he was also blushing now, a faint red covering his cheeks as he started in a slow rhythm. His hair was falling over his shoulders close to your face, tickling you a little.
“Eddie,” you groaned and tried to catch his hips in a faster rhythm, trying to convince him to finish with this teasing.
“What? I don’t think I went in hard enough yet, so could you form a whole sentence?” The smug grin on his face deserved to be punched but there was nothing you could do when he finished his sentence with a rough thrust inside of you, making the table shake.
“Just fuck me already, please. I want you before the others arrive. We need to clean up and-” You didn’t get the chance to get the rest of your sentence out because he started a rougher, faster pace right away, making you choke on the sounds that wanted to leave your throat.
“Gods, I love it when you beg for me,” he whispered and you almost didn’t hear it, the slapping of skin too loud down here, echoing off the walls a little.
You would have protested that you didn’t beg, wanting to somehow throw something back at him but with the way he moved inside of you combined with the look he gave you, there were no words leaving your mouths. They all turned into moans of pleasure.
He took his arms away to grab your hips, trying to get a better hold of you so you weren’t moving so much on the table. If you were honest, you had no idea how the old table was holding up with his pace.
You noticed how he couldn’t focus his eyes on one spot. He was looking down between where you were joined and where the wet noises and skin slapping came from, then he looked at how your breasts bounced up and down, the bra merely an accessory now and then he looked at your face and smiled slightly.
For a moment you wished you could read his mind but that thought was gone within a moment when you felt his cold rings down at the sensitive skin between you.
Eddie rubbed his thumb across your clit and you had to bite your hand to stop yourself from moaning too loud. The others could arrive any moment.
“I’d love to take my time with you,” he sighed and stilled inside of you for a moment, focusing on rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves, causing you to whine in frustration. “But I guess that has to wait until after the session.”
He started moving again while also rubbing your clit, the cold steel of his rings giving another level of pleasure and he moved even faster and harder than before, hitting all the right spots inside of you.
Your legs were clenching so hard around him, your insides were a big knot and your head started spinning with the pleasure running through your whole body.
Eyes closed in bliss, you only heard how he started to pant more, cursing under his breath and his movement got more erratic. He was close but so were you.
You tried to hold out a little longer but another swipe of his thumb caused you to shrudder, back arching which caused him to slip deeper inside of you. The walls of your insides started to spasms around him, coaxing him into an orgasm of his own.
“Fuck,” was the only thing you heard from him when you felt him come inside you, his warm seed covering your insides.
Eddie slumped forward a little, his hands grabbing yours and placing them back besides your head. He looked at you with a lazy smile, drops of sweat on his forehead.
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look after you have an orgasm?” he asked and you laughed.
“Yes, about every time I have one,” you replied and he leaned his head to the side a little.
“Really? I don’t remember hearing it that much from you, I think you don’t have enough orgasms.” You were about to reply to him but then he moved his hips, his tip stroking against that sweet spot inside of you once more.
The young man put his forehead against yours and both of you rested like this for a moment.
It was really only a short moment before you heard the telltale sound of the door and a loud “HELLFIRE!” that sounded like it came from Henderson.
A couple of seconds passed before you realized what was going on.
“Shit,” he groaned and slipped out of you, almost tripping over the pants that were hanging on his ankles.
A moment of panic overcame you as you were sitting up straight but he stopped you, cupping your hot center with his hand.
“I told you, I want you to feel it all night long,” he whispered as he was pulling your panties up, replacing his hand with them.
“I-” you started but he already had his lips back on yours, swallowing any protest. His cum would stay inside of you for the whole session.
You heard footsteps and he quickly pulled his pants up while moved off the table and got your pants back in place.
Eddie threw you your Hellfire Club t-shirt and pulled his own over his head too, placing his jackets on his chair.
Both of you quickly hurried to get the things you threw onto the ground while the footsteps grew louder. You winced with every movement you did, panties full with his cum and your own wetness, making you even more wet.
His eyes were on you, watching you and you threw him a look that was a combination of annoyance and lust. He just chuckled and winked at you, trying to get up his DM screen once more.
“Hey guys!” Dustin said as he was entering, followed by Mike and Lucas.
“Welcome!” Eddie replied with a great gesture of his hands.
“Hi.” You waved at them, hoping your hair looked fine and your blush was gone from your face.
The three kids were taking their seats and you lifted your character sheet up from the floor, placing it back on the table.
Just looking at that piece of wood made you blush a little but thankfully it was dark enough here so no one should notice.
“Did you wash your shirt too hot?” Mike suddenly asked and looked at Eddie. He raised an eyebrow and that’s when you saw it.
It was fitting really tightly around him. Too tightly.
Meanwhile your own shirt was hanging a little too loosely from your body. Fuck.
“Yeah, that must be it. I’ve been wondering why it was like that, I’m not good with laundry,” he said with a nonchalant shrug before he looked at you.
It was barely noticeable but his jaw clenched and that little vein on his neck started to show.
His look told you he would gladly take that shirt back later.
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sudden + (a)cute | jyh
jeong yunho’s got a serious case of downbaditis — oh, and also a cold.
pairing: jeong yunho x reader
au: hurt/comfort, sick fic, friends to something
type: drabble (f)
word count: 2k
rating: pg13 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact.
cw: gn!reader; illness (obviously); ft. clueless roommate!mingi
a/n: my inaugural ateez fic! inspired by my own sick day today + my own personal love sickness re: jeong yunho, lmao.
a/n 2: reposting for the fourth time because it's not in the fucking tags, lmao.
📍permanent taglist(s). @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bahng-chrizz
You realize too late that days off and the “do not disturb” feature should go hand-in-hand.
Because you didn’t think to silence your notifications, some form of unsolicited contact slips through the cracks. Just like that, your Netflix binge is unceremoniously halted; hopes are dashed; and your phone vibrates so many fucking times in quick succession that it starts scooting its way across your coffee table, hellbent.
With a grunt of abject displeasure, you tear your half-glazed eyes off the television screen ahead. They flick down to the source of the sound to identify the caller before you commit to sitting upright off the couch. It’s a lost cause, not unlike your eagerly-awaited plans to do nothing. The nuisance lays face-down against the tabletop, buzzing relentlessly as it runs out of real estate.
Tragically, you don’t have a choice.
Before your phone can drive itself over the edge Thelma-and-Louise style, your hand darts out to catch it. You glower as your fingers curl around it, sharp tongue ready to lash out at the co-worker you told no fewer than 809 times that you were giving yourself a long weekend.
“For fuck’s sake, Yeosang,” you mutter to yourself.
Pulling the phone up to your face for closer inspection, you realize with a scoff that it’s not an incoming call at all.
It’s — one, two, three, four, five six, seven — eight rapid-fire texts and counting, all of which were sent within seconds of one another; and none of which came from the lovable doofus in the office next to yours.
You Know? [10:03 AM]: Tell…
You Know? [10:03 AM]: My….
You Know? [10:03 AM]: Story….. !
You Know? [10:03 AM]: 🤧
You Know? [10:04 AM]: 😷
You Know? [10:04 AM]: 🏨
You Know? [10:04 AM]: ☠️
You Know? [10:04 AM]: 🪦
Oh.
Immediately, your tight-lipped scowl cracks wide open.
Different doofus.
In the time it takes for you to convince your phone’s facial identification that you are, in fact, a human being, the bombardment continues.
You Know? [10:05 AM]: 👼🏻
This one pulls an unexpected chuckle out of you that’s still ringing out when you tap on his contact card and start dialing.
