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#reader with a casual pain kink
foxy-eva · 7 months
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Stress Relief
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Summary: When Reader complains about back pain, Spencer offers a massage. Things escalate. 
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut 
Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) a little bit of awkwardness, massages, implied hand kink, heavy kissing, fingering, handjob, unprotected penetrative sex
Word Count: 3k
Masterlist
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It wasn't the first time your team had to double up in a hotel while working on a case but you had never ended up being paired with your favorite coworker before. When you stepped into the room after a long day of trying to save lives, you suddenly realized something. 
Spencer was right behind you when he saw it too, mumbling an almost inaudible, "Oh."
Oh. 
There was only one bed. 
The receptionist had already let you know that they were completely overbooked, so switching to a different room was no option. 
Spencer was quick to offer solutions as he started rambling, "I know Morgan said he wouldn't share a room with me but maybe he'll change his mind if I explain this to him?" 
"Don't you think it's more likely he'll tease us? Besides, that would leave me with Hotch and I'd rather share a bed with you than with my boss."
Spencer shrugged and mumbled, "I always liked to double up with Emily. I wonder why she insisted on sharing a room with JJ." 
You looked at him with raised eyebrows and a smirk on your face. "Yeah, who knows!" 
You did know but Spencer was as oblivious as ever. If he was really that bad at seeing what was right in front of him, there was at least a chance that he hadn't yet caught onto your feelings for him either. You really hoped that tonight any improper thoughts you had would be drowned out by the exhaustion slowly taking over your body.
"I can sleep on the floor," Spencer voiced his final offer. 
You shook your head in protest. "The bed is big enough for the both of us."
With that it was settled, you were going to share a bed with the man who had been occupying your mind an almost embarrassing amount. Spencer, however, had never once shown any signs that he reciprocated your growing feelings for him. So instead of addressing them, you decided to simply suffer in silence until they'd pass.
When he stepped into the bathroom to get ready for the night, you couldn't stop your mind from racing to fantasies far from being appropriate. It didn't help to hear him turning on the shower because now all you could think about was tearing your own clothes off to join him. Somehow you managed to keep your composure - for now at least. 
Spencer looked absolutely adorable with his washed-out Caltech shirt and checkered pajama pants, so much so that you took several seconds to blatantly stare at him when he came back into the room. It caused him to look down at his body to make sure that everything was in place. 
“Sorry, you just look really… cute like that,” you muttered to help with his confused look. 
A slight rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your compliment and he looked at you as if he wasn’t quite sure if you were making fun of him. But of course your words were genuine. 
As you gathered your things to go take a shower yourself, you snickered, “It’s a shame that outfit probably wouldn’t pass the FBI dress code.” 
He took a book out of his bag and sat down on one side of the bed, chuckling, “Yeah, it definitely would not pass.”
The shower helped clear your mind and you were positive that you’d be able to go to sleep without any other distractions. As you approached the bed in your usual nightwear - a tanktop and some colorful shorts - it became obvious that Spencer was even worse at hiding his staring than you were. 
“It’s weird, right?” You asked as you sat down on the bed. “Seeing each other in casual clothes, I mean.”
Without saying a word he just nodded before focussing back on his book again. As you leaned against the headboard of the bed you noticed something that had been bothering you all day. Your back was aching and your shoulders were painfully tense. You stretched your arms over your shoulders before you reached back to massage some tender spots on your neck. 
“You okay?” Spencer asked as he turned his head to watch you. 
“Yeah, it’s just my back pain. I slept weird last night and I have been sitting at my desk too much those past few days,” you explained. 
To your surprise, he offered, “Maybe I could help?”
Before you could consider what feeling his hands against your body would do to you, you replied, “Yeah, that would be nice, actually.” 
You readjusted your position until you sat cross-legged on the bed with your back facing your roommate for the night. Spencer set aside his book and sat behind you, tentatively putting his palms on your shoulders. The heat his body radiated entered your body and lit a spark inside you that you desperately tried to ignore. 
When he began pressing his fingertips into the tense muscles of your shoulders and neck, you instantly became pliable under his touch. The places he touched were innocent but that didn’t change the fact that a familiar warmth spread through your body and collected in your center. 
There was no way to hold back the shy moan from falling from your lips when he found a particularly tender spot. 
He halted his motions to ask, “Did I hurt you?”
“No, it just feels really good,” you breathed. 
“That’s nice to hear,” he cooed in the softest tone you’d ever heard from him. “You deserve to feel good.” 
Those last couple of words echoed in your mind before you could grasp what they meant. It was that moment that you asked yourself if the innocent and shy Spencer Reid was trying to flirt with you. 
To distract yourself, you decided to talk to him - unaware what colossal mistake that was going to be.
“So, where did you learn how to give back rubs?” 
Nonchalantly as ever, he responded, “I read a book about it a few years ago.” 
“You read a book about massages?”
The breath he let out at your question tickled the skin of your shoulders and you broke out in goosebumps. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice. 
“Well, it was about tantric practices and there was a very interesting chapter about… uhm… full-body massages,” he explained, not helping with your current situation at all. 
It was getting almost impossible for you to form coherent sentences, even more so when Spencer continued talking. 
“Are you interested in that?”
Almost jumping at his words, you blurted out, “In getting a full-body massage?!” 
“No!” Spencer laughed. “In reading the book!” 
Before you could respond, you felt his hands wander down your back, lightly rubbing over your shirt. It was getting harder to focus with every second passing, too overwhelming became the need to feel more of him. 
“I’ll think about it,” you finally responded. 
Spencer’s fingertips brushed over your lower back, way too lightly to find any tight spots and you were wondering if he was trying to tease you at this point. 
His words brought you back to reality. “I can continue with my massage if you want but uhm.. your shirt is getting in the way.”
Without thinking about it, you stated, “I’m not wearing a bra.”
“I know,” Spencer chuckled. “I won’t look, I promise. Just lay down on your stomach.” 
The feeling of his hands on your body had left your skin tingling and you were yearning to feel it again. So without questioning his intentions or making sure his eyes were really closed, you took off your top and lay down on the mattress. Spencer kneeled beside you and began working his skilled fingers over your entire back. 
Any tightness from tired muscles slowly left your body but you felt another kind of tension growing in your core. When Spencer grazed the waistband of your shorts with his fingertips, a sigh escaped your throat. He didn’t say anything, instead he kept massaging you until there was no patch of skin on your back left unattended to. 
The second time he brushed over your waistband gave away that he was doing it on purpose. For a moment you thought that he might slip his hands right beneath it to descend further down your body. That thought caused you to unwillingly press your thighs tightly together to soothe the aching between your legs. 
Spencer must have noticed it, too, because he audibly let out a breath right at that moment. His hands were still on your back when a quiet moan left your mouth and you noticed that your hips had started moving ever so slightly, desperate to find some friction. You weren’t sure if Spencer had been watching you doing that until you halted those tiny motions. 
“Don’t stop,” he purred. “You look so pretty like this.” 
You turned your head enough to see him from the corners of your eyes. The hardness straining against his pajama pants was impossible to ignore but even more intriguing was the smirk spread over his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark and filled with lust. Seeing him like this suddenly let any restraint you had left vanish. 
“Please, Spencer,” you begged him to keep going. 
One of his hands found the side of your face to brush a strand of hair aside. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your heated cheek before he whispered, “Tell me exactly what you want.” 
Spencer’s hands were all you could think about. Every fiber of your body was longing for him and you felt like you might combust if he didn’t grant you relief anytime soon. 
“Please continue and… go lower.” 
In an instant his hands were on your backside, greedily grabbing your soft flesh through your shorts. 
“Like that?” Spencer groaned. 
You tilted your hips to press your butt against his hands and slowly opened your thighs before you whimpered, “Lower.”
As his fingertips wandered over your thighs you felt how your arousal began soaking through the fabric of your panties. His hands dared to move underneath your shorts, grazing along the apex of your thigh. It was not enough to soothe your aching but enough to drive you wild. 
You moaned out his name before whining, “Take them off, please.” 
“You’re so cute when you get all desperate,” he chuckled in response. 
There was no more teasing then. When he finally grabbed the waistband of your shorts, you immediately lifted your hips so he could pull them down together with your panties. He reached between your thighs to finally touch you where you were burning for him. 
The realization of how aroused you were let a groan escape his mouth. His fingertips glided through your folds before focussing on your most sensitive spot while he purred, "You're so fucking wet." 
It was the first time you had ever heard him use a curse word, the sound of such crude language shooting through you like lightning. All your senses were on edge, you couldn't think about anything else but him. 
The sensation of his fingers moving over your sensitive pearl was somehow too much and not enough at the same time. You hadn't realized that you were grinding your hips against his hand until his words brought you back to reality for a moment. 
"You deserve to feel so, so good. Let me take care of you."
At that you point you weren't even sure what you were begging for when an almost silent "Please," made it past your lips. Spencer, however, seemed to understand. He let two of his digits enter you, finding no resistance from your body. As soon as you felt him inside you, you couldn't help but clench around him.
Slowly he began working his fingers against tight muscles at an angle that made you almost lose your mind. There was no more holding back the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips, so you buried your face into the pillow to muffle your moans. 
You felt Spencer's free hand brushing over your hair while he whispered, "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear you."
With that you turned your head to the side again, just enough to be able to see his beautiful face. His smile was too much for you to handle, so you decided to close your eyes instead. 
The room filled with your moans and mewls and the sound of his hand relentlessly moving against your wet center. Within just a few minutes you were dancing along the edge of euphoria. Spencer noticed that, too.
"You're doing so good," he praised you. "Let go for me, sweet girl." 
You felt him moving over your swollen nub one more time before your body began to tremble beneath him. He helped you ride out your high with a few more skillful motions before he lay down right beside you. 
When he found your eyes, he whispered, "You okay?" 
Instead of answering him, you grabbed his wrist to bring his fingers to your lips. They were still coated with your essence when you took them in your mouth to suck them clean. Spencer stared at you in disbelief, almost as if he was witnessing some kind of miracle. 
You could still taste yourself on your tongue when you found his lips in a hungry kiss. He didn't waste any time to reciprocate your enthusiasm, his tongue meeting yours as the two of you melted into one another. There was no space allowed between the two of you, with your chest pressed hard enough against his you could feel his accelerated heartbeat. 
His palms began wandering over your exposed skin as if he'd never have enough of touching you. Your hand became curious as well, moving underneath the hem of his shirt to finally feel him without any barrier. It wasn't enough though, you needed all of him.
With joined forces you rid him of his clothes and took a moment to take in the beauty of the man in front of you. As your eyes locked once more you found the sweetest smile spread over his face. 
"You're so pretty," you breathed before kissing him again. 
"And you're so beautiful," he mumbled against your lips. 
His hardness was pressed firmly against your thigh and you could already feel the tip leaking onto your skin. A sneaky hand found its way between your bodies to touch him. Your fingertips found soft curls at the base of him before wrapping around his shaft. He felt hot and heavy in your palm and you noticed him twitching when you began moving your hand. 
Spencer gasped into your mouth once you reached his tip and his whole body quivered when you let your thumb swipe over it. Your kiss was interrupted by him panting against your face as you sped up your motions. 
"Look at who is getting desperate now," you teased him. 
He already seemed lost in the pleasure when he whimpered, "Feels so good."
Your hand left his erection to push against his shoulder until he was lying on his back while you snickered, "You know what would feel even better?"
As you began straddling his hips, Spencer's hands flew to your waist. 
He still needed reassurance before he let you continue. "Are you sure about this?" 
You nodded and promised, “I want you Spencer.” 
"I want you, too. More than you can imagine."
With your hand around his cock you lifted your hips to guide him to your entrance. As you sank down on him, Spencer moaned out your name. You took your time, relishing the sensation of him slowly stretching you open. Once he was fully inside, you could feel his heartbeat deep within you. 
As you began grinding your hips against him, his hands moved from your waist to your breasts to caress your soft curves. 
“You have no idea how long I have wanted you,” Spencer sighed.
You leaned down to find him in a kiss before you whispered against his mouth, "You have me now. I'm yours."
His hips began moving in perfect synchronicity with yours as you chased the sweet relief together. When you began moving faster, Spencer suddenly gripped your hips to halt your motions. 
"I'm so close. Slow down," he whined with desperation clearly audible in his voice. 
That didn't slow you down, though. Instead you purred, "Me, too," and kept going. Spencer threw his head back into the pillows and sang your praise in the form of his moans. You tried to hold on just a little bit longer, not to torture him but because you didn't want it to end yet.
When one of his hands descended from your hip to where your bodies were joined, you knew that it wouldn't be long now. He began drawing small circles with his thumb around your little bud, throwing you over the edge within a few seconds. Once he felt your walls pulsing around him, he let go himself. 
Each of your twitches was answered by him throbbing inside you, sharing his essence with you until he had nothing left to give. Spencer welcomed you inside his arms as you collapsed on top of him with a racing heart and lungs longing for air. 
You stayed connected for as long as physically possible but once he was soft, you felt him slowly slipping out of you together with the mixed evidence of your shared desire. Spencer insisted on helping you clean up the mess between your legs and was quick to get a damp towel from the bathroom.
Watching him carefully rid you of any remaining stickiness somehow felt even more intimate than anything you had done before. Neither of you bothered to put clothes back on, instead you cuddled up under the comforter together to savor the sensation of having each other near.
When you thought back to what led you into Spencer's arms earlier tonight, you couldn't hold back your giggles. 
"Maybe I should read that book you mentioned." 
"You can, if you want," Spencer chuckled before he began kissing along your neck. When he found your ear, he whispered, "I'd much rather show you everything it says, though."
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Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @conniesanchor @reaux02 @ellamaianderson @cynbx @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @amititties @castiels-majestic-wings @torigorie @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @reidtopia @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @jordie-gvf-admin @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs
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gimmethatagustd · 1 month
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oxygen | jjk
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If you get caught, you'll both die. Jungkook wants to be yours anyway.
○ Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x f!Reader
○ Rating: Explicit/18+
○ Genre: Mafia, established relationship, angst, smut
○ 9 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Mafia)
○ Word Count: 2,053
○ Warnings: Organized crime, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, infidelity (MC's boyfriend is Yoongi *gasp*), MC is actually kind of sick in the head lowkey lmfaooo, marijuana (is it a jai fic if weed isn't at least mentioned?), casual conversation about being murdered, dom!reader, sub!Jungkook, gunplay, consensual sex while under the influence of alcohol, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm control, hair pulling, rough sex, pain kink
○Notes: I was never here. I repeat, I WAS NEVER HERE.
○ Post Date: February 13, 2024
○ Masterlist |
○ What was Jai listening to? Oxygen - Jackson Wang
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“I fucking hate you.”
Jungkook tastes blood as he watches you stumble up the marble stairs, break-ankle stilettos grating into the stone like his molars grate against each other when he chews the inside of his cheek.
It takes three steps before you give up, bending to slip your finger under the thin black strap that hugs each ankle to keep the red bottoms in place. Off-balanced from holding your leather jacket balled up under one arm, you teeter on one foot, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to grab your waist.
Air rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils, a scoff that mixes with the wind. It’s one of the last days of summer before autumn cuts the nights short and chills the air. If Jungkook could have his way, he would be sitting out on his balcony right now with a fat blunt and his phone on silent.
Instead, he’s dealing with you.
“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fucking help me?” you snap, words slurring together when you pout through them.
Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek where he’s bitten into the fleshy skin. The metallic flavor mixes oddly with the aftertaste of his half-smoked blunt from earlier.
“Thought you said you hate me,” Jungkook sucks his teeth, tattooed fingers squeezing your bicep to steady you while you unclasp your shoes.
“I do.”
“Hmm.” Jungkook exchanges a grip on your arm for the heels, black and deadly like the Glock clipped to his waist.
Your dress rides up far enough that your asscheeks are exposed when you bend down again, your skimpy black thong doing nothing to cover you. The sheer pair is one Yoongi bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. Yoongi hadn’t batted an eye when he dropped thousands of dollars on a lingerie set that he isn’t even patient enough to appreciate on your body before he rips it off.
Not Jungkook, though. Jungkook is patient.
“Carry me,” you whine, pushing up against Jungkook’s side, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging.
Jungkook knows not to look up at the columned overhang, but the many cameras lining the mansion's exterior weigh heavily on him as he helps you up the stairs to the front door.
“I can’t,” Jungkook grits his molars, jaw flexing beneath taunt skin, “And you know that.”
The keypad at the front door unlocks with Jungkook’s thumbprint. Inside, the foyer is dark. It’s nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the guards are either monitoring the cameras or asleep. They’re all lower-level and easily bend to Jungkook’s will, meaning none of them will rat you out for slipping off in the dead of night to go party with your friends despite being under strict orders not to leave the house until Yoongi returns from his business trip.
As second-in-command, Jungkook should be in Japan with Yoongi, handling what will likely be one of the largest arms deals in Bangtan’s history. But Yoongi is paranoid, and paranoid men don’t leave their girlfriends with just anyone. Especially when their girlfriends are trouble.