With your hands full and your wrists weighed down with plastic pharmacy bags, it takes three tries to barge into your best friend’s apartment like you own the place. Having underestimated your own clumsy strength, you watch in mild-to-moderate horror as the door flies open, cringing as you await the sound of the knob smashing into the hallway wall.
You get a yelp instead, followed shortly by a huffy, “Aish!”
The newest addition to the apartment steps into view with a pink mark in the center of his forehead. His eyes are as wide as they can get, both blinking slowly. As he rubs gingerly at the blooming bump, you wonder if the look on his face is any more dazed than usual. It must be, you conclude. He wasn’t expecting you any more than you were expecting him.
“Sorry!” You squeak, shuffling the tupperware in your grip from one hand to another. Your warmed palm reaches out to pat his forearm apologetically. “Are you okay?”
Mingi shrugs, already over the heart attack you’ve given him. Now, it’s intrigue that lights up his face. His eyes scan over the goods you’re toting. Soon enough, they stick on the samgyetang that’s scorching through its plastic confines to your fingertips.
As it turns out, Yunho’s new roommate is just as blatant as the previous one.
Where the hell does he find these people?
“You brought me soup?” He beams, teeth and tone both as bright as the fucking sun.
Your mouth opens to respond, but all that comes out is some useless sound that vaguely resembles a groan. You bite your lips together, searching for some way to let him down gently. In the end, you come up with exactly nothing.
“I —”
Withdrawing your hand from his arm, you gesture over your shoulder in the direction of Yunho’s bedroom. “It’s for, um… He’s —”
Mingi looks to where you’re pointing. His eyebrows raise, signaling his arrival at confused. “Yunho’s home?”
Jesus Christ.
“You didn’t… notice?” Your tone matches his. So does the altitude of your eyebrows, you assume.
For far too many seconds, the pair of you eye each other in stupefied silence. The person who would normally interject to save you from this hell doesn’t arrive to do so, leaving you without an escape route.
This is what happens when you find all your roommates on the internet.
“So, I should — Um.” You wave once again towards your friend’s door. “Yeah.”
You bow — you’re not sure why — and shuffle a step backwards, turning slowly on your heel the second you’ve created enough distance.
Propelled by your own awkwardness, you rocket away from your friend’s roommate and fling open your second door in as many minutes. You shut it behind you with your eyes closed tight. For good measure, you keep your back pressed to the wood, as if your own embarrassment is something you could ever lock out.
“Took you long enough,” comes the rattle of Pestilence itself.
Without unclenching any part of your body, you mutter, “I had my second run-in with your Craigslist roommate, and it went exactly as well as the first. You need a better screening process — seriously.”
A loud laugh is quickly replaced by a cough that you feel in your own chest. Frowning, you open your eyes to take in the lump in front of you; and within seconds, you have to fight off your own laughter.
Sprawled out over an unmade bed, Yunho sports an outfit you couldn’t defend if your life depended on it. Dark brown waves peek out from underneath a beanie, leaving only his eyes to crinkle up at you above a black surgical mask. Even without his mouth visible, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s grinning at you.
Well, damn.
You could stand there all day, basking in the way he looks at you, but you don’t let yourself revel in it. Cheeks already burning, you can’t risk getting caught swooning.
You’ve embarrassed yourself enough, haven’t you?
To avoid detection, you shake your head to clear it and beg yourself to focus on the absurdity before you. In doing so, you note immediately that Yunho didn’t bother with a shirt; however, he did opt for gym shorts. They clash wildly with the pair of fuzzy, striped socks on his feet. That discovery flusters you to no end because they’re yours.
“You’re dressed for, like, three conflicting seasons,” you muse, gesturing from head to toe with your free hand. The plastic bags you’ve been wearing like bracelets rustle with the movement. “Couldn’t decide on a climate?”
“Hey!” His whine is muffled by his mask, though his congestion certainly doesn’t help. “One-third of me is freezing.”
Before you can nudge his right leg out of the way, Yunho moves it for you, freeing up the corner of his mattress for you to sit down. In fact, he takes all his limbs with him; summons all his strength to sit upright in front of you. You quickly avert your eyes from his flushed chest and focus on your stupid little soup, as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen in your life.
When Yunho clocks what you’re holding, he damn near gasps. His eagerness barrels through his hoarseness, making your heart flutter. “Is that your mom’s samgyetang?”
“It’s her recipe,” you correct him. “She’s visiting friends in Sydney, remember?”
For someone with a skull full of snot, Yunho’s quicker on the uptake than you would’ve thought to give him credit for. His eyes crinkle even further into a smile as they flit between your hands and your face — and shit, do they sparkle.
Before he can confirm that you not only brought him soup but hand-made it, you wrestle your arm free from the non-recyclable trap cutting off your circulation.
“I — uh, didn’t know which of the five thousand types of decongestants to bring you.”
You shove no less than four of them towards him, smiling sheepishly.
“Choose your fighter.”
It’s something you thought for sure he’d laugh at, that stupid little joke, but Yunho is uncharacteristically quiet. He just stares down at the over-the-counter medications in his hands, wearing a look you’ve never seen before. One that suggests you’ve given him your beating heart instead of Guadenesin, wrapped it in a bow instead of a kilometer-long pharmacy receipt.
It’s not a look you know what to do with, so you shut up and do your best to ride out your galloping pulse.
Without looking up from your offering, Yunho eventually says, “I didn’t even tell Craigslist Roommate that I was sick. He would’ve grabbed Albothyl or something equally useless and called it a day.”
“That tracks.” You nod. A small smile works its way over your lips. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have trusted him with your sinuses, either.”
Another pause settles in the space between you. It’s not uncomfortable, sitting quietly with your person, but you can’t help wondering after that wrinkle between his brows.
“I didn’t even think to ask him,” he admits, like he’s forgotten that he’s your first call, too.
Some sort of realization must hit him like a lightning strike because Yunho suddenly looks up from his hands. That’s all it takes to stir up the butterflies in your stomach. Unfortunately, it takes far more effort from you to ignore them.
“You made me soup,” he sighs, sounding disappointed.
Or frustrated.
Both — or maybe neither?
Whatever it is, it makes your palms sweat more than you ever plan to admit, so you simply nod again.
“I made you soup,” comes your unhelpful echo.
Silence.
Staring.
You offer a reminder that neither of you needs, “You’re sick.”
More silence and staring.
Then, a conclusion that nobody asked for: “You’re sick, and you should therefore have soup.”
Yunho drops his face into his hands, groaning loudly. The various layers of interference make him twice as difficult to understand, but you don’t miss a single, spilling word.
“I’m sick, and you made me soup; and I can’t kiss you about it because then you’ll be sick; and I don’t even know how to make you soup.”
Stunned to silence, you just sit there — blinking dumbly, all the while— like it’s the only thing you know how to do.
That’s not true.
You know what you want to do, and now you know you’re not alone in that. Most importantly, you know that acting on any of it will cost you several days of sneezing your brains out.
The groan you let out is twice as loud as Yunho’s was and three times’ as frustrated. It erupts out of you, and when you’ve expelled it fully, you crumple into a heap at the foot of his bed, thoroughly defeated. You curse him through the hands that now cover your face, “You rat bastard.”
Yunho snorts. “Excuse me?”
“What even is this timing?” You tear one hand away from your face and land a light smack on his knee. “You really waited to tell me any of this until you were contagious? Be fucking for real.”
His laugh shakes his shoulders, leaves him in the form of squeaks.
“The nerve of you, Jeong Yunho.”
The mattress dips when he drops himself into the space in front of you. Propped up on his elbow, he looks at you with one eyebrow raised.
“You bought out a pharmacy and made me soup,” he counters. “You brought this on yourself.”
You roll your eyes, although it does nothing to distract from the way you’re giggling.
“Did you not wanna get kissed?” Yunho challenges, “Because that’s how you get kissed.”
With a grin, his knuckles nudge yours, returning your earlier knock far more affectionately than you sent it. “Babo.”
“You’re the babo,” you sniff.
Despite your childish rebuttal, you take the opportunity to slip your hand fully into his. It’s not the first time, by any means, but the difference is clear; and when you squeeze gently, you feel it come right back.
With your laughter faded out, you sigh, “Yunho?”
He hums in acknowledgement, likely too exhausted by your ill-timed antics to power up a proper response.
“Can you please eat your stupid soup and get better already?”
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Stay the Night
here’s some old-school Bucky in Wakanda smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are. Hope you enjoy x
18+, smut, fluff. It's just you and Bucky in Wakanda while the team is away. He tends to his flock, you wish he tended to you.
“Today is the literal meaning of ‘hotter than Hades’,” you announced as you collapsed less than gracefully on a broken tree log as Bucky Barnes shot you a look over his shoulder, sweat protruding from every pore in his tanned, muscular form, a tendril of long, dark hair falling into his glassy blue eyes from the loose ponytail behind his head.
Jesus, a man should never look that damn good, you thought, fanning yourself with your shirt, the material sticking to your drenched skin. Thank god the heat hid your blush.
“Bored?” he asked, scooping up a hay bail and loosening it for the goats he tended to munch on.
“Radio silence,” you replied. “I kind of feel like I’m in the way of the locals when I can’t contact the team. I haven’t heard from Nat, Sam or Steve in a few days. I am pretty useless at times like this.”
“That’s not true,” Bucky said, pointing at the water bottle you had parked beside you. “You brought water. I assume that’s why you’re out here in the midday sun,” he teased as you tossed it to him and he caught it easily with his right hand, twisting the cap off and guzzling the cool refreshment.
Every movement was pure sex, you sighed quietly as his throat bobbed, water falling from the creases of his lips and down his chin. Life seemed much fairer before Bucky Barnes.
“Thanks, Buck,” you rolled your eyes as he finished the bottle easily, crushing it in his palm and laughing at you, walking back to hand it to you.
“No, no,” he nudged your boot with his. “Thank you,” he went back to stacking and distributing hay as you said a quiet goodbye and told him you’d see him later.
You hated when the team was away.
While you’d made some friends in Wakanda, you were still finding your way and mostly felt in the way of working alongside the Wakandan defence and communications teams. They used a lot more sophisticated tech than Stark had ever provided you and you’d never admit it out loud, the tech was somewhat confusing at times, thanks to its gross advancement over what you were used to.
You’d always be thankful for T’Challa and his family for taking you into the palace grounds, a necessity, T’Challa explained. It was beyond amazing and his lovely mother, Ramonda, fussed over you to ensure you were comfortable at all times. It was nice to feel so welcome, but so lonely without your family.
Steve, Nat and Sam had left days ago. Wanda and Vis were off the radar (lie, you knew they were having some kind of rendezvous in Europe and had no intentions of interrupting whatever was or had developed between them).
That left Bucky.
After he’d been woken from cryo, Shuri had run every test known to man on him to assist in the removal of the trigger words, he’d gratefully taken up residence away from the hustle and bustle of the wondrous city and hauled his ass out to the farmlands, simply requesting the peace, privacy and quiet. For the first time in over 100 years, he was able to be his own man without fear of retribution. Sure, the dark memories flickered occasionally, but the words would never hurt him again.
He enjoyed the serenity in the sounds of nature, with the exception of an iPod that Sam had gifted to get him up to speed on more modern music than the 1940’s bops Bucky was more accustomed to –
You sighed, hearing the knock at the door, interrupting the reverie of mindless TV. It was late, too late for guests. After dinner, you’d showered and retired to your PJ’s – your threadbare, well-worn Yankees shirt (your first souvenir of New York City when SHIELD moved you there years earlier regardless of your disinterest in baseball) and loose PJ pants. “Coming,” you replied, pushing yourself up to open the door, surprised to see Bucky on the other side - cleaned up, void of sweat and dust in lazy sweat pants and a white t-shirt. A casual Bucky Barnes. This new development was not helping your crush. Not in the slightest. “Hey. You lost?” you teased lightly.
He showed you a bottle of Glenfidditch and you chuckled a little, moving from the way to let him in. Closing the door behind him, you leaned back against it, a little confused about his visit as Bucky simply didn’t visit anyone aside from Steve or Shuri. You only visited Bucky occasionally to make sure he wasn’t segregating himself, but he did usually prefer his own company when Steve wasn’t around.
“Got ice?” he asked, going to the kitchenette for a couple of tumblers.
“I don’t actually – if I’m going to drink aged whiskey, I’ll be doing it properly.”
“Ooh,” Bucky cooed, a small grin growing on his lips. “A woman after my own heart.”
“Blame Steve – a few years back when we all moved to the Tower… fuck, just after Ultron maybe? Steve brought out a bottle of this stuff and I’ve been a convert ever since. He said you guys would destroy bottles together.”
“Well, he did. I would drink responsibly though I didn’t know at the time I could put them back as well as Steve could with the serum running through my veins,” he said, bringing the glasses to the coffee table, cracking the top and pouring you each a glass. “Are you gonna join me or hang out by the door?”
“Sorry,” your face flushed as you skittered over and sat at the other end of the couch. He handed you a glass and gave you gentle ‘cheers’ before you sat in silence for a while, enjoying the smooth amber liquid. “…Bucky, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I dunno – you seemed a bit forlorn today. Thought I’d try and be a friend,” he shrugged. “You’ve been pretty accommodating to me since we got here. I guess I could repay the favour even if you’re only checking in on me for Steve. And you’ve got air conditioning,” he tossed in the joke to try and lighten the mood.
“Steve didn’t ask me to keep tabs on you,” you admitted.
“Oh,” Bucky said, sipping his whiskey and easing back on the couch. “Do you like it out here?”
You chewed your lip, dropping your eyes to the glass. “I mean, it’s a hellova lot better than being shipped out to The Raft,” you admitted as he stifled a chuckle.
“True.”
“If I’m going to be on the run for associating with the team, it might as well be in one of the most securest places on the planet.”
“You chose well,” Bucky agreed.
“Would have been stupid for me not to take it. I owe T’Challa, and Steve, a lot.”
“They’re good men.”
“Absolutely.”
Silence overtook the room again though there was no discomfort with it.
“Thanks for havin’ a drink with me,” Bucky said as he polished off his glass. “It’s getting late,” he got to his feet.
“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to impose,” he said with a gentle shrug, collecting his tumbler.
“You’re not imposing. It’s nice to have the company, to be honest,” you confessed.
“'Nother glass then?”
“Definitely,” you said, hoping not to appear too eager. Bucky gave a small nod and poured again.
“I know I’m not much of a talker,” he told you as you sat and cradled your glass close to your chest.
“I just enjoy the company regardless of noise levels,” you shrugged. “It’s different when the team is here, but when they aren’t…”
“When they aren’t?” he pressed.
“I have too much time with my thoughts.”
He raised a glass. “I hear that.”
Your glass joined his. “Why are you in the farmlands then and not in the palace?”