And you? You’re trouble in a tight little black dress, hips swaying as you walk with new purpose through the foyer, your leather jacket thrown on the floor for Jungkook to pick up as he trails behind you — always trailing, following just a half step behind you, only in front when he puts his life on the line over yours. And he does, has the scars on his body to prove it, scars you like to bite to remind him of everything he’s willing to lose for Yoongi. For you.
There are only three types of rooms in the house that don’t have cameras installed: bedrooms, bathrooms, and arms rooms. You like to have Jungkook fuck you in all of them.
Tonight, it’s one of the basement-level arms rooms, the one Yoongi likes to use for entertainment because there’s a full bar and a conference table typically littered with guns, drugs, and money.
And sometimes, if Yoongi is in a shitty mood, girls.
You don’t care what Yoongi does, though it wouldn’t matter even if you did. As Bangtan’s leader, there’s no room for criticism of the boss — unless someone wants to lose a limb or their life, and Yoongi is known to be trigger-happy.
You learned that from him.
Jungkook lets out a shuddered breath as you drag the muzzle of his gun from the middle of his sternum down his abdomen. The metal is cold, and you move slowly, taking your time over every hill and valley of his muscles, painting goosebumps across his skin until you reach the waistband of his underwear.
The chamber is empty, but it still makes Jungkook’s heart jump in his throat when you press the gun against his clothed cock.
“Yoongi is going to kill us one day,” you whisper, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back a smile.
Jungkook leans back with his elbows against the table where you’ve sat him at one of the chairs. You’re in your heels again. Jungkook loves it when you stand over him, a powerful force far too often squandered by Yoongi’s overbearing leadership and desire to be the most feared person in the room. It’s one of Yoongi’s greatest mistakes.
You’re gorgeous, stripped down until all you’re wearing is another man’s Valentine’s Day gift, your own body a present Jungkook has the unholy pleasure of opening again and again — but only after you’ve opened him up, gutted him like a fish.
Or blown him open, a bullet bursting like shrapnel to cut him from the inside out. Jungkook would let you do it.
Jungkook stares up at you with innocent eyes that tell nothing of the secret horrors his hands have done, of the horrors he has endured and inflicted upon others. He stares up at you with innocent eyes and his lips wrapped around the muzzle of his gun that you hold with your finger on the trigger.
“Bang, bang,” you giggle as the gun clicks, and Jungkook lets you slide it further into his mouth, the tangy taste too similar to blood and nothing he hasn’t tasted before.
Maybe it’s fear that makes Jungkook crave you. Maybe Jungkook has a death wish. Maybe Jungkook likes the idea of you being his lifeline, the sole decider of whether he lives or dies. All it would take is one tiny confession twisted into a lie, and you could convince Yoongi that Jungkook came onto you and tried to seduce you.
Jungkook knows Yoongi would enjoy making him suffer if he thought Jungkook was treating you unkindly. Yoongi would enjoy violently murdering Jungkook even more if he knew just how good Jungkook treated you.
You don’t pull the gun back until Jungkook gags. Tears collect along his eyelashes, but he blinks them away as you toss his gun onto the table.
“You’d let him kill you.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the gun, and it cracks when you sit on the table in front of him and spread your legs. “I would.”
“You’re fucking stupid.”
“So are you.”
Jungkook’s cock throbs as he watches you slip your thong down your legs. You drag his spit-slicked gun along your dripping pussy, parting your folds and getting the muzzle shiny with your arousal. When his eyes flit up to meet yours, you let out a broken moan, tongue slipping out to lick your bottom lip.
“Come here,” you beckon, the curl of your finger tugging Jungkook forward like a red string tied in a noose around his neck. He fits perfectly between your thighs, his clothed cock pressing against your exposed pussy.
“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook whispers against your lips. His body crowds yours, forcing you to tip your head back to look into his pretty doe eyes.
“Be a good boy and clean this up first,” you say as you hold up the gun in front of Jungkook’s face.
Jungkook doesn’t look away as he licks a stripe up the length of the gun’s muzzle, too turned on by how intensely you watch him lick and suck your juices off it. How eagerly he bends to your will is pathetic, but he doesn’t care.
When you toss his gun away to dig your nails in his hair and tug him into a bruising kiss, Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe.
You taste sweet, like whatever fruity cocktails you’d been drinking with your friends. Jungkook sucks your tongue, and he feels the vibration of your moans go straight to his leaking cock.
“Fuck me,” you moan with nails in his back, “And make it hurt.”
Jungkook helps you off the table to bend you over it. He may prefer sex that is slow and face-to-face, but Yoongi is coming home in a few hours, and sometimes, you like to punish yourself by denying yourself the sweet, sensual care that Jungkook prefers to give you. Sometimes you like it dirty and fast like this, Jungkook fucking into you with your wrists behind your back and your face pressed into the conference table’s cold, sleek surface.
You look forward to the tender bruise you’ll have on the apple of your cheek and against your hips from where Jungkook fucks you hard enough that you slam into the edge of the table. It’s a gamble, wondering if this will be the time Yoongi finally notices.
Sometimes Jungkook wonders if Yoongi already has noticed, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you both.
“Fuck, jagi,” Jungkook moans. The table squeaks and grunts as the force of Jungkook fucking you pushes the table back and forth across the floor.
“Do I feel good, baby?” you gasp, twisting your hands in Jungkook’s so you can wrap your fingers around his wrist, too, to have something to hold onto.
“So good,” Jungkook whimpers, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Can I cum? Please?”
Your skin is probably chafing from how hard you’re being bounced against the table, but all you do is moan and clench around Jungkook’s cock, taunting him.
“Jagi, please,” Jungkook begs, hips faltering slightly. You’re so wet and creamy. There’s something about fucking you in the arms room that always makes you feel and sound better.
“You wanna cum? Baby boy wants to cum?”
“Wanna cum so bad, you feel so, fuck, so, so good.”
Jungkook lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips and pull you onto his cock with each thrust. You lift off the table slightly so he can wrap one arm around your waist and slip his fingers through your folds, playing with your clit as he fucks you. He knows he needs to make you cum first before you’ll let him.
"Just like that, you're doing so well," you pant, pussy clenching and pulsing around Jungkook's cock so hotly that he knows you're going to cum soon.
Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Jungkook has you so worked up that you cum once he pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers while you writhe and squirm on his cock, whimpering his name.
“Come on, baby,” you moan, “Cum for me, now.”
Tilting your head up, you let Jungkook kiss you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums inside you, mouth hanging open and completely useless to kiss, so you press light kisses along his sweaty throat instead.
“Thank you,” Jungkook whispers once his body has calmed down, gently easing out of you. His hands shake as he collapses into the chair and pulls you into his lap.
You kiss him properly this time, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair. He’s pussy-drunk, fucked dumb, nothing but static in his head as your lips glide with his. He could stay like this, pliant like clay in your hands, let you mold him into whatever you want him to be. Let you make or break him. Jungkook doesn’t care.
“Tell me you love me,” you demand, nails sharp against Jungkook’s scalp.
“Jagi,” Jungkook whimpers when you pull his hair, “I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”
“More than yourself?”
“More than myself.”
You hum into the next kiss, and Jungkook feels his body melt. 
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Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 
All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here. 
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muzansfangs · 2 months
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Immoral cravings.
Starring: Nanami Kento x f!reader; Toji Fushiguro x f!reader; Hiromi Higuruma x f!reader;
Format: short-imagines;
Warnings: nsfw, age gap but the reader is 21, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, dirty talk, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, semi-public sex, hair pulling, spanking, marking the partner, power imbalance, immoral relationships, morally grey decisions and men, revenge sex, slut shaming, choking, overstimulation, breeding kink, implied reference to pregnancy (Hiromi);
Plot: they are older than you and you both know your relationship is not exactly healthy. The charm of an older man, a real one, the allure of having someone you should not even think about in such a lewd way were unbearable thoughts weighing on your conflicted mind, though. You gave in, in the end, allowing them to ruin you in ‘worst’ way possible.
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Nanami Kento.
You always pested him during his lunch break. At first, it was unintentional. You just dropped by your father’s office to check out on him, walking down the corridor with that ridiculously short skirt. You were a sinful sight for him. He tried to ignore you, going as far as keeping on working and not flicking his gaze up to greet you.
However, not averting his eyes from the screen to soak in your curves was impossible. He started to loathe your beauty. The sound of your voice was enough to make his pants feel too tight. He did not blame you for striking up frivolous conversations with him, or wearing such provocative attires, though. At least, he did not accuse you of messing with him until he realized you had got the hint of what you were doing to him.
You turned into a pest.
Hopping onto his desk, defiant smile gracing your glossy lips, you made sure to spread your legs enough to let him catch a glimpse of your panties. Those stupid white panties, evoking purity and virginity. Did you think you could fool him? You were far from being a celestial being. You were a freaking demon relentlessly testing his nerves. But he was done with you and your pathetic entr’acte.
You were soon going to deal with the painful problem you caused him every single time you casually waltzed into the office with the only intent of driving him mad.
His hand latched onto the back of your neck, pushing your cheek against the mirror in front of you, was the clear sign of how much you had pissed him off. Your skirt hiked up to your hips, as your hands were firmly curled up around the edge of the sink, you let a strained moan leave your lips for a particularly hard thrust hitting your g-spot.
You had lost the count of how many times he had made you come, milking his dick deliciously to make it up for the pent up anger you had caused him.
“What is it? Don’t tell me you can’t take it” he growled, his lips fanning your earlobe as he geave your hip a squeeze, probably hard enough to leave some purple bruises in the shape of his fingerprints.
Your vision was blurry, as tears of pleasure brimmed up in your eyes, your make-up ruined at this point. His thrusts were punishing, the sound of his thighs smacking against your ass was so lewd you almost felt ashamed of yourself. Yet, you could not deny you had been craving him since the day your father introduced you to the workaholic Nanami Kento. The thought of him fucking you to oblivion had almost become obsessive at some point.
“Ngh— It’s too much, Kento” you whimpered, only for him to tangle his fingers through your hair and giving your strands a rough pull.
Mouth agape, cheek leaving the cold surface he had squashed your face against not too long before, you watched the man behind you stare daggers at you through your reflections in the mirror. You were a mess. Black lines of mascara staining your cheeks and your hair unusually disheveled were enough to make your stomach churn.
If your father found out about this you were screwed. Quite literally.
“You are taking it like the good little slut you are. Listen to this. — he rasped out, dragging his length a little slower down your dripping cavern to emphasize the squelching sound of your mixed juices — You are soaked, sucking me in so good. Be a good little girl and let me finish, hm? That’s what I deserve after enduring a painful bulge for six hours every fucking day” he stated, before pulling out of you until only his tip was buried between your folds.
You tried to open your mouth to speak, but when he snapped his hips forward, earning a scandalous high-pitched moan from you, nothing came out if not pleas.
“Gosh! Kento, o my God… It feels so good” you whined out, squeezing your eyes shut as you let him thrust into you once again, resuming that torturous pace that had knocked the air out of your lungs.
The blond man grunted, his cock twitching into you as he approached his incoming climax. His lips found the crook of your neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin as he even praised you “So beautiful, so obedient. You’re a good girl, after all” he chimed, before he stilled into you and filled you up.
Your inner walls tightened around him, your orgasm meeting his one as he held you close to him. It was not just hate sex. He wanted you. You were his precious doll. He wondered how was it even possible that his boss had given life to such a pretty, lovely girl like you.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, before your dad comes back from the lunch break” he whispered, pecking your cheek.
Toji Fushiguro.
He had overheard you complaining with his son, Megumi, countless times before you ultimately decided to break up. You two had your fair amount of problems, naturally, but there was one that had made Toji grin from ear to ear. Being into a relatioship with his son for four years had made you pretty comfortable around his shamelessly handosme father too.
Since you often slept over, Toji had suggested you to leave some of your belongings over. Back then it had sounded like a good idea. However, now that Megumi and you had, not so suprisingly, parted roads, you needed to get your things back and forget about that failed love story once and for all. You did not want to cross paths with Megumi and texting his father to ask when you could drop by to collect your stuff, without stumbling into your ex, was your only option.
When he told you Megumi was out for dinner with some friends, you did not hesitate to show up at the door with an empty box between your hands and an apologetic expression plastered over your face.
That gorgeous face of yours, your soft eyes and your sudden bashful attitude were such a delectable sight for Toji. He was shirtless, like most of the time, causing your cheeks to heat up and your eyes to rake down his abs not so subtly. Was it not immoral and pitiful to thirst after your ex’s father? Most definitely, but you were not in the mood to self-deprecate.
Not when, five minutes later, you ended up sobbing on a picture of you and Megumi eating cotton candy together six months before. You had loved him so unconditionally. You had spent the best years of your life with him, feeling glad every single day for having met him. But everything ended, right? Good things were not an exception to that rule.
Hearing your cries, Toji walked up to you, spotting your frail frame sitting on Megumi’s bed and crying your eyes out. What a perfect occasion for him to sneak his arm around your waist and drawing soothing circles on your back. Toji was not an overly affectionate man, not even with his son.
But he was there for you.
You did not even realize how it happened. All you knew was that, after drying up your tears with his lips, Toji was hovering over you. Your shorts had been tossed across the room, as his large hand had slithered down your stomach and past the hem of your panties.
His fingers, plunged deep into your core, stretched you out so deliciously, stimulating all the right spots to make you moan out in pleasure. You hated yourself for having made such a comparison, but your mind kept on screaming Megumi had never made you whimper like that, not even when he was sheathed deep into you.
“Fuck it, you’re so tight, baby. That stupid son of mine could not even fuck you good, right? — Toji cooed, his tongue invading your mouth to swallow your moans with a fiery kiss — Not even when he was balls deep into you? Tell me you want my cock, tell me you want me to stretch you out and I will” he allured you to give in, watching how your thighs quivered and your hips bucked up.
How could Megumi be that dumb to let you go?
“Please, Toji, please…” you meekly choked out, as he sighed and withdrew his fingers out of your soppy cunt.
You whined almost in contempt, but then you watched as he leisurely hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, dragging them down his muscular thighs, and your jaw went slack. His cock slapped up against his V line, veiny, girthy, making your mouth salivating.
“Let me make you feel like a woman. Spread your legs, pretty girl. Daddy’s coming for you” Toji instructed you, making you shivers and wonder what Megumi would have thought of you, if he caught you impaled on his father’s cock.
Your eyes darted on Megumi’s picture on his nightstand and shamed washed over you. No, no, you had to focus on Toji, not on Megumi.
“Oi, eyes on me. Don’t think about that boyfriend wonnabe” Toji scolded you, grasping your jaw roughly as he ran his the head of his cock down your slit to collect your juices.
You swallowed forcefully down, nodding your head as he grasped your ankles and settled them on the top of his shoulders. The touch of an experienced man could not be nearly be compared to that of a twenty-one years old man. Toji knew how to please a woman. The stretch was almost painful, but as he fucked you like that, folded in half, you saw the stars.
You squeezed his dick perfectly, your warmth engulfing him like a glove, as he groaned out in pleasure with every thrust.
“Look at you… So cute and going cock-drunk so easily. No, it’s not going to be the last time we do that, alright? I need to breed that sweet pussy of yours” he huskily said, grasping your lower lip between his teeth and tugging at it gently, asserting once again his dominance over you. Your orgasm, a powerful one after so long, came as a blessing, leaving your body numb.
Too far gone to articulate a speech, you nodded your head, while his hand wrapped around your neck and he finished into you after a few more sloppy thrusts.
You had no idea of the satisfaction he felt in watching his cum leaking out of you and staining his son’s bedsheets. Maybe, just maybe, he had thought about leaving it there for him to understand what his ex girlfriend and his father had been up to while he chewed on some insipid noodles.
Hiromi Higuruma.
He had always been there for you. Your father’s best friend, Hiromi Higuruma, was the man he trusted blindly around you, his daughter, his pride and joy. Everyone in your family appreciated him. Growing up, you had almost lost count of how many times he had joined family dinners and road trips. He was always there for you. Nor you, neither him, though, would have ever thought that in the future he would have bent you over his desk and fucked you to oblivion, scattering the papers carelessly to the floor.
Maybe it was because of his visceral passion, when he talked to you about his profession as a lawyer, that you had chosen to enroll to the local Law School. Everyone, even Hiromi himself, were ecstatic about your decision.
But ambition had pushed you far from home, making you explore other countries as an exhange student. You missed your family, your home, but you soon realized you missed him too. Reading through your textbooks, crying over hard exams, studying to exhaustion, you only thought about him. You wondered if he was proud of you, or if he missed you as much as you missed him.
Sometimes you texted him, he replied almost immediately, congratulating you for your brilliant career. You had become so beautiful. When your father showed him pictures of you, your body blossomed into that of a woman, he found himself cursing his name for the dirty remarks popping out in his mind.
The day you knocked on his office’s door, Hiromi lost the last shred of dignity left in him. You were astonishing, finally an adult young woman exuding a cunning aurea and charm. That tight black skirt and matching high heels you were wearing made his mind spin.