He nodded slowly as you hoped you hadn’t overstepped the mark. Blame the first glass of booze – less than tipsy you would never ask such a question. “Just tryin’ to earn my keep – least I can do since T’Challa is harbouring an international war criminal, assassin, murderer – ”
You gave a gentle laugh. “He’s not harbouring you.”
“Protecting me then,” Bucky corrected himself.
“Maybe protecting you,” you admitted, agreeing.
You both continued a polite conversation, mostly about Steve and the team before you both started dozing at your respective ends of the couch. “I should really head out now,” Bucky said.
“Stay, it’s a million degrees out there.”
He gave you an incredulous look that told you he knew what you were saying, but staying was still a terrible idea. Suddenly overwhelmed, you realised it completely sounded like a blatant invite for sex. It wasn’t, you thought. Was it?
Trying telling your libido that.
“If you stay on your side of the bed, Bucky, and I stay on mine, we won’t have any issues,” you try to regain your composure.
“Are you completely sure?” he looked about as convinced as you thought you were.
“My God, it’s sleep,” you told him. “I would never deny you, of all people, Bucky, sleep.”
Bucky nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”
“It’s far too hot to stay out there overnight. Enjoy a night’s sleep in the air con,” you joked. “If you enjoy sleeping in comfy climates, hey, you might even move in here.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Here?”
You blinked a few times, not catching his tease. “Yeah, like here, the palace.”
He laughed. “Okay.”
“Oh, you thought in here. With me,” you barked a laugh, getting off the couch and heading for the bed, Bucky following a safe distance away. You stifled your discomfort with snark, “Oh, darling,” you leaned forward to cup Bucky’s stubbly chin. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”
“Oh darlin’, don’t fall for me so quickly. It’ll only end in heartbreak,” he mocked in return. You laughed incredulously, thinking to yourself, ‘too fuckin’ late, buddy’ and moving to your side of the King bed and pulling the pillows towards yourself.
“If you’re truly concerned, here. Build a pillow wall with me. Put that hay bailin’ practice to good use.”
He sighed with a gentle smile, he was thoroughly enjoying this cheeky banter you’d suddenly worked into your conversation and helped you build the Great Wall of pillows.
“Perfect,” you said, fixing the last pillow in place.
“That is an impressive pillow wall,” Bucky concluded, stifling a laugh. “Failsafe.”
“Make yourself comfy,” you told him, laying back as he pulled off his soft cotton t-shirt and folded it, placing it neatly on the bedside table next to him, a habit he’d picked up in military training in the 40s and never really lost it, no matter what control he was under, you imagined.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you. “It is a lot nicer inside than out.”
“Told you,” you replied with a chuckle, raising a fist to him over the wall.
“What is that?” he chucked.
“My knuckles? You’ve never knocked ‘knuckles’ with someone? A fist bump?”
He laughed louder. “No, I’ve never fist-bumped.”
“Then hit my knuckles with yours,” you instructed as Bucky did as he was told. Still confused for a second, his hand met yours gently before opening and clutching your wrist in his warm, rough-skinned hand and bringing your open hand to his lips. The rules of the pillow wall were suddenly crumbling before you. Destroyed so easily.
“You need to behave,” you told him, suddenly very nervous.
“I’m finding it so hard. We’re here and I know it’s not just me that is feeling this, sugar,” he continued kissing to your wrist and moving towards your inner elbow as he got to his knees. Your body betrayed you as goose pimples shot up and down your spine and you found yourself sitting up opposite him. “All I wanna do is compromise this pillow wall.”
You could cut the tension in the cool room with a knife as your eyes burned into his. Chewing his lip, he made no secret of his intentions as he licked his mouth and walloped the pillow wall away.
Suddenly there was no divide and you were looking at each like they were your last meals. “Can I kiss you?” he asked shyly.
“If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you,” you retorted as he skimmed across the sheets to you and pulled your body flush to his. He sunk his fingers into your hair and pulled your face to his, leaving a small kiss on your waiting lips.
“Is that okay?” he asked, almost afraid.
“More,” you demanded as a reply. There was nothing forgiving about it – you were suddenly craving him – his mouth, his touch, his body, his scent and he was surrounding you in a way no other person had before.
He moved back a little. “One minute – I gotta explain…” he breathed gently. “This is kind of my first time being intimate in a long time. I know this,” he looked at his left shoulder, ashamed. “I know it’s not sexy. And if you don’t want to be with me because of it - ”
You grasped his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours and kissed him lightly. “Believe me when I say I do not care, Bucky. I know you do but I need you to know, this changes nothing for me.”
“I’ve imagined this so many times with you, pleasing you and now we’re here, I just…” his soft Brooklyn accent rumbled. “I just imagined it as me. The old me.”
Your head spun – he felt the same way? Jesus Christ, assassin school taught him surely how to fool you into believing he barely knew you existed.
“Well, I only know this, Bucky – I’m pretty crazy about you.”
His eyes flickered. Maybe it was emotion, you weren’t sure.
“You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”
This time, he blushed.
“So maybe, you should just lay back,” you said, helping guide him to do so, his head settling amongst the remains of the disastrous pillow wall and you kissed him, he moaned just loud enough to hear. “And we have a good time, okay?”
He nodded, nervously. “Okay.”
“Now, relax,” you said, unsure where your confidence was coming from but you knew he needed you to lead him and you were going to treat him right. He deserved this – you, and all of you. All for him.
You ungracefully tossed the sheets from the bed, they’d just be getting in the way and crawled towards Bucky’s feet, grabbing the loose elasticised ankles and pulling at them, the sweats he wore drawn from his slender hips, descending his powerful thighs and calves before you disregarded them all together, leaving him solely in boxer briefs. Calvin Klein, how so very rude.
And dear, if your mouth didn’t water at the surprise he poorly hid in them.
Kissing his ankle and working your lips up the inside of his legs, tickling behind his knee, he shuddered. He shuddered hard. “Fuck,” he muttered. You smiled against his skin, lips moving again, your hands massaging his powerful thighs. Stopping at his waist, you crept onto his lap and pulled away your shirt. Bucky sighed, his hand reaching out to touch you. You leaned closer to him as his arm skirted around you, pulling your body flush to his to kiss you, your tongue tracing his full lips as he enthusiastically opened his mouth for your tongues to meet. His hand scalded your skin as he groped at you lightly, cascaded your side and tangled into your hair, deepening the kiss as his hips started to move beneath your body, his cock needing the friction.
You paused and raised a finger to him. He raised a confused eyebrow as you scampered off him to lose your sweats, no panties underneath. You didn’t let him get a good, long look at you before you moved to rid him of his boxers, hard cock free and you gave him a few encouraging pumps, his eyes rolling back. “Sweet Jesus,” he begged for mercy. “Please.”
“Please?” you raised a teasing eyebrow and sat on your knees between his muscular thighs. He was asking you to go down on him. You’d never felt so willing before to please a man as you were for to do for Bucky.
“Please,” he tried again as you could see this man didn’t need to be teased, he just needed to be wanted. Adored. Loved.
“Okay. Okay, now you sit back, Barnes. And you let me take care of the rest.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he tucked his arm behind his head, licking his lips as you took him in your palms before an encouraging kiss to the head and taking him into your mouth. “Dear God,” he managed to say through groans. His hand found your hair again, pushing your hair from your face to see what he thought was the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen work over his body. “Baby, that is so good. So hot,” he encouraged, clutching roughly but not enough to hurt, just enough to spur you on. You continued your ministrations for a few minutes more before he guided you away from him, gasping. “Baby, stop. I’ll come.”
You blinked at him. “That’s okay,” you promised. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”
He grinned at you. “I’m sure you can. But I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he admitted shyly.
“Oh,” you gave a gentle nod. “I thought I was doing something wrong.”
He shook his head, alarmed. “God, no. You were a little too good at what you were doing,” he reassured you. “Get up here,” he pulled you to his face to meet him for a lingering kiss. “You could kill a man with that mouth.”
“I doubt that,” you got suddenly shy, burying your blushing face in his neck as he guided your face back to his.
“Don’t get bashful now, sweetheart,” he gazed at you like you were about the best damn thing he’d ever seen. You didn’t know how or why, but the look turned you on more than any act prior to right then. You just wanted to make him happy, release him, and feel him come apart under your hands. “I have an admission to make, and fuck, I hope this doesn’t come across as shitty…” he said quietly.
“What’s that?” you asked, suddenly feeling very exposed regardless of you lack of clothing.
“Uhh… I don’t know, logistically, how I make this work without you on toppa me, baby. I’m sorry, I don’t want to crush you if something goes wrong,” he looked as though he wanted the bed to eat him whole.
And why, you don’t know. But his admission gave you the confidence you didn’t expect. “Is this you suggesting I ride you?” you gave a small giggle as he chewed his lip.
“Lil’ bit, yeah. I know that sounds so goddamn selfish – ”
“Giving me the power over you makes you selfish?”
“Well, it takes away a fair amount of effort,” he reasoned. “And you know, I wanna show you what I can do…” his voice trailed off, timidly.
And suddenly you understood. This wasn’t just about a missing limb – this was the pain and terror from all those years ago. The raw, never-ending trauma of Bucky’s initial testing, falling from the train in the Alps. Losing his arm seemed so minute in all of it. Years of physical and mental abuse, and psychological torment at the hands of HYDRA, of the Soviets, whoever was the highest bidder for The Winter Soldier.
This was touch, connection, feeling wanted and adored – oh, how needed to Bucky understand how much you wanted to be the person to help him.
You tutted him and inhaled, gently cupping his cheek, choosing compassion. “Relax, handsome, lay back and enjoy,” you instructed as he nodded slightly and wrapped his scorching hand around your ribs. It was such a simple act, but it turned you on so much. It felt possessive, wanted. “I want to make you feel so fucking good – will you let me?”
You don’t know why you asked, but you knew you needed to hear him tell you he wanted this too. “Yes,” he nodded shyly. “Hell yes.”
“Okay,” you leaned down to kiss him, reached between your bodies and in your warm hands, adjusted your body on his. Viewing Bucky as he felt you sheath your body around his was as good as it could ever get – his plumb lips drawn into his gleaming white teeth, his bright blue eyes hidden behind his long lashes. Giving him some time to adjust, just like you were to his size encouraged you as he lightly raised his hips in hopes for you to move. “You good?” you asked again.
“Better than, amazing,” he told you, gripping your hip and your body slowly started to move above him. “Jesus Christ,” he uttered, raising his eyes to look at you.
Taking his hand and linking your fingers as you relaxed and stopped trying to ensure his good time (it appeared ensured) and sinking into feeling so good yourself, you moved your hips more, craving Bucky deeper, hoping to find that elusive little spot to make you explode.
“Touch yourself?” he pleaded quietly. “Please, sugar?”
Appeasing him happily, he watched your free hand creep down your body and open yourself up to where your bodies met, your fingers putting on a show as you toyed with yourself just for his dark, lust-filled eyes. Your body tightened under the pressure and Bucky’s pleasured grunts and curses was certainly on the rise. His hand relinquished yours as he clutched onto your ass, forcing you rougher into him, his tempo speeding up and urging you to do the same from the friction his body caused yours.
“God, you feel so good. So wet, so warm,” he muttered, his breathing deepening as his hips haphazardly fired into you. “Are you close?” he asked desperately. You were, you so fucking were, you realised, his simple question bringing you even closer. You nodded as you pressed harder against your clit, desperate for your own release and of course, his.
He needs this, you reminded yourself. You needed this. “Fuck, yes,” you replied as he used his abs to sit up, suddenly so much deeper into you as you looked at each other face to face, chest to chest and Bucky kissed you. He kissed you with those beautiful lips and a tongue that knew exactly how you wanted to be kissed as he moaned into your mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist and took a nipple into your mouth as you started to come – that was the move, the special way to push you over the edge. Realising this, Bucky grinned and looked at you, using those pearly whites to chew lightly and you were coming. Coming so hard that you felt like you might have seen stars as he let out a litany of curses and came hard too.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Bucky breathed, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back, taking your body down with him, keeping you wrapped in his embrace and softening inside you. Bucky Barnes liked to cuddle, you realised.
“Holy shit,” you managed to say as you tried to settle your breathing. “That was fantastic.”
“Really?” he asked bashfully. He looked you in the eye and begged you weren’t lying to him. You nodded and tenderly kissed him. “Good,” he gave a small, shy smile and suddenly appeared so boyish. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have the thank me,” you told him. “Trust me, I’m just glad you stayed.”
“Fuck, me too,” he laughed. “Me too.”
Hearing your phone beep, you shot up through the heaviness across your chest and halted you. Bucky’s body subdued you – the body heat he exhumed was hot and stifling. He groaned, pulling you back down to him.
“They’ll call back,” he muttered. “Sleep.”
“It’s the team,” you whispered back. He breathed heavily, reaching out for the phone for you reluctantly and putting it in your hands. Relief washed through you. The team, including Wanda and Vis, were returning to Wakanda imminently. “Did you sleep okay?”
Yawning, Bucky slightly freed you from his grasp. “You weren’t wrong about sleeping comfortably – I mean, I don’t deserve to, but it was the most relaxing sleep I’ve had in years.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Bucky. Truly.”
He soothingly kissed your naked shoulder. “Thank you for last night.”
“I just hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“So much,” he breathed against your skin, rolling you to your back and lightly pining your body under his. You loved the feel of his weight on your body. You would come to crave it. Addicted and all in less than 12 hours. You’d fallen so hard, so fast. “Did you?”
“Yes,” you couldn’t lie. Bucky’s body was made for a multitude of sins and loving on a woman? The top. He kissed each eyelid that fluttered closed under his touch, the tip of your nose, his mouth travelling through your throat to your décolletage. “Behave…” you teased, your fingers lacing into his long, dark, loose waves.
He laughed into your skin. “Okay,” he nudged your knees apart, his hips meeting yours. He felt as if he was flying – he’d never imagined the confidence he felt, that you’d given to him. Or how you could have destroyed it by rejecting him. The power you had over him was stifling. That was a hellova lot scarier than what was to eventually come.
“What did I say?”
“You told me to behave.”
“And what did you do?”
“The exact opposite,” he admitted. “I just can’t seem to keep my mitts offa you. You’ve opened the floodgates, sugar. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again.”
Your phone beeping incessantly now, you found yourself in a world where only you and Bucky ceased to exist. The rest of the world could wait another hour.
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-`♡´- the day you and the stars disappeared.
summary: the discovery and aftermath of your disappearance. what do your beloveds do in your absence?
tags: obey me characters (lucifer, mammon, levi, asmo, satan, beel, belphie, diavolo, barbatos, solomon, simeon, and thirteen) x gn!reader, angst, spoilers for the first chapter of obey me! nightbringer.
When Lucifer wakes up, the left side of his bed is cold.
It's not the most unusual thing. Lucifer was much less of a morning person that you were. He glaces to his bedside table. 8:30; it was too early for you to be out of bed on the weekend. Even if you woke up early, you'd still be tucked into his arms, or scrolling through Devilgram on your D.D.D.