“My father told me you could teach me a thing or two. I’m struggling with a case” you started, your mild voice sounding like a wicked melody he would have listened to forver. He was rational. He knew he should have sent you away before you ended up ruining your relationship, but he could not bring himself to do it.
Human cravings demanded to be satisfied.
“Your father chose the right man for this task. By the way, you look stunning, if it was obvious” he remarked, clearing his throat and closing the door behind you.
The way your red-painted lips parted, your back straightened, while he led you down towards his desk gave away how you felt. He knew people’s reactions, he had seen enough victims and criminals, liars and murderers struggling with feelings in his life to say you were trying to camufflate how you felt or why you were there in the first place.
The moment you began skimming through your documents, all dolled up and finally a colleague, Hiromi fought his dark impulses. You would have looked so pretty bent over his desk, your ass squeezed in his calloused hands, as you moaned out for him.
Two hours into arguing over the best strategy to save your client from jail, his hand suddenly latched around your throat, pulling you close to his body. The sudden action made you gasp for air and blush, but as your hand landed flatly over his chest, trailing down his pectoral, arousal made you press your thighs together. You were so close, the thin fabric of his shirt barely concealing the outline of his chiseled body.
His hand was still wrapped around your throat, his hot breath fanning your lips so hazardously. No, this encounter was not going to end like one of your typical catch-ups. No, this time you would have not said a cheerful, sweet and innocent ‘Bye-bye, Hiromi”.
This time you would have screamed his name at the top of your lungs so erotically that he would have filled you up until his cum dribbled down your inner thighs.
“Your father was right. I’m going to teach you a thing or two today” he murmured, capturing your lips with his in a fiery, passionate kiss. His grip on your neck did not loosen for a second, when his tongue pressed unceremoniously on your lips, parting them and delving into your mouth to involve you into a deeper and fervent kiss.
You whimpered, hands clutching his shirt into your hands as he finally gripped your hips, hand reaching up to unzip your skirt in a hurry. There was no time to waste. You had to be his, now and every single time you crossed roads. When his hands cupped your rear, he groaned, kneading it with passion, as he spun you around to bend you over the desk.
“Don’t worry. When I meet your father, I won’t tell him how I almost fucked a baby into you tonight” he sarcastically commented, unbuckling his belt smoothly as you eagerly slipped your thong down your legs for him. His words went straight to your core, riling you up even more as you smacked the papers and books out of your way to make room for yourself on the polished wooden surface of his desk.
“How many women did you fuck over here?” you asked curiously, glancing at him from above your shoulder.
Hiromi grinned and kissed your neck gingerly, while the tip of his cock teased your bundle of nerves and the area around your opening, not pushing in yet. You were the biggest mistake of his life, but also the most beautiful one. You were a goddess, a flower he had watched blossom, a passion he had nurtured in your last year far from home, from him.
“I’m the one who asks questions here. That’s a cross-examination, princess” he reprimanded you, before delivering a harsh spank that made your body jolt forward. The edge of the desk pressing against your lower abdomen made you suppress a soft wince of pain.
The moment he finally entered you, his cock stretching you out gradually and with care, you arched your back and allowed your insides to embrace him tightly, almost as if you were scared he was going to pull out.
“Fuck… Your pussy should be illegal” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he bottomed out. With your ass pressed up against his pelvis, Hiromi lavished praises on you and the blissful feeling you were gifting him with.
And at the end of his feral, dominant thrusts, he made sure to send you back home with a gift too. Warm, thick, his.
AUTHOR NOTE.
Hello there! I’m finally exploring the JJK’s field better. I hope you enjoyed this scenario. Honestly, writing this down was a little hard considering how many times I got hot and bothered. Older men have always been my type. Also, the legal shit in there had to be added because, since I study Law, I wanted to make justice to my baby Hiromi. Anyway, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!
Until next,
x o x o.
TAGS: @doumadono @axesfordays @brittscafe @flakeygod @gyomeisfavoritespermcell @kr0wu @bleach-your-panties @buttercupmuffins @rebwwca
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toshidou · 1 year
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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .
Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Word count // 4.9k
Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing
AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable
AO3 link here
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Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.
Until he met you.
You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.
Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.
One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.
Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.
He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.
To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.
“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.
“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.
Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.
You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.
So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.
“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.
“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”
Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.
You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.
“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”
All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.
“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.
“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.
Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.
There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.
“Please kiss me, Simon.”
As if he could ever say no to you.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.
He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.
“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.
“Mine.”
The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.
“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.
“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.
“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.
“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.
“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.
“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.
He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.
“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.
“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”
“Please, sir.”
Well fuck. That awakened something within him.
With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.
“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.
“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.
“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?
“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.
“God, yes, please.”
With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.
“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”
Fucking hell.
He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.
“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.
“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.
You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.
“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.
“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.
“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.
“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.
“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”
His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.
“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”
“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.
So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.
He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.
“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.
He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.
“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.
“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.
“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.
He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.
Now, he has you.
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11K notes · View notes
halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months
Note
First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨
You’re awesome 🥰💞
Blood Was Its Avatar
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PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.
A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 
They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 
You pretended to be dead. 
Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 
You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.
“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.
Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.
As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.
“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 
“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 
Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 
You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.
Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 
“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 
A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 
Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.
“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”
You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 
“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”
“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  
“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 
A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.
“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 
You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.
“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.
“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 
On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 
But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.
Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 
You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 
“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 
The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 
Missions were rarely a failure. 
Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 
He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.
“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 
“None. Just us.” 
“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”
“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.
“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”
“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 
“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 
Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 
You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 
In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 
Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 
Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 
Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 
You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.
Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 
Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 
“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 
Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 
The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 
Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.
It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 
Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 
Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 
Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.
“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”
“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 
His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.
You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.
But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 
You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.
“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 
You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 
Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 
Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.
“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 
Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 
“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 
Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.
Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 
But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 
Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 
His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 
This couldn’t continue. 
Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 
“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 
Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 
You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 
Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 
Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 
“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 
Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.
A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 
Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 
He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 
The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 
When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 
He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.
Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.
Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.
When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 
Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 
If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 
On the second week, it got easier. 
You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 
Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 
Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 
The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…
Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 
He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 
Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 
The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 
You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…
“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 
Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.
“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 
The room returns to strained silence. You huff.
“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.
The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 
All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 
Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 
“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 
His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.
You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 
“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 
Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.
The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 
You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 
“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 
“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 
You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.
Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 
“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 
“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 
Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 
“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 
Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 
After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.
You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 
“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 
Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.
The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.
He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 
You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.
“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.
“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 
“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 
A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”
Hard lips slam into yours.
Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.
Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 
He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 
Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.
His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 
Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 
As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 
There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”
Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 
“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.
Ghost had tattoos. 
When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 
“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”
You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 
The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 
Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 
“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 
“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 
Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 
You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 
Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 
“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 
He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 
“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 
Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 
Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 
He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.
“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 
Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 
Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.
“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 
Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 
Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 
“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 
Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 
“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 
Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 
“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 
Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 
Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 
Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 
There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 
The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 
Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 
Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 
“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 
Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 
“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 
Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 
“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 
Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 
“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 
Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.
“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”
Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 
Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 
His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 
“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 
He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 
Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 
You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 
“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 
The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 
“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”
Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.
“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 
“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 
His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 
Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 
Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 
“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”
Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 
Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 
His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 
As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 
“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 
Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 
“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 
Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 
Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 
He watches blankly.
“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 
“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 
“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 
“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.
“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 
Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 
You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.
“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 
“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 
The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 
“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.
“In the fucking meeting room?!”
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hotdsworld · 5 months
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"Watch yourself" Kinktober Day 18 - Mirror sex
Neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x fem!human!Reader
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a/n: porn without a plot feels wrong. That prompt took me out having so many ideas, position above is what I aimed for. thanks to @pandoraslxna for adding such a wonderful kink.
summary: you flirted too much with Lo'ak in front of your mate.
warnings: 18+!, oral (m receiving) mirror sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex (y'all use protection), degradation & praise, breeding kink
Minors do not interact!
Perhaps flirting with Lo'ak in front of your mate wasn't a good move. Perhaps it wasn't a good move when your mate was future Olo'eyktan himself. It was you joking, mostly, and playing around to make your usually calm mate jealous. It wasn't like you were going to do anything more than flirting, but Neteyam didn't view the situation like that. He didn't even question it or try to talk about it. Neteyam dragged you back to your shared hut, not really caring if his grip hurt.
"Teyam," you squeal in pain. Neteyam just pushed you down to your knees, getting rid of his loincloth quickly. He looked mad, furious even.
"If you act like a whore maybe I should just treat you like one, pretty one? Open up," it wasn't a question, not the usual sweet question, but it did turn you on. Neteyam eased his hard cock inside your mouth, giving it a few shallow thrusts. Your hands traveled to his base but he smacked them away. "No, you will be a very good girl for me and take all of it," he pushed himself deeper. Neteyam slowly began to pump into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat occasionally. Your eyes watered, trying to hold back. You had the worst gag reflex ever, his size didn't help, and he knew that. "I love it when you gag on it, am I so big that my precious little girl can't handle it?" he taunts knowing that there will be no answer since your mouth is stuffed full. You held onto his thighs, trying to push him back a bit since you were afraid of your gag, but he didn't mind. Thrusting into your mouth deeply, sometimes pulling out to let you catch a breath. He held your hair tighter, feeling himself getting closer. "I would cum in your pretty mouth, but I won't waste my semen. Your little pussy deserves to be filled, don't you think?" The suggestion surprised you, Neteyam never come inside you before. He would say that he has too many duties and you deserve to rest a bit before he pumps you full of his children, well, it didn't satisfy you a bit so the proposal made you happy even. Neteyam, using the shock of yours, pulled himself out of your warm mouth and pushed you forward. He got on his knees behind you, grabbed your thighs, and eased himself in one thrust. You whine, as he didn't give you time to adjust. Your mate was big, the size difference didn't make it easier, even though it wasn't the first time some of the pain was still there.
"Nete!" you scream surprised at the invasion. You lost your focus before, registering just now what was happening as Neteyam was pounding deep into you.
"Would you look at that, sevin?" Neteyam taunts slamming himself deep into you so casually. Your eyes remained closed as your back arched to take him even deeper, it was like your body itself was reacting to Neteyam's actions. "Would you look at that, pretty one? Look at yourself," not a question, a command. When Neteyam found out a few days ago what a mirror is, Spider gladly agreed to borrow him one. No one, not even you expected what would he need it for, but you were the one who got to know the secret as Neteyam pressed your face against the mirror harshly. Your palms are on the ground to keep yourself steady because if they weren't you would collide with the mirror.
"Nete," you whine as his cock hits that spot deep inside you. Your eyes remained closed, you were too shy to look at yourself in that state. Neteyam groans angrily at your disobedience.
"You were the one who teased me by flirting with my brother, you were the one who asked me to fuck you acting like a pathetic bitch in heat, so open your eyes and see how I'm granting your wish," it was the truth, yesterday you asked him to fuck you, but he had some duties to attend. Neteyam pulls your hair making you raise your head, your eyes flutter open at the sudden pain. You saw your reflection in the human thing called a mirror. You were kneeling, your palms resting on the ground before you because you couldn't handle the force of Neteyam's thrusts without supporting yourself. Your cheeks were flashed red, your body wet from all of the sweat, skin becoming easily bruised. Neteyam was behind you, pounding up into you, his hand rested on your neck like it belonged there while his other hand came across your ass cheek hard. You whine, again at the pain.
"Neteyam!" you hiss angrily. Maybe you were in wrong making him jealous, and maybe you practically begged for him to fuck you but that hurt. It confused you how good it hurt so you refused to receive more. You just wanted to use Neteyam and let him use you.
"Shh, pretty girl. Watch yourself getting ruined by my cock," he pushed on the visible bulge in your stomach, making you mewl pathetically." Do you see it? How deep inside of you I am?" he pushes on the bulge slightly harder, you whimper in response. reflection in the mirror was a definition of lewd. Do you see how well your pussy takes me, sevin? Look at yourself, watch how you are becoming a little good girl for me, only for me?" You didn't answer so Neteyam gave your ass a harsh spank. "Only for me?" he asks, pushing his cock so deep inside.
"Y-yes! Only for you," you moan. Neteyam caressed your red ass cheek tenderly.
"That's right, slut. You are only such a good little thing for me, no one else, yes? You are mine only, my slut, my sevin, my fucking girl," he spanked you a few more times to get his point delivered to your head.
"N-neteyam," you barely uttered as he pulled your hair, making you arch your back so you could look into the mirror even more. Your eyes watering from the overwhelming pleasure, you were so close.
"Yes, you can scream it, pretty thing. You may scream, perhaps the whole clan will finally get to know who owns you," your face pressed against the mirror. Neteyam was looking at the reflection casually, admiring what a mess you had become for him. "Such a good girl for me, sevin. Did I really need to teach you manners with my cock, huh?" he slaps your hip playfully.
"Please, don't stop, don't stop," you whimper, just hoping that his treatment didn't involve you not getting your orgasm. Neteyam chuckled at the desperation but he didn't stop, he didn't want to anyway. Then, he felt your tight pussy clenching so hard around his cock, and he knew what he was going to do.
"Perhaps you are right, I didn't do every duty as a mate. I didn't fill this greedy pussy up, is that what you waited for? For me to fucking cum deep inside of you? So desperate to get bred by me, pretty one. Be a good girl and cum on my cock. Watch yourself cumming, sevin" his thighs clap against yours and the coil inside your stomach snaps, covering yours and Neteyam's legs in your juices. "I should have made Lo'ak watch, but I wouldn't stand him seeing you naked," he growls. "I will pump my offspring into you instead, so he could watch my seed take and grow inside of you. My seed, not his. My little pretty girl. Watch as I fill you up with my semen, little girl" he grabs your hair roughly, making you look into the mirror for the last time. Neteyam grunts as he spills himself deep inside of you.
"Neteyam," you whispered exhausted. Your body limb, barely holding itself up. Neteyam sat back a little and pulled you on his knees, still he didn't pull out.
"My pretty thing, my girl, my sevin. I'm so proud of you, my girl," he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead. "You took me so well, sweet one," he was massaging your ass cheeks tenderly. "No more flirting with fucking Lo'ak, understand? If you want me to fuck you rough just ask," he kissed your forehead again. "Now, we will keep it here, deep inside as long as I wish, alright pretty one?" he needed you to cockwarm him, for every time that you flirted with his brother. Neteyam was content, having his little sometimes bratty mate in his strong arms.
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Hold Me Down (Is This A New Start?) - Rafe Cameron x Reader
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Summary: After a long, hard day of work you just want to go home and go to bed. But, when you get a persistent knock on your door from Rafe fucking Cameron. you know you’re gonna have a long night ahead. Letting him in, after two months of not seeing him, you fully anticipated a screaming match. But, you got something much different than you bargained for—much better too.
CW/TWs: brief angst, brief mentions of Rafe being on house arrest lol, feminine pronouns used, gorgeous/sweet girl/baby/darlin' as nicknames, toxic behavior, canon-adjacent Rafe, mean-ish Rafe, smut, piv sex, oral sex (male receiving), impact play, (not really) lowkey daddy kink, brat reader, dumbification, degradation kink, praise kink, overstimulation, breath play, unprotected sex (be safe I am nawt your mom gn), allusions to a pain kink for sure, mushy gushy sweet ending, not highly edited or reviewed
Words: 8.1k+
Note: 18+ MDNI, really just fucking don’t. I wrote this one in first person because writing in second person irritates my very soul. Uhhhh so this kinda came out of left field and I did nawt plan on writing this but here we are! But such is life! Anyways…back to regularly scheduled programming.
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It had been a long day - too long. There was something exceedingly exhausting about living paycheck to paycheck that the average person didn’t understand. There was nothing quite as specific as the exhaustion that you encountered by overworking yourself day after day, week after week, month after month, all for nothing. Because that’s what this all amounted to. Nothing. Nothing extra at the end of the week to take home, nothing to do anything nice with. Just nothing. And nothing sucked the joy out of your day like knowing you’d have to get up the next day and do it all over again.
When I’d finally gotten home from a shift that didn’t end until almost the crack of fucking dawn - a good twelve hours after I was supposed to have gotten off shift - there was not a thing I wanted more than to sleep. Still, even as I sat on my fucking couch, my woes could not end. There was a loud, demanding knock on the door.
The first time I ignored it.
The second time I ignored it.
The third time, an annoyed voice accompanied the knock.
“Baby, open the fucking door,” came the snarl from the other side. I groaned and ran my hands down my face. I really didn’t want to deal with Rafe today. Not like that had ever deterred him before. “Baby, come on. Listen. Please. The cops are fucking trolling around outside. Baby, please open the door.”
I groaned and pulled myself to my feet, opening the apartment door. Standing there, looking at pitiful as ever was Rafe fucking Cameron. The bane of my existence. My more-or-less on-again-off-again boyfriend—though I’d sooner bash my head against the door than admit that. I glared at the ass who had done nothing but make my life harder since he’d entered it. Then, I stepped to the side and let him in. He stepped in and closed the door quickly, locking it behind him. He turned to me and pressed an absent-minded kiss to my forehead before going to sit down on the couch.
“You look like shit, darlin’,” he said. When he even had the decency to look up and notice I was there.
“Thanks,” I said dryly. I looked down at his leg. His ankle monitor looked fucked. “What the fuck did you do this time?”