Lucifer sits up, a pout on his face. You couldn't have strayed too far in such a short time.
"Beloved?" He calls, hoping you could hear him if you were in the bathroom. Lucifer says your name, this time a little louder, but again gets no response.
It wasn't your turn to be on breakfast duty... Perhaps you had a bad dream? You did tend to hide those things from him.
He closes his eyes and thinks of you. Usually, he would feel a faint warmth, like the fluttering of a moth's wings underneath his skin; it was the feeling of your soul connected to his through your pact. But now, even with all his focus, the feeling of your soul connection is nothing but a cold static.
Lucifer swallows the panic welling up in his chest and stands, quickly throwing on his clothes and rushing from his room. He starts in the basement, looking in any place a human could possibly squeeze into, desperately calling out your name. The ever-composed Lucifer, reduced to tearing the house apart when his human isn't in his sights.
He hopes that he is overreacting. He hopes that he'll find you curled up with Mammon, or on a walk outside the house.
He hopes that you are still somewhere that he can reach.
"Oy, Lucifer, what's going on?" Mammon. Lucifer takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself. If he let himself be emotional, his brothers would take that as a sign that something is very, very wrong. He would have to hold himself together, for now. "You're waking everyone up."
"Mammon, have you seen MC?" Calm enough.
"I haven't seen 'em since last night, they were with you, right?" You and Lucifer stayed up late to finish paperwork for your new student council role. "You didn't make 'em angry, did you?"
Lucifer's pout deepens. He's sure he'll age a millennia faster with how much he worries over you. "No, nothing like that. We finished up the assignments and then went to bed." Lucifer sighs, "and then when I woke up this morning, they weren't there. It's unlike them."
"You sure they just didn't go for a walk or something?" Mammon checks his phone to see if there were any messages from you.
"Mammon... try to connect to them with your pact."
Mammon closes his eyes, and repeats the same action Lucifer did only a few minutes prior.
Nothing.
Mammon instantly shifts into his demon form, fear evident in his eyes.
"I'm gonna go drag Solomon over here. He'll be able to track 'em if they're nearby, right?"
"He should be. Bring Simeon too, if he's there.". Lucifer straightens himself out. "I'll wake Leviathan and then go get Diavolo and Barbatos. Maybe they'll know more about what's going on."
Mammon nods, out the door before Lucifer can even finish his sentence.
Lucifer doesn't allow himself any more moments alone, he rushes upstairs to shake Leviathan awake.
-`♡´-
"No need to pound on the door, Mammon." Simeon smiles, but Mammon can tell he's annoyed. Giving Simeon a minute to open the door was Mammon's idea of being patient, he had half a mind to knock the damn thing off its hinges. "Is there anything—".
"Where's Solomon?" Mammon cuts him off, pushing past him and into Purgatory Hall's living room. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air; just how early did these guys wake up?
"He's still sleeping, I believe. Why are you in such a rush?" Simeon asks.
"MC's missing. Need him to find them. He in his room?"
"What?"
"You heard me!" Mammon can hardly keep it together. He didn't want to talk about it, he knew that if he started talking he wouldn't be able to stop.
He hadn't felt your soul connection so cold since... since...
"What's going on?" Solomon steps out of the hallway, still in his pajamas. "I heard Mammon yelling. What happened to MC?"
Of course he'd have been listening in. "Lucifer woke up this morning and they weren't there. Can't hardly feel their soul at all, it's like they're—".
"What do you mean?" Solomon's eyebrows quirk up, clearly not expecting to hear that. "What does it feel like?"
"Damn it, Solomon, it feels like it did when Belphie... y'know." Mammon can't bring himself to say it. It was too awful, what he did to you. "Enough talking, do your magic thing and find 'em!"
Solomon and Simeon exchange worried looks. "Alright, let me get dressed. Then we'll head off. But Mammon...".
"What?" Mammon huffs, already heading towards the door.
"I'm sure they're fine. You know how capable they are. Perhaps they just wanted some alone time."
"Yes, MC has survived a lot. I'm sure they just popped back up to the Human World or something... We'll probably be laughing about this with them at the end of the day."
Simeon smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Mammon tries not to let the thought that they might be trying to placate him bother him.
-`♡´-
"You want me to watch over our brothers? Why? What's happening?" Levi sits up in his bathtub bed, disoriented from being shaken awake so suddenly.
He had heard the commotion earlier, but assumed that Mammon had done something to warrant Lucifer's ire. Lucifer searching through Levi's room while he was sleeping wasn't the strangest occurrence. Mammon did hide things in here from time to time.
"Levi, don't worry over this right now. I'll fill you in once we figure out what's going on."
"No, Lucifer, tell me now!" Levi stands, suddenly very awake. "You're worried over something, and you're never worried, not like this."
Even standing up straight, Lucifer was still looking down at Leviathan.
"Telling you would only make the situation worse." Levi hates how patronizing Lucifer sounds. He hated it when they first fell and he hated it now. "Make sure the others stay put, I'll be back soon."
Levi moves quickly to stop him from leaving. "If you don't tell me, I'll... I'll summon Lotan!" Lucifer steps forward, but Leviathan doesn't budge. "I'll really do it, Lucifer! I'm serious about this!"
It would probably take Levi a few hundred years to muster up the courage to stand up to Lucifer like this again. But watching the cold pity fade from his brother's eyes and turn into something more akin to pride was worth it.
"MC is gone, and I'm going to the Demon Lord's Castle to seek Diavolo and Barbatos's help." Lucifer says it with such a barely-maintained calmness that Leviathan knows this is serious. That you weren't sucked into a silly game or hiding out in Purgatory Hall for the weekend.
Levi feels his heart sink.
"Now, can you do as you're told and stay put? I'll be back soon." Lucifer squeezes Levi's shoulder, forcing Levi to listen. "If anything happens, call me."
He nods, but once Lucifer turns to leave, he quietly falls back into bed. Levi watches Henry swim around in his goldfish tank; you had just fed him yesterday, how did things change so much in just a few hours?
No, he can't shut down here. If something happened to you and he wasn't there to help he would never forgive himself.
You had saved him so many times before, it was time for him to be your Knight. (God, he sounded like a normie).
-`♡´-
When Mammon arrives back to the House of Lamentation with Simeon, Solomon, and Thirteen (Solomon had called her for help), the front door is blown off its hinges. Levi peeks through sheepishly at the four of them, waving for them to come in.
"What the hell happened here?" Thirteen tries to shut the door behind them, but it slowly starts to creak back open as soon as its closed.
"I told Satan what happened." Levi sighs, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. "He went out to calm himself down. Said he'll be back by the time Lucifer gets home."
"Have you guys found anything here?" Simeon asks Leviathan. Just past Levi in the living room was Asmodeus, who was anxiously staring down at his phone.
Beel descends the stairs at the same time Belphie comes up from the basement: "I checked all the rooms upstairs, they're not up there."
Belphie shakes his head: "They're nowhere in the basement, either."
"I've been texting anyone that knows them from R.A.D. No one has seen them yet." Asmodeus blinks back tears. "This is crazy, you know! Why does this kind of thing always happen to them?"
"Well, they're not dead. So stop acting so sad!" Thirteen chimes in, sprawling herself out on the living room couch. "I checked their candle this morning myself. I can check again but trust me, I would know if they died. I'm a reaper, y'know?"
"You checked their candle this morning? Isn't that quite a walk from where you sleep?" Despite the situation, Solomon just can't help himself. Thirteen sits up and throws a pillow at the sorcerer, cheeks flushed.