“Just a little mod,” he said casually. “I needed to get out for a minute.”
“Why did you come here?” I demanded. “Did you stash more fucking coke in my house I swear to fucking God I will kill you. I am not catching a fucking charge for you, asshole.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I leave my coke with you knowing that you’d throw it out, baby? That’s just bad business. Besides, darlin’ the cops aren’t outside for me some loser is probably getting caught selling a few doors down again. And hey? It’s a crime to want to see you now, darlin’?” he asked, winking.
“No. But it is a crime to skip out on house arrest, Rafe,” I said blandly. “And I know damn well that you’re not here because you want to see me. I’m just convenient to you like fucking always.”
He rolled his eyes as if I were being the dramatic one. “What’s wrong now, gorgeous?” he drawled. “Always seems like there’s something these days, hmm?”
I clenched my jaw. “Fuck you, Rafe. Get the hell out,” I snapped.
Rafe frowned. Stood again and walked over to me. He placed his hands on my hips, refusing to leave. I, in turn, refused to look at him. “Look at me, darlin’,” he demanded. Reluctantly I did. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. He brushed my hair back from my face and just kept looking at me. “Come on, sweet girl. Tell me…what’s wrong.” He smiled to himself when I still didn’t answer. “You know better than anyone I’m not going to leave until you tell me, baby…so come on…what’s wrong with my sweet girl?”
“Fuck you,” I repeated weakly, pulling out of his arms. I plopped down on my couch, curling into myself and closing my eyes. “Just fucking leave when you see the cops are gone. I can’t be bothered today.” The asshole had the audacity to laugh at my words. “Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”
Dramatically, Rafe sighed and knelt down on the ground in front of me. I felt him grab my knees and pull me to face him. I had no choice but to unfurl, otherwise, I would’ve fallen into him, which I had no interest in doing. So, I leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore the heat of his hand sinking into my cold legs through worn jeans. It was hard to ignore that. Hard to ignore any of him, really. And he knew that. That’s why he only waited through my stubborn silence for a few minutes.
“Come on, baby,” he hummed. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m sorry I’m a dick, darlin’…you know I care.”
I laughed weakly, eyes still closed. “No. No, you don’t,” I said flatly.
He ignored my words and kept rubbing my legs. “It’s so fucking cold in here, baby,” he commented. “And your legs are freezing. Your heat not working?”
“No, it's working. It’s just too fucking expensive to heat this shitty goddamn apartment and I’m not forking over more money to the cunt landlord,” I said sharply, glaring at him. “Did you suddenly forget what life is like if—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.
He had the audacity to glare back if you could believe it. Then, he slapped my inner thigh. “I told you to call me if you needed help,” he hissed. He slapped my other thigh. “The fuck are you doing? What game are you playing at, baby?”
I pushed him away from me with my foot. “A game where I don’t need to rely on a man who is a fucking wannabe felon,” I snapped.
He rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Newsflash, baby, you do need me,” he said, sounding way too smug about it.
“Fuck you, Rafe. I need a bullet to the brain more than I need you,” I sneered.
“That’s cute.” He continued on like I didn’t even speak in the first place. “I could give you that, if you want. But that doesn’t change anything about it, darlin’. You need my money, you need my cock, you need my love. You’ve said it yourself that no one gives it to you as good as I do. And I know you haven’t been looking which means you’re still as invested in this as I am. So.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “When I tell you if you need my fucking money to heat your stupid apartment because your ass is too stubborn to move in with me…then you fucking call me.”
“You are not my fucking father,” I snapped, pulling out of his tough.. “Like I said. Bullet to the fucking brain before this shit anymore. I’m sick of it.”
“I don’t know. You do call me daddy a lot,” he mocked. He smiled down at me, but there was hardly any warmth to it. “But, oh? You’re so sick of it, hmm? You want to be brainless?” He laughed. “Well, I can make you brainless without having to put a hole in your pretty little head.” He wound his hand tightly in my hair, pulling my face towards his while I sharply inhaled. “And you’ll remember exactly why you’re not done with me, gorgeous.”
I glared at him. “I haven’t seen you in two months. The last time I did see you, you called me a stupid, worthless cunt and told me that you never wanted to see me again. And you think you can just show up here and get me to listen to you?” I demanded. I felt my face heating with my frustration. “Just like that? You think you’re…you think you’re worth me listening to?” I laughed. “Like I said. Fuck you, Rafe. I deserve…I deserve so much better than this. Than you.”
There was a mocking pout on his face. He reached out and grabbed my face again, squeezing my chin. “You think you’re going to find someone better than me?” he asked incredulously. He let out a laugh. “And where do you think you’ll find someone like that?” I didn’t answer. I refused to give him the satisfaction. He chuckled, but then his face went serious. “I’m sorry that I haven’t seen you in months, darlin’. I’m sorry that I said I never wanted to see you again. I was pissed, sweet girl. I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh you never mean it,” I said, the sarcasm’s impact dampened by the tearful sound of my voice.
He moved his hand from my chin to cup my face. I hated myself for it, but I did lean into the touch. “Come on, sweet girl…don’t be like that, baby,” he said. He leaned forward and dropped a kiss to the side of my neck. “You know that I love you.” Another kiss, followed by a short nip. “I’ve been busy, darlin’. That’s all. I’m sorry. I should’ve called, sweet girl. I know that. I’m not mad.”
“You were mad,” I accused, glaring at him.
“I was mad, baby,” he said, deceptively calm. “I was…frustrated that you wouldn’t let me take care of you. I just want what’s best for you. But I’m not mad anymore.”
“Well maybe I’m mad at you,” I retorted, harshness still lessened by the teary voice and the way I leaned into him.
“That’s okay,” he practically cooed. He pressed another kiss to my neck then moved so we were face to face, just a breath between us. He smirked, eyes drifting down to my lips and then back up. “You can be mad at me as long as you want, sweet girl. Just as long as you tell me that you love me.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “No,” I said stubbornly.
“Come on, sweet girl, please,” Rafe purred, stroking my neck with his hand lazily. “I love you, darlin’.”
“I love you,” I said, voice breaking. My eyes popped open and I felt the tears in them.
Rafe’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes did soften. He let out a hum and wiped a tear that slipped. “There’s my sweet girl,” he cooed. He leaned forward and pressed a long, languid kiss to my lips. “Let me make it up to you, baby.” Another long kiss—lazier this time. “Let me apologize for calling you names, baby.” Another kiss. “Remind you that you’re my special, sweet girl.”
I huffed. “Oh so you wanna fuck me and suddenly I’m not a stupid, worthless cunt then?” I spat, voice dripping insecurity.
Rafe rolled his eyes so hard I was shocked that his eyes didn’t stick in the back of his head. “You’re not a stupid, worthless cunt. You’re my sweet girl and you know it,” he drawled. “I was a little fucking high when I said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”
I gave him a withering glare. “Oh and you’re not high now?” I asked even though I could already tell he wasn’t. He gave me a flat look and I deflated, leaning back, covering my face as I leaned against the arm of the couch. I sniffled. “Okay, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it.”
He chuckled dryly and rubbed my leg gently. “It’d be fair if you did,” he drawled. He squeezed my leg. “And it’s fine that it’s not fair, sweet girl. I wasn’t fair. So.” He grabbed my legs and lowered them both to the floor. He gently pried my legs open leaning further into my space, hands dancing up both my thighs now. “How about I be real nice and make it up to you?”
“No,” I said stubbornly, glaring half-heartedly down at him. I felt his hand toy with the waist of my jeans, dancing just over the button. “I don’t want you to.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow, unconvinced considering I’d begun to lean into his space more, opening my legs to give him more space to occupy, more space to get closer. “Oh?” he posed, tone almost mocking. “You don’t want to?”
“No,” I corrected, grabbing his hand, putting it back on my hair to silently prompt him to grab it just as he did before. “I don’t want you to be nice.” I glowered at him .”It’s been two months, Rafe. I need…”
He let out a low chuckle, eyes dark with quickly emerging lust. “Fuck, darlin’, tell me…what do you need?” he asked.
I blinked slowly, still looking right into his eyes, intoxicated by him already from such a short time together. “I need you to take care of me like you always do,” I said quietly.
Immediately, his hand wound tightly through my hair and he rose to his feet, forcing me to tilt my head up. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I looked up at him, my eyes wide and wanting. I bit my lip, eyes trailing slowly down his body, to his belt at my eye level, and then back up. He chuckled again, grinning down at me. He wound his hand a bit tighter in my hair making me let out a squeak as he dragged me just a bit closer to his body.
“You need me to take care of you?” he posed, tone just shy of mocking. “Need me to help turn off that gorgeous fucking brain of yours, baby?” He used his free hand to trail down my cheek, fingers briefly touching my neck and stopping there. “Need me to fuck you stupid, sweet girl?”
Taking a shaky breath, I reached out, hand loosely holding his belt buckle. “Yes,” I said breathlessly.
I reveled in the sudden, sharp sting in my cheek. “Try again,” he warned, voice raspy.
“Yes…please fuck me stupid, daddy,” I said, batting my eyes up at him. “I don’t wanna think anymore.”
“Fuck,” Rafe muttered, his voice raspier still, thick with lust. He chuckled and loosened his hand in my hair before dropping it. He took his shirt off and then knotted a hand back in my hair. “Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of my sweet girl.” He stroked my cheek gently with his free hand before moving it to his belt buckle and undoing it with ease. He then smirked down at me, inclining his head. “Well? Take me out, darlin’.” I glanced down at his open belt but he tutted, tilting my chin back up. “No, baby. Keep your eyes on me.” His request was one that was most easy for me to accommodate considering I felt like I’d die if I looked away from him.
My hands trembled as I reached forward, taking the belt off of him. I was ready to throw it to the side but Rafe held out a hand. Without even questioning it, I placed it in his hand. He then set it to the side and gestured with his head at me to continue. Which, I happily did. I heard him let out a quiet chuckle as I undid the button on his pants and brought down the zipper without breaking eye contact. I almost hastily pulled down the fabric until it sagged the rest of the way down. I raised my eyebrows at Rafe in a silent plea.
“What, baby?” he asked, amused, tightening his grip on my hair. I let out a weak whine and pouted. “What? You gotta tell me what you want, sweet girl. Use your words.”
“I wanna see your cock,” I responded, hooking my hand on the hem of the waistband of his boxers. I tilted my head to the side, jutting my bottom lip out further. “Please, daddy.”
He let out a dark chuckle. “Okay, baby,” he drawled. I hummed, pleased with myself, and looked down, prepared to take his boxers off. But, he tutted, turning my head up with his grip on my hair so I’d meet his eyes again. “Nuh, uh, darlin’. Keep those gorgeous eyes on me still. Don’t you dare even think about looking at my cock yet, baby. Just get it out.”
“But—” I began to complain before being silenced with another warning slap on the cheek making me whine and pull back slightly; not that Rafe let me get very far.
“No but, baby. You listen to me. Be a good girl,” Rafe warned, tone darkening. “You know I want what’s best for you, right, sweet girl?” I nodded through teary eyes, looking back up at him. He cursed under his breath at the sight, tightening and then loosening his hand in my hair once more. “Good girl, baby. Such a good fucking girl. Now, get my cock out. And don’t even look at it.”
I shivered at the order but complied. I reached and used two fingers to gently drag the fabric of the boxers down until they too gave way, falling down past his knees. Using every bit of restraint I had, I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to look at his dick even as it hung directly in front of my face. Rafe hummed, his free hand moving from his side to wrap around himself, pumping lazily. I swallowed, biting my tongue as a reminder to keep my eyes up. A mocking laugh fell from Rafe’s mouth at the sight and I felt my stomach tighten.
“Oh there’s my good girl,” he cooed. “She can finally fucking listen, huh? So proud of you baby. Little slut that you are, I didn't think you’d be able to do it.” I let out a tiny whimper at his words, feeling a growing, heated pit of arousal low in my stomach. I shifted slightly, just barely able to keep my eyes from falling down. He chuckled again and pursed his lips. “How about you take your clothes off for me baby? Then I’ll let you look all you want at your favorite part of me.”
“All my clothes, daddy?” I checked. He nodded. I all but raced myself to do so. I whipped off the shirt I had on with ease and shimmied out of my jeans easily enough. Sitting there in my bra and panties, Rafe told me to stop and so I paused, looking up at him. “Yes, daddy?”
“Nothing, darlin’…just wanna look at you a minute,” he said, eyes dark with lust. “So fucking pretty, baby. God on fucking high, can’t imagine what I did to deserve such a blessing.”
“Stop,” I dismissed, blushing.
“Nah, baby. You’re a fucking twelve-course meal and I plan to have all of ‘em,” he dismissed, stepping closer and grabbing my chin. “And you aren’t gonna say some dumb shit like that again. We clear, baby?”
“Yes, daddy,” I murmured, feeling his thumb ghost up to trace my bottom lip. My breath hitched in my throat and he seemed to remember himself.
He pulled away and smirked down at me. “Bra and panties off. Let me see that pretty pussy, darlin’. Been missing it so much while I was gone,” he purred. I shivered at his words but peeled them off, shivering at the cold feeling of the air against my nipples and the cool fabric of the couch against my exposed core, quickly growing wet. “Fuck you’re so pretty. Look at you…all this…just for me.” He came closer again—even more this time—and his hand loosely went around my jaw, jerking my head up. “You are just for me, aren’t you baby?” I nodded immediately. He glared, his voice gruffer. “Words, darlin’. Or I might not be inclined to be too nice to you.”
“Yes, daddy,” I said breathlessly, wide-eyed. “All yours. Just for you.” I felt my heart beating rapidly in anticipation of seeing Rafe smile down at me. “Daddy?”
“Yes, baby?” he asked, hand still hooked around my jaw.
“Can I look please?” I asked sweetly, pouting up at him.
His lips quirked into a smirk and he narrowed his eyes looking at me, appraising. “I don’t know, baby. You think I should let you?” he asked.
“Please,” I said, pouting. “I just wan’ you. Want to see you. Wanna have you.”
“Awe with my sweet girl saying all that, well how could I say no?” he drawled, removing his hand from my neck to trail back and join the other in my hair. “Go ahead and look, darlin’. Take as long as you’d like.”
Ever so slowly, I broke my eye contact with Rafe, trailing my gaze down to his dick. Rafe’s confidence even as he stood bare as the day he was born was one of the things that had initially attracted me to him. But, looking at him now, lazily pumping his hand over his cock while he smirked down at me? I don’t think that I’d ever been quite so down bad for him. Which was…concerning, maybe? Pathetic, perhaps? But I didn’t care. At that moment, with his long, thick dick just hovering right in front of me, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. Of how long I’d wanted him…of how long I’d waited.
“What? I don’t even gotta fuck you to turn that pretty brain off anymore?” he said, voice an alluring growl as he let out a dark sort of chuckle. “Got you so trained to take my dick you don’t even try to fight it, do you sweet girl?”
I shifted at his words, suddenly feeling my core flutter at his words, clenching regrettably—miserably—around nothing. His smirk increased tenfold at that and he stepped closer so that there was practically no space between us, not that there had been much before. Now, his cock stood proudly just next to my face. Again, ever so slowly I raised my eyes to meet his again. And the desperation must’ve been clear in my gaze if the smug, self-satisfied look in his were anything to go by.
“And this was supposed to be for you,” he hummed. “My dumb little baby won’t be able to think for herself and tell me what she wants when I get started, will she?” I let out a pathetic little whimper. “You just need something in that sweet little pussy and your perfect mouth, huh?” His eyes trailed down to my lips, briefly displaying the heated desire he was feeling before moving to meet mine again. “Tell me one thing, darlin’, okay? Think your cute lil’ brain can take that?”
“Yes, daddy,” I said, voice coming out breathy. I squirmed slightly, squeezing my thighs together to avoid doing something like grinding on the couch and making him stop this before it even started.
“I don’t have too much patience before I gotta get in that tight fucking cunt, gorgeous,” he drawled. “So…tell me. You want me to eat that pretty pussy? Or do you want to choke on my cock?” He grinned, sharp-edged and shark-like. “It’s up to you.” An aborted moan came out of me at his words. The answer for me, right now, at least, was obvious. I glanced down at his dick and then back up. “Nuh uh, darlin’. You tell me which one you want.”
“I want you to fuck my throat,” I whined, looking up at him wide-eyed.
Rafe chuckled, hands tightening in my hair. “I’ll give you a pass on not addressing me properly this once because you said something so sweet, darlin’. But don’t do it again,” he said, half-mocking, half-warning. I nodded eagerly. One hand released my hair. He pat my cheek and then held my jaw tightly between two fingers. “That’s my girl.” The possessiveness dripped off his tone. “Now be good for daddy and open that fucking mouth.”
My mouth fell open without much thought after that. He grinned as I left it open, tongue sticking out just the way he liked it. His thumb pressed down on my tongue, head tilting slightly to the side as he looked at me. I moaned at even that simple feeling, my body practically trembling with want for him. But, for a good few long moments, that’s all he did, slowly pressing his thumb more against my tongue. But, after a few moments, he drew it away, using his free hand to lazily pump his cock—still only half-hard—in his hand. I inhaled shakily, eyes looking at his heavy cock, knowing the weight and feel of it without even touching it.