"I just had some business over there, that's all." Thirteen huffs, sinking back into the sofa so she doesn't have to see Solomon's smug face. "Anyways, aren't you supposed to be doing your thing?"
"Yeah, get to it, Solomon." Mammon tugs on the back of Solomon's cape, pointing him towards Lucifer's room. "They were last seen in there. See if you can find anything."
-`♡´-
Simeon stands near the doorway to Lucifer's room with Mammon, watching as Solomon searches for traces of anything that might give them a clue as to your whereabouts.
Simeon had thought that he had accepted being human. He thought the feeling of powerlessness that was so overwhelming to him at first had finally settled; there was nothing he could do to gain his grace back after what he had done, after all.
But now? He knew even as an angel there wasn't much more he could do to find you. If he had become your Guardian Angel like he had teased so many times, he could at least feel out if you were in danger.
Cautious Simeon, always so scared to make that final jump.
He says a prayer for you, quietly. Simeon hopes that his Father would still lend his ear to his own child, no matter how far he had strayed.
"There's one strong concentration here." Solomon frowns, gesturing to an area a little above shoulder height, right beside the left side of Lucifer's bed. "but that's all I can sense right now."
"Yeah, there's gotta be something else you missed." Mammon anxiously looks around the room, checking to see for himself if anything was out of place. "Keep looking."
They both follow Solomon as he does just that. He checks Lucifer's bathroom, in the closets, in the halls by his door... Nothing.
"I just don't get it." Solomon says, eyes closed in thought. He leans against the low table in the hallways. "If someone went through all this trouble to kidnap MC, why would they leave such an obvious trace behind?"
"Who gives a shit their motive right now. Tell us that you found something that can lead us to them, Solomon." Desperation drips from Mammon's voice. Mammon needs some hope to hold on to; Simeon empathizes with that feeling.
If Thirteen hadn't assured everyone you were still alive Simeon is sure he'd be snapping at Solomon too. Solomon was a good friend, but there's something about how casual he is with everything that makes Simeon angry. Did he not love you too?
"I did, don't worry, Mammon." Solomon pats Mammon's shoulder, "Once everyone gets back, I'll explain what I found."
-`♡´-
Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer arrive shortly after Solomon is done with his search.
The anxiety in the room is palpable; any news at all could set them alight. Especially Satan, who seemed to be trying to remember old breathing exercises to keep back his demon form.
"Solomon, they're here!" Asmodeus announces, and Simeon, Solomon, and Mammon come out from Lucifer's room to join everyone in the living room.
Lucifer doesn't comment on the broken door, he doesn't much care if the house itself was destroyed in the process of finding you.
"Tell us what you've found." Diavolo asks; Lucifer had informed him and Barbatos about what had happened on the way back from the castle. It had been a long while since Diavolo had seen his old friend look so grave.
Solomon comes around the couch and takes a seat by Thirteen. She scoots away.
"Well, there wasn't much left behind to find.... Which is good in its own way." Solomon crosses his legs. "Time magic was used sometime in Lucifer's bedroom last night. It appears MC has been taken to another point in this timeline."
As soon as the words leave his mouth, all eyes go to Barbatos. Even Barbatos looks stunned, eyes widening in shock.
"Time magic?" Satan stands, hands clenching at his sides. "I would like an explanation then, Barbatos. Now."
"I... am afraid I am as in the dark as you all are." The hesitation in Barbatos's voice does little to persuade the brothers. Beel stands and keeps a watchful eye on Satan. If you were here, you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt for your sake.
Diavolo stands in front of Barbatos. "Now, you all know Barbatos isn't the only being capable of time magic."
"Is it possible that someone else used your portals?" Thirteen asks. "You leave those things wide open, don'tcha? Seems like an easy target."
"I would know if anyone other than myself used them, yes. But I did not feel any abnormalities last night."
Belphie turns to Solomon. "Wait, you said time magic, what time period did they get sent to?"
"Ah, well that's a little tricky." Solomon answers with a sheepish smile. "The residual magic was strong, but you would expect more to be left behind if they went to the future. Future magic is highly unstable, anyways. It's more likely they were sent somewhere into the past, probably around the time of the Celestial War based on my analysis."
Belphie shakes his head. "You can't say 'probably', you have to be certain about this."
"Then, yes, I am certain that is where they are." Solomon answers smoothly.
The second the words leave Solomon's mouth, Mammon speaks up:
"Okay, so how do we get them back?!"
-`♡´-
With lots of loud disagreements, and a few almost-fights, they come to terms that it has to be Solomon that goes after you.
No one particularly likes that idea, but he was the only one who wouldn't completely disrupt the timeline. His past self wouldn't be in the Devildom, so he could avoid paradoxes, and he was more than strong enough to protect himself if need be.
That same day, Barbatos prepares the portal for Solomon to go through after you. But not before one last warning from Diavolo:
Diavolo's eyes are stern, hand gripping Solomon's shoulder tight enough to where it would be painful. Solomon takes a step back, but Diavolo's body follows him.
"You bring them back safe." A warning, "And bring them back swiftly. Whatever you must do to get them back... do it."
Solomon, frankly, had had enough warnings from the demon brothers, and from his old friend Thirteen to understand that his life was forfeit if he came back without you.
He supposed he couldn't fault their protectiveness, however. If your safety was left alone in the hands of any other, he's sure he'd do worse to guarantee you came back alive and well.
"Of course," Solomon rolls his shoulder, shrugging off the Prince's hold. "You know I want them back just as much as you do. Perhaps even more."
Diavolo pats his back, his usual genial smile returning to his face, and he laughs. "Oh, I doubt that."
Barbatos gestures to the two, indicating that everything is ready for Solomon to step through. Solomon doesn't feel anything but calm, for what did he have to be anxious about? He was getting to see you again.
Was it selfish of him to be happy that he would be in a time period where the one you would rely on the most would be him?
"Bring them back to us," Is the last thing he hears before he steps through the portal, and into the past.
-`♡´- Lucifer
Lucifer busies himself with his work. If he fills his schedule enough, he doesn't have time to worry about you constantly, doesn't have time for his mind to cycle through the worst of what could happen with you out of his reach.
He volunteers to take on all of your duties that you were newly appointed as R.A.D.'s newest student council officer. Lucifer doesn't want anything to get in the way of you spending time with him again once you get back.
When he isn't working, he takes care of his brothers. The House of Lamentation always becomes a little quieter when you're not around, but the silence this time is more somber.
Lucifer doesn't scold them as much, gives them more leeway when they skip classes or forget to turn in assignments. He knows they're struggling and he doesn't want to add to that burden.
He hardly sleeps unless he passes out from exhaustion. When he does, his dreams are of blame. Why didn't he just wake up when you were taken? You were right there.
-`♡´- Mammon
Mammon had to be held back by Levi and Beel to keep him from going into the portal after Solomon.
It wasn't fair that that guy got to go and he had to stay behind. He was your first man! Mammon wasn't even sure that Solomon didn't play a role in helping you disappear. He never trusted that guy.
But all he could do now was hope that he would bring you back, right? It didn't matter anymore who saved you, just the fact that you were alive and safe and in his arms would be enough for him.
Mammon misses you ardently.
He texts you about his day every day. He knows the messages won't deliver, but he doesn't have anyone else to send them too. Sometimes he'll even call your phone so he can hear your voice in the voicemail. It helps him sleep.
-`♡´- Leviathan
He's just so tired of this. He thought once your trials at R.A.D. were over, you could settle down in the House of Lamentation forever.