“Mmm,” Rafe said, letting out a leisurely sigh as he jerked himself off in front of me. “You want my dick, sweet girl?” I nodded eagerly, tongue still shamelessly hanging out of my mouth. “You want me to make you choke on my fucking cock, baby?” Again, I nodded and he groaned. “You’re so fucking sexy, darlin’, fuck.” I watched with rapt attention as a bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip of his dick. I heard Rafe chuckle not a moment later. “Holy shit are you drooling, baby? Fuck, you really want this dick, huh? Well, I don’t wanna leave you wanting.”
Rafe used the hand in my hair to bring my head closer and anchor it in place. His other hand still held his dick that he was bringing towards my awaiting mouth. The second I felt the tip of his dick touch my tongue I groaned in appreciation at finally having something, feeling myself growing wetter and wanting. Already, with him not even having touched me yet, I was a mess. Rafe knew it damn well too. He chuckled, slapping his dick against my tongue making me inhale sharply then let out a tiny little whimper.
“Should I stop teasing you baby?” he said, voice measured, even, and entirely unaffected—as if he were in a business meeting and not getting ready to ruin my throat. “Should I make sure you lose your voice tomorrow now?” I nodded as best I could while ensuring that his dick did not fall from my tongue which just made him let out another low groan. “Alright, then, baby. You asked for it. Time for you to put that fucking mouth to work.”
I barely had the time to inhale before I felt Rafe’s heavy member settling against my tongue. I let out a breathy moan, reflexively hollowing out my cheeks and bobbing my head to take him further into my mouth. I moved my hands to touch him and he slapped them away.
“No fucking hands,” he grunted, pulling my hair so I’d look up at him before pushing me down to the hilt of him, nose settling against his pelvis. He cursed and I felt his dick pulse in my mouth as he looked down at me, eyes dark and wanting. “So fucking pretty when I’m stretching your fucking mouth open, baby. Look at you. So fucking good.” My core fluttered again at his words, clenching and unclenching while I felt myself starting to dampen the couch slightly the wetter I got. “Gonna fuck your throat now, darlin’.”
With the minimal warning issued, he thrust heavily, pulling out of my mouth almost entirely before thrusting entirely back in. I forced myself to breathe through my nose, relaxing before something unfortunate could happen like my gag reflex being triggered. I moaned around him, using my tongue as little as I could find myself able to when he started to consistently, aggressively thrust himself to the back of my throat. I whimpered at the feeling, grinding absent-mindedly against the rough fabric of the couch, letting my tongue trace along the vein on the underside of his dick.
Rafe caught sight of my desperate rutting against the couch and he let out a dark, slightly breathless chuckle without interrupting the pace of his thrusting. “God, look at my desperate fucking baby. What, is daddy not taking care of you fast enough? Fuck,” he grunted. “You wanna grind like a desperate, needy, brainless little toy? I should make you fucking get off of my thigh without me touching you?” My choked whine of displeasure at the threat made him let out another mean sort of laugh. “Don’t worry, darlin’. That’s gonna be for later.” I let out another whine at the promise then. “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you get yourself off on my leg and then I’m gonna eat your pussy so good. Gonna make you cum for me at least five times before I stop. I’ll fucking tie you up if I gotta, gorgeous. Gonna make my sweet girl so overstimulated she’s not gonna think ‘bout anything but my fucking cock…my fucking mouth…my fucking hands.” Each word was punctuated by a pointed thrust down my throat. “As if you think about anything else, my dumb little fuckin’ baby, yeah?”
When he pulled out of my mouth entirely, releasing my hair, I reflexively gasped in a breath of air, eyes wide and watering. I looked up at him. But, Rafe was still non-plussed by how fucked out I already was. He wasn’t even pausing, barely breaking even a bead of sweat across his gorgeous, obscenely perfect body. No, instead, he knelt down in front of me, one hand making its way immediately to my pussy and finding my clit like two ends of a magnet attracting to each other. He let out a low tutting sound, shaking his head at me as I bucked my hips against his hand before I could stop myself.
“So fucking sloppy, pretty girl. Is this all for me?” he asked, his voice both teasing and harsh. “Barely even done anything to you, baby. You’re just that much of a needy little fuckin’ slut for me, huh?” I let out a high-pitched keening noise and he hummed, wrapping his hand around my throat to make me focus on him even as he slipped two thick digits inside of me. “You want me, baby?” His voice was husky, rasping and his alluring eyes were locked intently on me.
“Yes, daddy,” I whined, voice weak around the whining and moans that I couldn’t help but release as he finger fucked me into oblivion. Even with so little direct stimulation, I felt my legs starting to tremble and my stomach starting to tighten, coiling and ready to barrel quickly towards release. Rafe could tell too based on the way my pussy was practically trying to swallow his fingers whole. “Please.”
“Please what, sweet girl?” he cooed, pretending like he didn’t already know damn well what I wanted.
“Fuck me,” I begged.
“Oh but you sound so pretty when you’re whining, gorgeous,” he groaned. “And I need you to be nice and fuckin’ ready for me. So I need you to cum for me before I fuck you.” My stomach tightened further just on the edge of sweet, sweet release that I’d been missing the past two months while he was missing on fucking house arrest. “Okay, baby?”
“Okay,” I sobbed, hips trying to buck even as he used his massive hand to direct my hips to keep the rhythm he wanted, the other tightening around the outside of my throat, making my eyes roll.
“Good girl,” he huffed. He paused his speech a moment, his fingers moving even faster, making me choke out a sobbing moan, head falling back until he squeezed my throat again in warning, making me lift my head. He then issued a command. A single word. “Cum.”
And who was I to disobey?
The coil in my stomach exploded into a mirage of light behind my eyes as they rolled back. I felt a slightly shrill shriek erupt from my mouth more than I actually heard myself. And all that I could think of beyond the veil and haze of pleasure was the feeling of Rafe’s hands, his skin so close to me. He supported my body as I slumped against him, both of his hands moving to rest low on my hips.
“Good job, gorgeous. You look so fucking pretty falling apart for me,” he encouraged, his voice an appreciative, warm grumble of affection. His hands ghosted up and down my sides. “You ready for me to fuck you, pretty little thing?”
“Yes, daddy,” I said, letting out a long, shaky sigh. I reached out, hands trailing up the planes of his solid chest, leaning my head on him to listen to his steady, calm heartbeat. “Thank you, daddy.”
“Of course, baby,” he said. I could hear the smugness in his voice but I didn’t care. He leaned me back on the couch and moved to get up. I let out a whine of dissatisfaction and grabbed his hand tightly, pulling him back towards me. He looked amused as he raised a brow. “I have to go get a condom, sweet girl.”
“No,” I said stubbornly.
“No?” he asked.
“Have you been fucking bitches on house arrest?” I asked, bottom lip jutting out.
He reached out, pulling my lip down and looking at it in undisguised intrigue. “No,” he admitted.
“Well, then you haven’t worn a condom with me before. So fuck’s sake, Rafe just fuck me,” I demanded.
Rafe’s eyes had a hardened sort of glee to them. His hand moved before I registered it and my head turned as his palm made contact with my cheek. Again, my core clenched around nothing. This time, I bit back the moan that threatened to escape.
“Who?” he warned, sounding all too happy to remind me of my place.
“Fuck me, daddy,” I reiterated, still with an extreme attitude. “Fuck me, don’t pull out cum in me, I don’t care. Just fuck me, daddy.”
“Drop the attitude,” Rafe said, a final warning.
“No,” I spat, knowing exactly where it would get me. You know, right where I wanted.
Instead of slapping me again as I’d first expected, Rafe tilted my head up with just his pointer finger under my chin, his shark-like smile back again. “Do you want to be punished, baby?” he asked, sounding all too eager. I offered no answer. He used his free hand and slapped me, harder this time. I couldn’t bite back the moan this time, or the way that my hand tried to drift between my legs. He caught my wrist easily to stop me. “Answer me or I’m gonna stop. I’ll walk out the fucking door, darlin’.” My bottom lip quivered at the thought, chest heaving. “Do you want a punishment, baby?”
“Y-yes, daddy,” I admitted after another stubborn moment.
“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” he cooed sarcastically.
In a flurry of movement, Rafe sat on the couch and had me over his knee. My bare, soaked cunt made contact with his hard knee and I choked on a moan at that feeling. I barely had time to register the change in position before he landed his first hit on my ass. I yelped at the feeling, reflexively trying to squirm away from the pain, even as I felt a jolt of pleasure at the feeling. Rafe held my hips in place easily with one hand, keeping me firmly on his lap, and used the other to lay a hard slap against my ass, making me yelp again.
“That feel fucking good baby?” he grunted, slapping me again. I didn’t answer, a sharp, hissing inhale coming from my mouth. Another slap. Another whimper. “You should be fucking thanking me for this, darlin’. Disciplining your unruly fucking ass. Making you my good girl.”
“Thank you, daddy. Thank you, thank you. Please,” I whimpered, reflexively trying to squirm once more when his hand made contact with my ass yet again.
“Please, what, sweet girl? Remind you that you’re fucking mine? Oh, I am gonna, darlin’. This is just part of it,” he ground out. I could feel his rock-hard cock pressed against my side and I was torn between wanting it stuffed in my mouth and my pussy. Both thoughts escaped from my mind entirely as he landed another slap against my ass.
“More,” I ground out through clenched teeth, barely able to resist the urge to grind against his thigh and knee with the desperation that I was feeling.
“Needy little slut, you are, huh?” he asked, amused. His hands stopped their cyclical pattern of slapping my ass to rub the abused flesh for a moment. I felt his hand move between my legs more, teasing my entrance with his fingers. Naturally, I opened my legs for him. He chuckled at that. “Can’t wait to be stuffed with me, can you? Already brain dead to everything but me, aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just my little plaything right now, aren’t you?” I buried my face in the couch and let out a groan, feeling his hand circling my clit again, lazily, not creating enough friction to do anything.
“Daddy, please,” I whined.
“Don’t worry, pretty little thing. I know just what you need to cum again. I decided I need two from you before I fuck this sweet little fucking pussy,” he grunted. With sudden and almost startling accuracy, Rafe slapped me again. This time, his hand made contact not with my ass but with my pussy, the sharp slap making me gasp and jerk from the pain. I let out a half-aborted scream and rocked back into his palm, panting from surprise. He openly laughed. “You didn’t think I forgot how much you liked that, did you, darlin’? Remember that real fucking well? So I’m gonna take care of this pussy just the way I know you need it.” I let out a breathy moan mixed with a cry as he spanked my clit once more. Again and again and again he did it until I felt like I was dripping sweat on my whole body and my pussy was soaked with my juices—the couch too for that matter. “Fuck me, baby, your pussy is so pretty all puffy like this. She’s just crying for me. You want me so bad your poor fucking brain can’t handle it, can it?” I let out a pathetic little whimper, unable to muster much more. “I tell you what, darlin’. You cum from me slapping this pussy and I’ll fuck you til you pass out if that’s what you want. You wanna do that for me?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped immediately, hardly even grasping the words just knowing that I wanted the pleasure that had been slowly building to finally reach its fucking crescendo.
“Good girl,” he said before unleashing a series of slaps to my pussy in a pattern that I couldn’t have anticipated if I were in his damn brain myself.
This time, as I tumbled over the edge of pleasure, I wailed, jerking against his hand. I collapsed against Rafe’s leg as the aftershock of the second orgasm washed over me. I gasped for air like I’d been drowning and I felt Rafe’s hand tracing up and down my back lazily. As I caught my breath, he placed a final sharp slap to my pussy making me let out a weak yelp of complaint. Without being too gentle, Rafe maneuvered me off of his lap and over the arm of the couch. He let out an appreciative groan and I lifted my head to look back at him. I was startled to see him lifting the belt. My eyes widened as I felt him wrap it around my wrists, quickly binding me.
“You’re not getting away from me, gorgeous. Not when I finally get to fuck my pussy again. You’re nice and ready for me,” he said, sounding almost absent-minded as he spoke to me. He grunted as he slid into me with a single thrust. When he bottomed out we both let out moans—his low and mine high and keening—and I felt my body shake. “Fuck. When you can feel your legs I’m gonna fuck you so hard in doggy you’re gonna not walk the day after. But right now I just gotta finish the job, baby. Gotta turn your fuckin’ brain off forever.”
With that, he started to purposefully piston his hips, holding my bound wrists behind my back for better leverage. I was nearly boneless, shrieking in pleasure as his hot, throbbing cock stretched me open and brushed against each and every nerve ending just right—at least that was how it felt. How he felt. His thrusts were deep and slow and pointed. I sobbed against the feeling, wanting to rut back into him to make him speed up. But, I couldn’t muster the strength. So I just let him fuck into me at his own pace and I felt myself starting to build towards another bout of pleasure—this bound to be even stronger than before if the stars already behind my eyes were anything to go by.
“Daddy, please,” I sobbed, not knowing if I wanted more or less stimulation, more or less pleasure, from him.
Regardless of what I wanted, Rafe didn’t say anything. He grunted out a noise of acknowledgment that I’d spoken then doubled down in his efforts to make me cum again. And when he wrapped his arm around my throat again, tightening quickly and entirely, it was over. This time, as he forced me to a third orgasm, I was actually sobbing, tears running down my face from the fucked up amount of pain and pleasure entwined in being so overstimulated in such a short period of time—especially after so long away from him.
“There’s my good fucking girl,” Rafe said, voice slightly hoarse as he slowed his thrusts to a stop.
He still hadn’t cum himself, his dick fully pulsing inside of me with how hard he was. I dreaded what that meant, even though I also fully anticipated what I knew would come. He gently undid the belt from around my wrists, releasing me, and then eased himself out of me. He flipped me around on the couch and I looked at him with big watery eyes.
“Please no more,” I said, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It’s too much, please.”
“Come on, darlin’,” he cooed, pressing kisses to my cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You can give me one more. Been missing my pussy so much. You know I need one more from her.” Another series of kisses, the last one a long and lingering, filthy one to my lips where his tongue entwined with mine and we both pulled back needing air. “Please, baby. One more for me.”
His hand moved down, gently tracing my clit, making me jolt. Already I was so sensitive, so overstimulated. But, the impossibly sweet and imploring look on his face? The hunger he had for me? It was impossible to deny.
“Okay, daddy,” I agreed, sniffling.
He leaned his forehead against mine, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said softly.
He hitched my leg up over his hip, settling between my legs on the couch. He used his free hand to grip his cock, looking down at us. He gently slapped the head of his dick against my clit once, twice, a third time until I whined and he chuckled, reaching over to press a short kiss to my lips to shut me up. He ran himself up and down my slit over and over until I was shivering and he saw a tiny dribble of new arousal dripping from me. He let out a low moan of his own and then sank into me in one, hitching my leg up again so he could thrust as deep as humanly possible.
“There you are, gorgeous. There’s my beautiful fucking girl,” Rafe praised, pressing a kiss to each cheek, to my lips, and to my forehead as he steadily thrust into me. “So fucking perfect for me. So fucking good for me, baby.”
“You feel so good, daddy,” I said, eyes rolling back and then curling as he pressed down on the slight bulge in my stomach only present because of him. “Thank you, daddy.”
“Anything for you, baby. Fucking anything,” he grunted. He ground slower against me instead of thrusting for a few moments. “You don’t get to keep me from my pussy anymore, baby. I gotta fucking be with you.”
“Wanna be with you, daddy,” I babbled in agreement.
“Good fucking girl,” he huffed, pressing down on the bulge again making me whimper. I felt his dick pulsate again and I tightened around him habitually making his breath hitch. “You gonna cum for me one more time, baby? I’m so fucking close.”
“Yeah, daddy, I’m gonna cum,” I whined. “Please can I cum? Please, please, please?” I begged.
“Fu-fuck yeah,” Rafe stuttered. “Cum with me baby.”
And this time, as I fell across pleasure’s razor edge once more, Rafe fell with me. I felt as he came inside me, hot and deep. My eyes rolled at the feeling, almost addicted to the mere feeling of him being so close and intensely part of me at that moment. I held him without realizing it, nails digging into the skin of his back as I held him against me, ignoring the fact that I was trembling like a leaf.
“So proud of you, my sweet girl. So good for me, gorgeous. Love you so much. So good for me.” Those were the first things I was coherent of hearing again when the whooshing in my ears had faded. They were the sweet praise that Rafe was offering. He went to move—to pull out—but I held him to me still, almost wrapping myself around him like a koala to stop it.
“No,” I denied. “Don’t move yet.”
“Okay, baby,” he agreed. “I won’t pull out. Do you want me to hold you?” I nodded. He carefully moved us. I winced as he adjusted us so that I was sitting up and in his lap because it made him deeper for a moment still but as we settled that faded and I just melted into his chest. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so good.” He stroked my skin and hair for a moment. “I gotta get you cleaned up, sweet girl. Get you some water.”
“Not yet,” I denied again, eyes closed as I leaned against him, as much of my skin touching him as possible. “Take care of me in a minute.”
He chuckled. “Oh? You’re gonna let me take care of you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered absent-mindedly. “Fine. You can take care of me, Rafe. I’ll stop being stubborn.” I needed his help. He’d been right about that when he showed up, I was adult enough to admit that. And I knew that he loved me. That he meant it from the best place.
“Really?” he asked, disbelieving. “You’re gonna move in with me? Let me take care of you? Just like that? All I had to do was fuck you like that?”
“Yeah. That’s all you had to do,” I agreed, far too exhausted to explain the complex detail of it in truth. I let out a breathless laugh though, a thought occurring to me when I felt a cool bite of metal and plastic on my leg. “Well, as long as you don’t get arrested for busting out of house arrest.” I cracked open my eyes to give him a smile.
“Shut up, I'll be fine,” he muttered. His hands held me closely, tightly, possessively to him. “You don’t get to take it back. I get to take care of you now. To make sure you’re safe. You’re gonna live with me, sweet girl.”
“Okay, Rafe,” I agreed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek gently. He leaned into the touch and I smiled. “I will.” I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, laying my forehead against his.
“I love you, baby,” he murmured, so quiet I could barely hear it.
“I love you too,” I replied, just as quiet, just as simple.
He smiled at that, the sight making his eyes go warm and sweet. “Alright, then, gorgeous. Let’s get you cleaned up and get the fuck out of here,” he said. His smile morphed into a cheesy sort of grin—the kind I rarely got to see. “Let’s go home.”
For once, I couldn’t disagree. And I couldn’t help but echo the cheesy smile. “Okay, then, Romeo,” I teased. “Let’s go home.”
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charlesslut16 · 3 months
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heyy!
could you write a smut where reader and charles are on vacation in greece and readers wears small bikinis to tease charles?? also charles has a breeding kink
thx love🩷🩷
-in Greece, the magic happens-
summary : Charles and you make a vacation to Greece where you torture Charles by wearing tiny bikinis, that might kill him
PAIRING : charles leclerc x fem!reader
WARNINGS : +18, smut, NSFW, dirty talk, daddy kink, dom/sub, p in v, degrading, sub/dom, fingering, possessive!boyfriend, rough sex, slight aftercare, spanking, fingering, p in v, public sex, jealous!charles, unprotected sex (be safe!)
note : i hope that you like this, even if you had to wait so long for it...
december masterlist ; masterlist   
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The sun kissed your skin as you lounged on a private beach in Greece, the sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing background score.
Your boyfriend, Charles, sat a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you. He had been ogling at you all day, his gaze lingering on the tiny black bikini you were wearing.
The fabric hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your perky breasts and shapely ass. His eyes were roaming over your body, you knew it, and it was almost as if he was hungry for more.
You decided to tease him a little more, sensing his growing frustration. You stretched out lazily on the lounger, arching your back to accentuate your cleavage, and watched as his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
With a satisfied smile, you reached for the small towel draped over the side of the white lounger and casually wiped the sweat from his brow.
His skin was hot to the touch, and it only served to fuel your own desires. As if reading your mind, Charles stood up abruptly and strided over to you.
He kneeled down in front of you, his eyes intense as they met yours.
"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want you so bad." His hands cupped your breasts through the fabric of your bikini, and you gasped as he rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
It felt so very good, but you knew there was more. There was always more with Charles. Without waiting for your response, he stood up and pulled you to your feet.
He roughly spins you around, your back against his chest, and his hands grasp your hips. "You're mine, remember?" he growled into your ear.
"You belong to me, and I'm going to take what I want." You felt his arousal pressing against your back, and it only served to heighten your own desire.
He guided your hands to the clasp of your bikini bottoms, and with a firm tug, they came loose. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
Charles growled again, and his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your top, cupping your breasts once more. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you arched your back, wanting more.
Without warning, he picked you up and carried you over to the nearby beach bed. You giggled in surprise, your heart pounding with anticipation.
He laid you down, his body heavy and possessive on top of yours. His lips found yours, their roughness contrasting with the softness of your skin.
His hands slid down your body, tracing a path over your stomach and hips before hooking into the sides of your bikini bottoms and yanking them off.
And then he was there, naked and hard against you, pushing inside you. You gasped as he filled you, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one driving him deeper inside you, claiming you as his own. You could feel his heavy breath against your neck, his muscles tensing as he fought for control.
The sun beat down on your skin, and the salt-scented air filled your lungs as he took what he wanted, again and again. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts with your own, wanting more of him.
You reached up, twining your fingers in his hair, urging him to go faster, harder. He growled in response, his hips slapping against yours in a brutal rhythm. You could feel him getting closer, the tension in his body tightening, and you knew what was coming.
"Do you want me to pump my seed into you? Give you my kids and make you a mommy? You would like that, wouldn't you?"
For an answer you could only nod, well you would have nodded at everything he said, as your brain was too foggy to understand anything he said, but you knew that you wanted him to be happy.
His breath hitches, and with a low, guttural moan, he releases himself inside you. You cling to him, feeling his hot seed spill into you, claiming you as his.
Your body quivered as you finally came too, your orgasm washing over you in a wave of pleasure and satisfaction. You could say that it was one of the best you ever had.
"If my seeds take, your breasts will swell and your belly will grow and that's all because you grow MY child in your belly, my love."
He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress. After a few moments, he rolled off to the side, his skin glistening with sweat.
You laid there, catching your breath, feeling his seed slowly leaking out of you. You couldn't help but smile, content and fulfilled but it was disturbed for a moment, as Charles pushed his cum in you again.
"You're amazing," he whispered, cupping your face in his hands. "You always make me lose control." He kissed you tenderly, his lips soft and gentle against yours.
"I love how you make me feel." You wrapped your arms around him, nestling your head against his chest.
"I love you, my heart"
"I love you too," you murmured. "And I love how you make me feel." You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun and the weight of his body, knowing that this is exactly where you belong.
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myfictionaldreams · 7 months
Text
You're Mine, Sweetheart // Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Eddie Munson loved many things but above all else, he loved teasing you, especially when it was so easy to do. All day he had been whispering into your ear and giving lingering touches and now, you were ready for him to do whatever he wanted to you.
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, dirty talk, pet names, teasing (LOTS), begging, sir kink, praise kink, panty kink/panty sniffing, discussion of past sex, restraints, polaroids, Eddie has an obsession with your smell and taste :), cum swallowing, blowjob, fingering, rough sex, pussy slapping, possessive behaviour, overstimulation, biting
Words: 6.6k
my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link
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It wasn’t a frequent event where you’d have to sleep by yourself, without your boyfriend wrapped around your body giving you warmth and comfort. Tonight unfortunately was one of those nights where you were tossing and turning, trying to find the same comfort that Eddie gave you, even positioning your pillows so that it may feel like him against your back but to no avail as you watched the hours slowly tick by on your alarm clock.
Eddie had a late-night gig at the hideout and your family had wanted to have a games night with even the extended family coming over so it wasn’t something you could sneak your way out of. By the time your family were in bed and Eddie was packing up his equipment, it would have been too late for him to come and pick you up and both decided like sensible adults to just meet the following day which also happened to be the weekly arcade meet up with all of your friends so that was something else to look forward to.
Now however, as the sun began to welcome the day,  you were dreading the idea of having to leave your bed and gain the energy to go to the arcade and hang with friends. Eddie, yes you wanted to see, but your social battery was already low and you’d hardly even started. As slumber was just about to consume your body, you were abruptly disturbed by your mom shouting up the stairs, “Darling, the phone!”.
With a pained grunt, you rolled out of bed, stumbling out of your room and down the stairs, not even bothering to open your eyes as you’d grown up in this house and could walk around it without looking. Knowing your mom had left the phone resting on top of the holder, you reached blindly for it and rested it against your face.
“Hello?”, your voice was croaky and thick with sleep, not that you cared though as you held the phone between your ear and shoulder so that you could rub the sleep out of your eyes.
A deep chuckle welcomed you on the other end of the line and immediately your entire body felt rejuvenated, a smile blooming across your lips. Your eyes opened but only to check your parents were anywhere close by as you began to nervously twist and play with the phone cable. “You sound just as tired as I feel, Sweetheart”, Eddie remarked but you could sense his happiness through his tone.
“Hey you”, your sleepy voice suddenly sounded light and flirtatious, “couldn’t sleep either?”.
Your boyfriend released an exacerbated sigh, followed by a soft known where you knew he’d rested his head back against the wall. “Nope, not a single second, missed you too much”.
His casual declaration for missing you, always so open about his feelings, made your heart thump harder in your chest like it was going to beat so hard your ribs would break. There was just something about knowing that he was as attached to you as you were to him.
“I missed you too. How was the gig?”, You bit your lip as he began to talk, it felt like you’d swallowed hundreds of little butterflies with the tumbling nerves floating in your stomach which always seemed to happen when talking to Eddie, he had you hooked beyond a reasonable doubt.
“It was fucking awesome! I nailed the solo, you know, the one I’ve been practising all week? Even got a well-done head nod from a couple of the locals which I thought was pretty neat”.
Your smile spread to a full grin hearing his passion as you praised him for doing so well, “That’s amazing Eddie! I wish I was there to see it, I’m sorry again that I wasn't, you know I would always come to support you if I could”.
“It’s no worries, Sweetheart, I only would have been distracted by you in the crowd like I always am. Especially when you start jumping up and down in those corroded coffin shirts”. The apples of your cheeks warmed as you glanced over your shoulder to double-check check your parents weren’t within earshot. When you and Eddie had begun to date, he gave you a corroded coffin shirt which was just a cheap white shirt with the name scribbled in a black sharpie so you redesigned it slightly and cut the sleeves and around the neckline so that the tops of your cleavage would be exposed.
When you didn’t respond to Eddie, he continued, the pitch of his voice lowering to the way that he usually used when he was whispering in your ear to get you in a certain mood. “Want to know a secret?”
“Yes”, you reply with an only just audibly heard response as your tongue suddenly feels heavy and thick in your mouth as you wait in anticipation for what he has to tell you.
“Do you remember those Polaroids we took a couple of weeks ago? The ones when we skipped school and hid in my van?”
Your cunt instantaneously pulse in sudden arousal at the reminder of those explicitly scandalous pictures from the time he’d convinced you to both skip school after spending most of the day whispering sweet nothings into your ear and getting you so riled up that you were practically begging him to tie you up in the back of his van and fuck you. So of course, he did just that: he had to take a pretty picture to remind him of the sight of you at his mercy.
“Princess?” Eddie asked when you once again didn’t reply.
“Sorry, yeah I remember those”.
“Good. Because it slipped my mind that I’d hidden a few of them in my guitar case so what a happy surprise for me when right before I went on stage, I found the Polaroid beneath my guitar. The one where your arms and legs are tied together with my cock buried into that pretty pussy of yours”.
You had to bite your lip to hold back the moan threatening to burst from you as you also had to lean against the wall due to your knees trembling as slickness gathered between your legs.
Eddie continued, “I had to go on stage with a fucking hard-on - luckily the guitar covered it but, as I looked out and couldn’t see you, all I could think about last night were your perfect tits, bouncing up and down- god I miss them!” he groaned deeply. “Want to know how bad it got? At the end of the gig I had to run to the bathroom and jerk off before I creamed in my pants like a fucking teenager”.
You were absentmindedly rubbing your thighs together to try and ease the ache and need that had settled through your core, your nipples pebbling beneath your shirt and rubbing against the material.
“And then”, Eddie continued, “oh… well I can always tell you what I did when I got back home when I see you later, how does that sound Princess?”
“Good”, you say breathlessly.
“Good, what?” Eddie encouraged.
“Good sir”, your entire body heated now with embarrassment, quickly remembering where you were so you glanced over your shoulders to check that your parents hadn’t suddenly appeared but thankfully they were still in the kitchen and couldn’t hear.
“That’s my girl”, his voice once again spiked arousal straight between your legs and you were sure that if in person you’d be begging for him to touch you, pleasure you until you couldn’t remember your name. “What time should I pick you up?” Eddie asked, casually snapping you out of your erotic thoughts and changing the subject completely.
Shaking your head to try and clear your mind, you contemplated for a moment, “Um, I could be ready in 30 minutes so whenever you’d like, no rush or anything, I don’t think we’re meeting anyone until midday anyway”.
“I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes”, were his last words before he hung up, no doubt in a rush to come and pick you up which then meant you also had to rush but you were almost giddy with excitement.
Washing was a simple task but staring at your wardrobe felt like an endless journey. Do you wear jeans or a skirt? Do you go casual or dressy? Pink or blue? You were able to give up and lie on the bed when a blue, knee-length dress caught your eye. It was simple, floaty thin material that wasn’t too over the top but pleasant enough to meet out with friends. Especially as it matched your Converse and jacket, you were happy and had enough time to apply a light sprinkling of make-up but not too much as Eddie always preferred you more naturally than all dolled up.
Looking at yourself once last time, you moved downstairs to wait for your boyfriend, having 2 minutes to quickly pick up a slice of toast before the tale tell rattle and bang from his van were heard through the open window. Quickly pecking both of your parents’ cheeks, you ran to the door, not stopping with your swift pace until you were colliding with a solid chest.
“Woah, hey Sweetheart”, Eddie laughed, cradling the back of your head and shoulders as you nuzzled into his plain black shirt, breathing in his scents of the recently smoked cigarette, leather jacket and cheap deodorant but under all of that was the lemon from his shampoo.
“Hey!” You couldn’t help but beam up at him, looking like a love-sick puppy but happy to see that he was giving you the same look as he dipped his lips to steal a kiss from your lips. You checked him over unsubtly, from his ripped baggy black jeans to the loosely done ponytail that already had a few curls escaping.
Your boyfriend was doing the same check as you as his chocolate eyes roamed over your outfit, focusing slightly for a second as he licked his lips and then snapping out of whatever he’d just remembered. Leaning over, you thought he was going to kiss you again but instead, he took a hefty bite out of your slice of toast before asking “Ready?”
Nodding your head, Eddie happily helped you into the van to be his passenger princess before climbing in himself. The two of you drove around for a while as you both caught up with each other's time without the other, no mention of Polaroids or whatever it was that Eddie did after returning home. 
Even though it has been less than 24 hours since you saw him last, the conversation seemed to flow endlessly as you sat happily next to him, admiring his dimpled grin and exaggerated expressions with his hands as he told you about Gareth locking himself out of his car. 
You laughed and casually leaned your head against his shoulder as he began to drive in the direction of the arcade. Eddie's hand gently landed on your covered thigh, stroking his thumb in comforting circles over the thin material. “Do you remember the last time you wore this dress?” He asks casually before kissing your temple whilst keeping his eyes on the road.
Your face set in concentration as you looked down at the dress, like it could spark a memory for you but it didn’t so you shook your head no, expecting him to say something cute like you wore it for your first date or something; he always had a good memory on these sorts of things.
As you were staring at the road, you weren’t able to see the corner of his lips quip up as he excited himself to tell you. His ringed fingers squeezed slightly against your thigh as he said two simple words: movie night.
A heavy breath rushed from you as it all came flooding back. The last time you’d decided to wear this outfit, Eddie had been so riled up by the pretty clothing, that he’d complimented you almost constantly as you both attended Steve’s for a group movie night. However neither you nor Eddie saw the end of the film as the two of you were locked in the bathroom with Eddie's fingers pumping into your hole.
“Remember now?” He asked noting the way your thighs clenched and eyes unfocused slightly.
“Yes I remember”, you mumbled in response, refusing the meet his eye contact for fear that you’d fall right into those beautiful orbs and lose your mind. 
“Good, I want you to think about that today as we’re out and about because I know for damn sure that’s exactly what I’m going to be thinking about”.
“Ok”, you paused for a breath and added, “sir” for good measure, absentmindedly reaching for the hand on your lap to play with his chunky silver rings, twisting them around and around. A little habit you’d developed when you were feeling somewhat submissive and needy, finding the touch of his jewellery comforting as it meant he was close. Eddie smirked down as he also noticed this, loving how easy it was for him to get you all worked up and needy for him, In fact, it was something he craved, especially when you clung to him like a koala, he needed you just as much as you needed him so welcomed the grabbing and touches. 
The two of you arrived and somehow managed to be late, even though you’d both been driving around for a while. Everyone was already inside the arcade, hardly even noticing your entrance until Eddie shouted, “The fun has arrived!”. Not only did this bring the attention of all of your friends but also the attention of everyone else so you promptly rushed to your favourite machine.
Eddie of course, followed directly behind you, wanting to stay close even though he was itching to play a different machine. Inserting the money, you began to play, full concentration on the tiny screen in front of you but this was swiftly distracted by the warm solid body standing directly behind you. His comforting smell wrapped around you like a warm hug as he rested his chin on your shoulder, hair stroking against your cheek and hands on your waist beneath your jacket. It was nice to just be in each other's company, friends around, casually chatting as they gamed next to you but once they’d left and you were once again just with each other, you became hyper-aware of his presence and casual kisses against your ticklish neck.