If anyone deserved a life full of peace, it was you. You had endured way too much hardship on their account to keep having these things happen to you.
Levi tries to maintain a normalcy for you to return to. He buys games that you had on your radar for you to play with him once you got back.
He likes looking at the pictures you both had taken together. Cosplay pics, photobooth strips, candid polaroids... precious memories that could never be replaced.
And, when he really misses you, he takes one of your school uniforms, hanging up neatly in your closet and takes it to bed with him. It still smells like you, and if he closes his eyes, he can picture you're there with him.
Though, waking up and seeing you weren't there is like losing you all over again.
-`♡´- Satan
Satan worries.
He knew what he was like right after the Celestial War. He knew what monstrous things he did when he couldn't control his anger; before he made a conscious decision to crawl his way out of his emotional stagnation and to be more than he was created to be.
He gets into a habit of hanging out with Thirteen. Satan never really cared much for her attitude, but she's the only one who would know if you were still alive.
She's tolerable, in that when they get together they always end up talking about you. Satan doesn't tell her the best stories about you, no, those were reserved only for himself.
When he is alone, he often drifts towards your room. He knows his brothers often sleep there when you're gone, so he washes your sheets and makes your bed back up when they're not there.
Satan even tidies his own room just enough so that you would have room to sleep in his bed with him when you returned.
-`♡´- Asmodeus
To have both you and Solomon taken away from him in the same day, it seems a bit cruel, doesn't it?
He's thankful for all the consolations from his friends and his fans; the well wishes are nice, but it isn't the same as hearing it from your voice.
Asmo tells anyone who will listen about what happened to you in hopes that they'll spin stories back at him. Even if most were lies conjured to make him feel better, there always are some true stories in the mix. He hears a few rumors of ancient, powerful demons that he hands over to Satan and Belphie to look more into. He was glad he could do something.
Asmodeus starts collecting things that remind him of you. Flowers that never wilt, lamb plushies, silk pajamas — there's a box in his room of gifts to give you once you get back home.
He writes down everything that you've missed since you disappeared, he has so much to catch you up on, after all! And if there's a lot of 'I love you's' and things he misses about you in between topics, he's sure you won't mind hearing them, too.
-`♡´- Beelzebub
Beel feels a little lost without you there.
You were so ingrained in his daily schedule that he doesn't know what to do with a lot of his time. You, Mammon, him, and Belphie would always hang out after school, since the four of you had the same last period.
There was no sun in the Devildom, but he didn't need any to feel warm sitting next to you three. Mammon would bring cards, and you would take turns picking out games to play.
You would usually win; he loved seeing your smile as you asked for praise for winning. Belphie and Mammon would pout, but Beel was always happy to tell you you did a good job. He keeps an ongoing score sheet somewhere in his backpack:
MC - 102, Mammon - 16, Belphie - 59, Beel - 20. He didn't care much for winning as long as everyone was happy.
He makes his way to the gardens and finds your usual spot empty. Beel waits there for a long while, but only Belphie shows up.
Beel thinks that maybe in the past, you were waiting for him in the same spot too. The thought makes him feel a little less lonely.
-`♡´- Belphegor
Belphie misses you, of course, but he really finds this whole situation odd.
Time magic. Diavolo had said that other beings were capable of it, but Belphie had never heard of anyone, besides Barbatos, that had mastered it enough to send someone back that far. Belphie wasn't the most well-connected person, but he thinks he would've heard about them by now.
Satan thinks the same thing, and so the 'Anti-Lucifer League' is postponed, and in its place the 'MC's Detective Agency' forms. Beel sits in on most meetings, and the rest of the brothers join in occasionally.
But with so few leads there was only so much they could do. But still, Belphie is determined not to give up. If you were in his shoes, he knows you would do the same thing.
He would never admit it to anyone, but he wants to hear you say that you're proud of his work. To feel you pet his head and tell him he did good, to kiss him on the cheeks for working so hard.
...And, of course, making whoever did this pay for what they did would be good, too.
-`♡´- Diavolo
The last note you left him is still taped to his desk:
A chibi of you fist-pumping is drawn on the side of the yellow sticky. There's a big speech bubble that reads: "You can do it, Dia! Knock out that paperwork!" He can't help but smile every time he sees it.
It's silly, but when he looks down and reads those words of encouragement he feels your loss even more strongly. He's sure Solomon will be back with you soon, but as the weeks roll on, he starts getting impatient.
He sends all his best men to search for whoever did this to you. Without any solid leads, it was like chasing the wind, but it helped settle his mind, if only a little.
He supposes you did spoil him too much. He forgot what it was like to be so lonely when you were around. And unlike the brothers, he couldn't just curl up in your bed whenever he wanted to be reminded of you.
Would it be so improper to move you into the castle once you got back? At least here, he would know you were safe. Nothing like this would ever happen to you again on his watch.
-`♡´- Barbatos
Barbatos knows that all eyes are on him.
It isn't hard to figure out that the brothers are suspicious of him. Mammon's crows perch outside his bedroom, Satan takes extra trips to the library in the castle, Belphie "gets lost" wandering the halls after dinner... Even Lucifer asks him pointed questions about that night.
He understands that it comes with the territory of his powers, but when has he ever done anything to jeopardize the exchange program? If he wanted to send you away would he not have done it when you first arrived? Would he not have let you die at the hands of Belphegor?
The him of today would never think of such a thing. Barbatos cared too much about your safety to let you wander too far from his sights.
He knows it is an indulgence that only he is afforded, but he can't help but steal looks into your life back in time as you try to find your way back to them.
Perhaps the others would like to hear about how you are doing, but Barbatos thinks these things are best kept to himself. He was never a fan of sharing, anyways.
-`♡´- Simeon
Luke cries and cries and cries when Simeon tells him what happened to you. Simeon holds the boy in his arms tight, rocking him back and forth to soothe his troubled heart.
He had done this many nights in the past, and he's sure he'd do it for many nights in the future.
The last time it had happened it had been when Simeon had told Luke about losing his powers. You had been there, then, and had cried as soon as you saw tears well up in Luke's eyes. Luke was less sad and more angry at Simeon for not telling him sooner. He had held you both in his arms that night, and before long the three of you fell asleep together.
Simeon wishes you were here now to hold him. To tell him it was going to be alright. But he supposed if you were here the both of them wouldn't have anything to cry about.
Michael allows Luke to stay in Purgatory Hall for as long as it would take to get you back. Simeon is thankful for the company; with Raphael and Solomon gone, and the Hall silent, it was easy for Simeon to start blaming himself.
He hears Luke pray every night for your safety, and Simeon slips back into the habit as well.
-`♡´- Thirteen
Thirteen spends a lot more time in her cave when you're not around.
What's the point of going to R.A.D. if you weren't there? It's not like she cared much about anyone else that went there. And to hear the brothers cry about missing you... She couldn't take it.
She cared about you too, but you didn't see her moping around about it!
But even worse was the fact Solomon got to go back in time to save you. Just thinking about you spending all that alone time with that shitty Sorcerer makes her blood boil; he could live a thousand lifetimes and never once deserve you.
She goes and checks your candle every morning to see if the flame is going strong. Thirteen breathes easy when she sees the bright orange flame light up the darkness.
Reapers weren't supposed to interfere directly with mortal's lifespans, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt if she poured some of Solomon's melted wax onto your candle. It's not like he would need it anyways.
Besides, this was her making up for lost time. Every day you were away shouldn't count! You didn't choose to go back in time, after all!
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