“Don’t get distracted now, Sweetheart”, Eddie teased whilst tightening his hold on your waist, pulling himself even more flush against your back. “Just concentrate on the game, not on me”.
Your silence was enough to know that you were doing exactly the opposite of his request and were tongue-tied and unable to think of a witty response. Especially as he gently blew onto your ear, sending a rush down your spine. “Keep your eyes on the screen, otherwise how will you win?”, Eddie’s voice was low and his chest vibrated against your back. Your eyes snapped back to the screen, not even realising that you’d tried to glance over your shoulder up at him. Eddie had returned to his earlier mindset, intent to thoroughly dampen your underwear and muddle your coherent thoughts with arousal and need, especially as he casually remarked, “I know it’s highly inappropriate but I would really love to take you back to my van and lift this dress right now and see what fun I could have”.
Thankfully Eddie's arms remained locked around your body as your knees wobbled and a weak moan burst from your throat but luck was on your side as the game machines were louder so no one could hear.
Eddie heard though as he laughed in your ear, “The thing is, I know you’d let me because you’re my special Princess, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir”, you say without a care in the world or the fact that you’re in a public space.
“That’s my girl, keep up the good work”, his plump lips smashed into your cheek in a dramatic display of affection and then he was gone, moving away to play his own game, leaving you clutching onto the edges of the machine, trying to not look like you were about to melt into the floor.
Making a split-second decision, you purposefully died on the game and trailed after your boyfriend, finding him shouting at a game that was accepting his change. Eddie didn’t say anything as you slid your arms around his middle and ducked under his arm, he simply kissed your forehead and calmed down enough to play the game around your body.
Another hour came and went and you’d finally deemed it safe enough to venture on your own without feeling too needy to be around Eddie. However, it didn’t last long as he returned over your shoulder.
“Want to know the naughty things that I did when I got home last night?”, he asked referring to the conversation you’d had earlier in the morning.
Your fingers hesitated over the brightly coloured controls so Eddie swiftly braced his arms around you to continue playing on your behalf, holding your fingers onto the controls so you were now both playing. You wanted to know Eddie’s erotic tale of his adventures last night that were sure to drive you crazy but you were unsure of the public setting, knowing that you were already horny for him and any further taunting would drive you crazy. Eddie of course, was going to tell you regardless of whether it was a public space or not and was desperate to see just how crazed he could drive you so he didn’t wait for your response before continuing in short, swift statements.
“I got home, found a pair of your panties that still are hidden in my room… and touched myself whilst sniffing them like a fucking perv.”
You tried to turn and look at him to see if he was being serious or not but his arms tightened, keeping you facing forward.
There was too much to process but also not that much at all. He’s actually pleasured himself whilst sniffing your underwear. Eddie was always very vocal and complimentary of how much he loved your smell and taste and that it drove him crazy but you always assumed that it was all just words in the heat of the moment but clearly it wasn’t as he’d been able to pleasure himself with just your smell alone.
Neither of you said anything about this event, mostly because you were trying to convince your body to calm down and Eddie was silently planning his next way to tease you. Even as the hours passed, and you both mingled with friends, played games and snacked, Eddie would continue to whisper things under his breath to you.
Then there were his hands, brushing over your hands, tickling the skin on your neck, a stark comparison to the heavy touches against your hips, holding and squeezing as he’d casually walk past. Eddie Munson was unequivocally on a mission and you were failing very quickly.
It also seemed that Eddie was falling into his own trap, especially as he briefly glanced up at you from across the room and saw that you were biting your lip whilst looking at him, eyes exploring his body and something inside of him snapped. One minute you were surrounded by the bright colours of the arcade, the musky smell of aged carpet and the varying ages of people. The next moment, you’re greeted with fresh air and only Eddie surrounding you as he drags into the alleyway behind the arcade.
Your body was pushed against the uncomfortable brick wall as Eddie rested his arms on either side of your head, body pressed against your front and face dipped into your neck.
“Tease me some more and I’ll show you my reaction.”
“I…I wasn’t teasing, I mean- I wasn’t doing it on purpose”, you tried to explain with panic evident in your voice, already showing Eddie you were slipping further into your submissive mindset of always trying to make him happy.
“Uh huh”, Eddie continued to taunt, “I can see right through your pretty little lies. If you want to tease me like this, then you wouldn’t mind if I teased you right back, is that what you wanted? To trase me so much that I snap and fuck you in this disgusting alleyway?”
You couldn’t talk, eyes wide and worried and yet also wanting him to do exactly that. Eddie has you exactly where he wants you and almost feels bad for a moment knowing that he had been the one to do all the teasing but that didn’t stop him, especially as he had you so pent up. Lifting his ringed hand, he begins by stroking down your jaw with the tips of his fingers, all the whilst his jean-covered thigh lifts and slots itself between yours until it was flush against your clothed cunt.
You simultaneously whimper and shudder, pressing your hips down on your leg to add more stimulation to where you want to be touched the most.
Eddie’s eyes were dark as he studied you, “Look at you, already a whimpering little mess to my touches. Tell me, Sweetheart, what do you want me to do to you?”
Your brain screamed “everything!” and it seemed your mouth did the same as the next moment Eddie snickered. However, he did the opposite of what you wanted as he pulled his body away from yours and took a step back, not wanting to fuck you in the alleyway. His van was one thing but a dirty street? He’d never treat his princess like that.
Seeing and hearing your disappointment at his warmth moving away, he quickly cupped your cheeks, stroking his thumbs against the apple of your cheeks and pulling you into the most delicate kiss that he could muster. Your whimpers turned into mewls as your body raised onto the tips of your toes to try and be closer and deepen the kiss.
“Want you, Eddie, please can we go?” you asked between kisses.
Eddie contemplated denying you for a moment, knowing that the two of you should probably hang with your friends for a little longer but looking at the need in your pretty eyes and feeling your hands gripping his wrists like you never wanted to let go, he knew it was probably best to head back.
“Alright Sweetheart, don’t worry I’ll look after my needy girl, let’s get you to the van and I’ll tell the others we’re leaving”. He heard you audibly sigh in relief as he grasped your hands, interlocking your fingers together before heading in the direction of the car park however, you only took a few steps before stopping. “What’s wrong?” 
You were rubbing your legs together like you needed to pee but it wasn’t this that was the issue. “It’s uncomfortable to walk with wet panties, they’re rubbing on my skin”.
Eddie’s eyes immediately zoned in on the area that you were talking about like he had x-ray vision and could see through your dress. Licking his lips, he suggested, “Well, why don’t you take them off?”
Without even checking if there was anyone at the end of the alleyway, you reached beneath your dress and pulled down your matching shade of blue to the dress underwear, that blissful sigh of relief returning. Eddie to his credit was shocked that you would do something like this within view of anybody walking past and his cock throbbed painfully within his baggy jeans as he saw the sheen of arousal on the material.
Your boyfriend acted on instinct as he quickly grabbed your underwear and rubbed his thumb against the patch of juices, his eyes remaining on you though as he then sucked on his thumb. It was almost pornographic the moan he released, eyes rolling back in his head dramatically. Before you could even squeak or react, Eddie shoved the panties into his leather jacket pocket and grabbed your hand again, moving with more speed towards his van.
Much like this morning, he opened the passenger door for you to climb into, his hands on your waist again to give you a boost up before he shut the door and ran, actually running, into the arcade to say bye to everyone.
Whilst waiting for him, you tried to regain composure, deciding it was much too hot for your jacket and shrugging it off. Eddie returned in record time, slightly out of breath from how fast he’d run in and out of the building as he gave you a cheeky grin, his dimples deepening as he turned on the engine.
“What did you tell them?”, you asked.
“Just that you weren’t feeling very well and I needed to get you home to rest. I think they bought the lie but I also don’t care right now, I just want to be with you”.
You smiled fondly at him, cuddling in close to his side and resting your head on his shoulder as he rested his hand on your thigh in a stronghold which you appreciated, needing it to help ground you to the moment as you played with his rings.
Eddie drove like a madman, even though his body showed that he was at ease, it was clear that he just wanted to be back at his trailer already as he probably broke a couple of laws with how he was driving. The two of you both smiled upon seeing his home and after he parked up, he ran around to your side of the van and helped you down the large step. Thankfully his Uncle Wayne would be at work until the early hours of the morning so you both didn’t need to worry about being interrupted.
Once inside, Eddie let go of his hold on your hips so that he could shrug off his jacket, throwing it onto the couch. “Do you want a beer?” he asked over his shoulder, kicking off his shoes as he walked, something you also did but left them neatly next to the door rather than in a messy pile like Eddies.
“No thank you”, you politely responded, rubbing your arms with the loss of his warmth as your eyes followed his every move. Once more Eddie’s moves were calculated, knowing that you’d quickly follow after him, needing to feel him close, having felt like you’d waited too long to finally be properly alone with him.
Before he could even open the beer, you slid in front of him and pulled his face down to yours, kissing him desperately and breathlessly. The beer clattered onto the kitchen countertop as Eddie laughed against your mouth at how frantic you’d become. He pulled away, glancing down to see that you were trying to rub your body up against his.
“Aw, my princess, are you feeling needy?” he spoke in a patronizing tone which only made you lean in further to prove your point.
“Yes”, you gasp, trying once more to pull his face down to yours but he takes over, taking your wrists in one hand and pushing your body back until you are pressed up against the refrigerator with your hands now held above your head.
“What do you want? Tell me.”.
“I want you, please Sir”.
Eddie clicked his tongue, “Be specific, what do you want from me?”
“Everything I want…everything please, I need you, Eddie”.
The Hellfire leader felt like his chest was going to explode with how hard his heart was beating seeing you like this, he’d expected you to be needy but this desperate? He was ready to walk on flaming coals if you’d asked but he continued his taunting for now, wanting to see if he could get you to say something dirty.
“Aw… Have I turned you into a wet puddle?”
You moan at his words, bucking your hips to show him where you want to be touched. You pulled on your wrists as well, wanting to get out of his hold to play with his hair, kiss his neck, rip his clothes off, just something!
“I think the lack of sleep and horniness has ruined your pretty little submissive head, what do you think?”
You again moan but this time in frustration, face scrunching up as you weren’t getting what you wanted. The hand that wasn’t holding your wrists hovered over your body, moving up the dress until he was grasping your jaw, forcing you to look up into his beautiful puppy eyes that were now hardened and full of dominance. You could feel his chunky rings biting into your skin as his breath kissed the skin of your cheek as he contemplated just what he wanted to do with you first. “I love how responsive you are to me”, Eddie praised, “I mean, look how needy you are after just a few words and touches through the day. You really are mine, aren’t you?”
“Yes, only yours Eddie- Sorry, I meant Sir”, you quickly corrected yourself.
Eddie’s gaze softened slightly as he could see your thoughts racing with the need to please him in every way. “It’s ok, you can say my name, I always like it when you say my name”. Gently he kissed the tip of your nose, giving you a moment of care before asking, “I’ll giv eyou the option. Do you want me to touch you or do you want to touch me?”
“I want to touch you”, you say without a second's hesitation.
Eddies grip released as he held his hands away from you, “Then I’m all yours”.
He expected you to jump into his arms, kissing him or pulling on his hair like you always did when you needed him to be closer but this wasn’t what you did. Instead, you dropped to your knees and clawed at his jeans. Surprising even yourself, you managed to undo his zipper, reach into his checkered boxers and find his cock, hard and waiting for you as you pulled it out of the unzipped hole. Not even bothering to undo his belt as you just wanted to have him in your mouth.
“Shit Princess, Jesus Christ!”, Eddie shouted as your lips wrapped around the tip of his throbbing cock where it was wet with precum and red with how long he’d been hard for. You didn’t want to tease him, you just wanted him to find the ultimate pleasure so you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him deeper.
Your boyfriend tipped his head back, biting his knuckle to hold back the shouts that were sure to be loud enough to disturb the neighbours. Inch after inch of his cock slipped down your tongue and to the back of your throat until you were gagging but you kept him there, not pulling out until you were gasping for air.
“Wait, just wait a second”, Eddie gasped after a couple of minutes. Quickly, he undid his belt and button, moving the material of his jeans and boxers down his hips until his cock and balls were waiting proudly for your mouth.
“Thank you”, you say politely to him, wrapping a hand around the base and moving it out of the way so that you could suck on his balls, pulling each one into your mouth before returning to taking his length. Eddie rested a hand against the back of your head eventually helping your movement by pushing you further down, until you were gagging and burning for air, but the throb of his cock was only adding to the pleasure of it all.
“Let me see those eyes”, he softly demanded, and you hadn’t even realised your eyes had closed whilst in the thought of nothing but his cock. Opening them quickly, you made eye contact and were praised with a loving stroke of the back of his hand against your cheek. “Always so good for me, I fucking love you”, Eddie grunted, his hips snapping and balls tightening at the same time and you knew he was on the verge of cumming. His velvet shaft became harder against your tongue as you sucked him more vigorously “Swallow”, was all he demanded and you did just that as he swore, his pink lips dropping open as he came down your throat. His salty goodness was thick as you swallowed every single drop.
“Fuck Sweetheart, you did so well for me”, Eddie praised a moment later after his cock stopped throbbing and began to soften. Pulling out, strings of saliva connected the tip of his cock to your mouth as he chuckled, wiping it away, “Oh you’re drooling everywhere… Come here.”
Eddie helped you to stand but seeing how unsteady and weak your knees were, he lifted you onto the kitchen countertop, spreading your legs and lifting your dress to expose your drenched cunt to him. In a harsh grip, he grabbed a handful of your hair, holding you steady as he spread your juices around with his middle finger, circling your hole before pushing in.
“Look at you and to think, I’ve only just started using my fingers and you’re already shaking”, he taunted as he pushed his finger in and out slowly, watching your body respond with gasps and twitches. As he added a second finger, he praised, “I love the way you look with my fingers inside of you”.
Your hips bucked at his words as you tried to match his movements, especially as he began to curl his fingers to stroke against your pleasurable spot. However, then you said something that he wasn’t expecting, “Please don’t be gentle with me”.
Eddie didn’t need telling twice as he pulled out and gave your pussy a sharp slap, directly over your neglected clit. He rubbed away with a sting before doing it again and again, watching as you cried out and tried to lean into the touch and only did he stop when your pussy was drenched, puffy and your clit was overstimulated. “Did you like that Princess? Do you like it when I’m rough with you?”
“Yes, thank you sir!”, you shouted, whilst also leaning into the hand still holding your hair.
“So desperate today, aren’t you Sweetheart. Come on let's get this off of you”, as he spoke, he released his hold but only to grip the dress and lift it up and over your head. Next, he helped you down from sitting on the side but only so that he could turn you around and bend you over it instead as he also undid your bra and discarded that to the floor. The dress you’d worn was mde of a stretchy, flimsy material so he was easily able to use it to tie it around your wrists, getting the restrained behind your back.
“Let’s go”, he instructs, holding onto the material and using it to move you around, manhandling you to walk from the kitchen and into his bedroom, helping you to be face first on his mattress, careful to not hurt your neck as your arms were still restrained and arse perked into the air for him.
Eddie began to remove his clothes as you wiggled your hips invitingly and your boyfriend admired the perfect view in front of him before kneeling between your legs, hands massaging the flesh of your hips.
“Say you’re mine”, he demanded in a low, rough voice.
“I’m yours”.
“Tell me again”, he asked as he looked from your face to your cunt.
“I’m yours, Eddie”.
Hearing his name again, he couldn’t wait any longer as he carefully pushed the tip of his now hard cock into your hole. You were already so sensitive, even though you hadn’t cum yet, with all of the arousal pulsing through you, it felt like you’d already orgasmed a handful of times and with Eddie’s recent orgasm, he was just as sensitive. He moved slowly, even though you wanted it rough, he didn’t want to actually hurt you, knowing exactly what your limis were so he made sure to give you time to stretch and get used to his size.
However, once your moans were echoing around the room and you were trying to push yourself back on his cock, he released the restraint that he was holding onto. With his hands holding onto your hips, Eddie began to fuck you relentlessly, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix, his bals smacking into your clit and hips pushing your face into the bed.
Eventually your knees lose any strength that was holding your body up and you collapsed forward onto the bed. Eddie didn’t stop though, especially when he could hear how good you were feeling so he moved one of your legs up, giving him more room and he body crowded over your back as he bites your shoulder.
“Wanna cum Eddie, your words were muffled against the bed but he could already feel how close you were from how tight your pussy was clenching.
“You can cum for me, you’re doing so well”, he praised, licking over the spot he’d just bitten.
However, you groaned in frustration rather than pleasure as you moaned, “But I wanna cum with you Eddie, please cum in my pussy”.
“Oh Princess, all you had to do was ask”.
Eddie fucked you harder, his mouth sloppily kissing your cheek as you tried to hold back your orgasm for as long as possible but it was getting too much, everything was too overwhelming and eventually you couldn’t keep it back anymore.
You came hard and with a high-pitched scream, your pussy clenching so tightly around Eddie that he too found his release, orgasming together, both sensitive and bodies rocking together through the pulses of pleasure.
He stayed inside of you for a moment, trying to catch his breath and it was only when he could feel your restrained fingers wiggling against his abdomen did he push his weight up on his arms to kiss delicately across your bare shoulder. “That tickles”, he mumbled, causing you to giggle tiredly.
Carefully, he knelt back, undoing your bound wrists and massaging the areas to get them to relax at your side. “I'm going to pull out, ok?”
You nod but still hiss at the discomfort of your walls being stimulated whilst being so sensitive and then there was the gush of his cum and your juices that began to pour out and down your clit. “My favourite sight”, he admires, stroking your arse cheek as you smiled over your shoulder before closing your eyes and taking a moment to relax.
Eddie clambers off of the bed, turning on his stereo to the latest heavy metal album and then returningto caefully wipe way between your legs before manhandling your to lie across his chest. There the two of you just lay, enjoying the post-sex high.
Eventually, Eddie sparked up a cigarette, careful to try and blow the smoke away from you but the smell of it had become a comfort for you as you nuzzled further into his naked chest, feeling sleep nearly taking over.
A delicate kiss to the tip of your nose however had you coming back to the moment and opening your eyes, “Hey, don’t go to sleep for me just yet, I’m not quite done with you. We’re just having a little break but I still need to taste you Sweetheart”.
Your body warmed and you were now wide awake with the adrenaline pulsing through you. Eddie took another long suck of smoke, blowing it into the air and you never realised just how much the sight would turn you on. It was going to be a very long, sleepless night.
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akumakosuke · 2 months
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T.w: Subbot Amab Kento Nanami x Topdom Amab reader. Breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, creampie, praise, degradation, cock warming, feminization (calling Kento's hole a pussy), fluffy aftercare.
P.s this has been in my drafts forever!! I completely forgot about it until someone reminded me!
I'm actually going feral right now.
I watched the new episode of JJK last night and good lord MAPPA fed me a full course meal drinks included.
Did you see my husband's looking all sexy and oh so fucking breedable?
I'm writing a separate post for Toji, someone sent me a request for breeding Sugar baby Toji and I'm working on it, this is all about my love, my darling, my glorious Nanami Kento. (I still have the Toji one in the works)
Like most men I crave I literally want to marry Nanami and make him my house husband.
I want to just keep him at home (full of my cum) and take care of him, provide for him mind, body and spirit. I want to make him feel safe, loved, cared for, appreciated, needed and genuinely wanted.
I want to come home from a long ass day of running a huge company, completely exhausted and wanting nothing more than my big strong man in my arms.
I would open the door and immediately be woken up by the most amazing smelling dinner and most importantly a fresh loaf of Kento's favourite thing ever, bread.
I would feel all the tension, anger and tiredness melt away as I closed the door, finally got to take off my shoes and coat.
I would place my bag down and when I look up it would be as if God themselves came down to this meaningless float rock we call Earth and blessed me, a nobody with an Angel of my own.
He would stand there in all his glory, his broad shoulders that seem to relax in my presence, those huge pecs that always seem to fit perfectly in my hands, that slim waist that I know for a fact is still bruised from last night, those muscular thighs that could definitely crush my skull, those veiny hands that used to be so dangerous, he hated that, hold me with such gentle touches.
I would smile and he would try not to, as usual keeping up with his ‘i'm always serious because I'm mature’ act that he puts on as a facade, he and I both know he's just a big softie that genuinely cares about his friends and will do anything to protect them.
I would say something cheesy like “Honey I'm home.” with a smirk because I know he hates those dumb romantic comedies.
His smile would instantly fade and he would roll his eyes and mumble “Idiot.” and walk away.
I would laugh and follow him inside, then with a teasing tone say something like “You're supposed to say ‘Welcome back Dear.’ and then kiss me.”
He would ignore me as usual and change the subject “Go wash your hands they're filthy and I baked a new type of bread, the lady at the bakery gave me the recipe.”
I would come out of the bathroom with freshly washed hands and take a seat at the dinner table and say something like “Yeah, smells good hun.”
He would hum in acknowledgement he's listening and bring over the delicious food he cooked and his new bread then place them on the table.
Then he would stand over me with his hands on his hips causing me to -on not normally casual settings- look up at him in confusion.
He would then place an arm on my chair and turn it, making me fully face him and I would happily admire the view.
He's wearing grey sweatpants and a black swear shirt with that cute pink apron I bought him that says kiss the cook.
I would smirk knowing he only wore that because his normal plain black aprons mysteriously disappeared when the pink one showed up.
He would then tangle his thick hands in my hair, suddenly tugging on it and making me groan in pain, the action immediately makes blood rush to my dick.
He would force me to look up at him and with that ever so stern expression say something fucking hot like “Now that you've washed your hands, didn't you read the apron?”
Then he would give me no time to respond as he leans forward and roughly captures my lips in a heated kiss.
I would easily give in and let him do what he wants, this always happens. In the beginning Kento takes charge, he knows exactly what to do to get me hard enough to fuck his pretty brain dumb.
Kento is a smart man, he knows how to get what he wants. He knows what he's doing when he straddle my lap.
Those thick thighs would flex around mine, squeezing me as his crotch 'accidently' grinds against mine.
He would tighten his grip on my hair, bringing his other arm around my shoulders and deepen the kiss, mumbling a fake apology, as if he doesn't want me to fuck him.
My hands would instinctively find his waist, I would say something like “Don't apologize love, take responsibility Kento.” then I would squeeze his waist and grind his plump ass on my fully hard dick.
He would moan and kiss me deeper, then he would start to roll his hips without my help. The friction from the fabric against our hard length sends shocks of pleasure through our entire bodies but it's not enough.
Then while Kento would be kissing me, his hand around my shoulder would travel down my chest and tug at my belt. Kento would let out a needy and frustrated grunt when my belt doesn't come off instantly.
He's not fucked out enough to be whining in desperation, no I'll have to work hard and drain those beautiful sounds out of him.
One of my hands would quickly travel to my belt, undoing it with ease. Then I would undo his belt, neither of us breaking the ruthless kiss or grinding.
We would unzip each others pants and I would easily lift both of our weights and slip my pants and boxers off, Kento would stand and take off his pants and boxers.
We would groan into the kiss as the cold air of our house brushes against both our erections, both our lengths hard already leaking bits of precum.
Both of us are still sensitive from last night/ this morning but we can't get enough of each other, it's like a drug it turned into an addiction..
It's not just fucking, it's the intimate act of sex, exposing yourself, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and connect on a level more than just our bodies.
He would straddle my lap again and his hand would waste no time and start pumping our lengths against each other.
The only sounds would be our aggressive kiss and the slick sound of Kento fisting both our lengths together with the aid of our pre.
My hands would dig into his fleshy ships, god the muscle will feel hard like marble but his skin would be soft like a fucking cloud.
He would moan into the sloppy, open mouth kiss and I would devour each and every honey dipped noise that falls out of his pretty little mouth.
My huge dick would be throbbing against his, his own length is an impressive 7 inches mine about 3 inches bigger.
It's not a big difference but my baby Kento is a big boy, I would just be a bit bigger but strong enough to pick him up and fuck him till he can't walk anymore.
Then Kento would lift himself off my hips and align my dick with his already prepped hole, then he would waste no time and slam himself back down on my entire length.
Fuck, his hands would instinctively latch onto my hair for some stability, loud moans and pretty whimpers would fall out of his mouth like a waterfall straight from heaven.
My hard length would twitch in pure bliss, surrounded by his soft, velvety walls, sucking me in and holding me hostage with a vice like grip, no matter how many times we fuck he's still as tight as a fucking virgin.
My tip would be poking and prodding at Kento's prostate dead on causing him to cum just from impaling himself on my dick.
Kento's thighs would flex around mine, his hole would tighten and he would pull my hair back, detaching from my lips just for his jaw to go slack and his toes curl as thick ropes of cum spurt out of his red rip, onto both our chests.
Kento would have a fucked out expression, his brain already fuzzy from cumming just once, his eyes would glaze over with tears, he's always been a cryer during sex, not that I'm complaining fuck I love it when he cries.
Kento doesn't cry about anything, he hates crying, the only time he cries is when he's too fucked out to think straight.
The pride of a cumming, crying Kento would straight to my dick as my grip on his hips tighten, bringing him back to reality.
Kento's vision would start to focus on me and he would see a devious smile, to anyone it would look sweet, loving almost but Kento knows it's anything but.
“Did you just cum?” I would ask in a mocking tone, bucking my hips up suddenly sending shocks of pleasure through Kento's body as more pathetic ropes of cum would spurt out from his still hard dick.
He would moan and try to shake his head, his grip on my hair would loosen and his hands would drop to my shoulders, fat tears would stream down his face as he would attempt to apologize “N–No! Fuc-k ’m s-sorry! Sorry~ AHH ah~ nghh~ s-sorr– ah ah ah– sorry.. ’m sorry~ ngh~”
He would mumble out his thoughtless apology, leaning down and kissing my neck, sucking, licking and biting as an attempt to make up for his transgressions.
I would scoff knowing his apology means nothing and let him keep mouthing at my neck, I would ignore my aching dick, it feels like my dick is gonna melt, it's so good.
I would lean in a pepper Kento's neck with gentle kisses, giving him a false sense that i'm not going to punish him then I would say something reassuring like “It's okay love, you don't have to apologize.”
He would continue sobbing and marking my neck, switching to 'thank you's' instead of 'sorry', his eyes would widen when he feels my smirk against his neck and my hands lifting his hips, slowly pulling out my dick inch by inch making him whine.
I would press my lips just below his ear and whisper “Just be a good husband and take your punishment~.” then without warning slam him back down on my length making both of us moan.
Kento would let out a high pitch moan, his body slumping forward, his head resting against my shoulder, his fingers tangling in my hair as tears streaming down his pretty face, his toes curling as incoherent and broken moans fall out of his mouth as I lift him up and slam him back down on my length over and over again.
I would groan as his hole suck's my entire length in every time I pull out till just the tip and slam him back, his warm, wet gummy walls would fit my entire length perfectly, the perfect cock sleeve and he's all mine.
That very thought would make me go crazy as I tighten my grip on his hips and slam him down once more, my tip prodding his prostrate dead on making his head fall back as his jaw falls slack and a strangled moan tries to escape his lips but no sound comes out. Fucking glorious.
“Fuck– such a good slut- taking all of me without complaining, such a whore, my whore~.” I would groan out, rutting my hips upwards so the tip of my cock massages Kentos prostrate, making his brain completely switch off.
“AH~! FUCK- NGH~ MMMHM~ C-CAN'T~! T-too mUch~! S-So gooood~! Ah~ FUCK- P-please~! Wanna CUM! P-PLEASE GOD! LeMme cUm~! WAnNa cuM~ PLEASE SIR~! F-fill me up~! FUCK PLEASE FILL ME UP~!” Kento would mindlessly whine, desperately pleading for release, his large hands clawing at my back as he rock his hips against mine, trying to push himself over the edge but because I'm a cruel bastard I wouldn't let him cum so easily, especially after he came the first time without permission.
Besides cock sleeves don't get to make requests, even if he did ask nicely.
I would snicker, looking at his flushed, desperate fucked out face, eyes rolling to the back of his head, face flushed dark shades of red, sweat glistening across his beautifully bruised skin, his mouth moving spilling an endless stream of pleas for release.
He would be too fucked out to notice one of my hands leaving his hips, only registering the movement when my big, rough hand takes ahold of his leaking shaft, the calloused feeling of my hand on his rock hard, oversensitive dick would send a jolt of electricity down his spine and his eyes with snap open.
He would have cum right then and there if it weren't for the fact my hand is squeezing the base of his dick, hard, making it impossible to actually cum but that doesn't dampen the sheer shocks of pleasure from racking his brain, causing a pathetic whimper as his dick twitches and he has a brain melting dry orgasm.
“Ah~ fuck! Look at you! You're squeezing my dick so fucking tight! Mhm~ good fucking boy! So desperate to milk my cock dry huh? Fuck~! You want it? You want my seed deep inside you-? Fuck, gonna be my cum dump? Yeah, yeah you're my fucking cum dump~! M’ gonna breed you full~! Gonna let daddy take care of you hmm? Let me fuck my cum so deep in that tight pussy~? Imagine how fucking good you'd look stuffed full of my cum~! Gonna get you fucking pregnant~ Stuff you full and plug you up so none of my cum gets wasted~! Ah~ yes-! Fuck fuck fuck~! So good~ So fucking good for me Kento~! Want me to fill you up~? THEN TAKE IT-!”
I would moan out as his hole spasms around my dick, like he actively trying to milk me for everything I'm worth and who am I to deny my glorious husband's request. I would feel my dick twitching, the white hot coil in my stomach ready to burst.
I would wrap my hands around his waist picking him up so just the tip of my dick is still inside his velvety walls before slamming him back down, shoving my entire length inside his perfect pussy, my dick twitching in pure bliss as ropes of sticky cum paint his insides white, spitting ropes of hot cum so deep inside him.
I would be mercifully and release his dick, pathetic ropes of hot, white and clear cum dripping down his softening dick as a powerful orgasm leaves him completely limp in my lap, my throbbing dick still nestled deep within him.
He would nuzzle his face against my neck, tears streaming down his face, his legs shaking as he wraps his arms around me, trying to ground himself as he babbles out a multitude of 'thank yous', still trying to catch his breath as sweat drips down his body.
I would wrap my hands around his trembling frame, fingers delicately tracing the bruises on his hips, my face also nuzzled against his neck as I place soft kisses against his burning skin, slowly bringing him out of the clouds while whispering how good he was, how perfect he is and how lucky I am to have him.
We would sit like that for a while, my soft dick buried deep inside his abused hole, wrapped in each other's arms, softly muttering praises to each other as we got out breathing under control and came down from our highs.
“You did so well my love, so good for me. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?” I would suggest after we've been sitting there for about half an hour, he would have stopped trembling and gotten comfortable, slumped against me while he cock warms me.
He would tiredly nod, not having any strength to speak and I would put my hands under his thighs, slowly lifting him off my soft cock, he would groan at the feeling of my dick leaving his tight hole, my cum leaking out and dripping down his thighs.
I would get up and pick him up, his legs wrapping around my waist and his hands wrapped around my neck, his head resting on my shoulder as I carried him to the bathroom, still muttering soft praises in his ear.
We would get to the bathroom and I would put him down on the toilet seat, being gentle as I do so because I know hes sore, he would hiss as the cold lid of the toilet seat touches his bare ass but the cold feeling would be welcomed.
I would quickly start filling the tub with warm water, getting some bubbles and rose petals to make it even better because Kento deserves it.
Once the tub is full I would gently pick up Kento and deposit him in the tub, his no doubt exhausted body immediately sinking into the warm water, letting it loosen all his muscles.
I wouldn't smile as I get in behind him, putting both my legs on either side of his waist as he rests his back against my chest, my arms wrapping around his chest as I hold him close, once again muttering small praises into his ear.
Kentos body would go completely limp in the warm water, resting his head back against my shoulder, his eyes closed as he relaxes in my hold and lets me take care of him after fucking his brains out.
After a few minutes of simply soaking in the water and basking in each others presence I would start washing him, then wash his hair and gently finger all my cum out of his puffy hole, making sure not to overstimulate him too much.
Once we're both done bathing I would once again carry him to our room and gently lay him on the bed as I grab out matching pajamas.
Once we're both changed I'd climb into bed with him, our automatic position would be us spooning, me being the big spoon with my arm wrapped around his waist, holding his back flush against my chest as he curls up against me.
“You were such a good boy today Kento, you did so well. You deserve to rest now, Darling. I love you baby, get some sleep.” I would whisper in his ear, my voice filled with genuine love and admiration as I kiss the back of his neck, resulting in a pleased sigh from Kento.
“Mhm, I love you too daddy~ Goodnight.” he would mumble as he yawns, closing his eyes as he drifts off to sleep, his mind having been fucked free of any thoughts then slowly brought back down leaving him completely and utterly satisfied.
We would sleep soundly in each other's arms, knowing only safety and comfort in each other's embrace. I would fall asleep with a smile on my face, knowing I have my soulmate wrapped in my arms.
584 notes · View notes
dilfsfordinner · 10 months
Text
Escarmiento: Part Two- Miguel O’hara x fem!spider reader
a/n- i have no clue how his fangs or venom work, but just pretend like how i wrote it makes sense. also, this is very long but i didn’t want to write three parts :^
warnings- smut, predator/prey dynamics, spanking, edging, degradation, explicit language, size kink, biting, paralytic venom, mean/rough sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, aftercare, soft miggy after he realizes he was an ass
translations at the bottom!
—————————————————————————
Colors flashed in your peripheral as you darted alongside Miles, your arms burning from the amount of swings you had to pull off, just to get some distance between the hundreds of people around you.
Sure, running may not have been the smartest thing to do, but, you did have a plan. It wasn’t the easiest to pull off, and you’d probably end up being berated by Miguel, but Miles was your priority, and your husband was usually a sane man when it came to you. Usually.
As if he wanted to prove your logic wrong, Miguel’s yells rang from behind you, his voice laced with pure anger as you slipped from his grasp a multitude of times. You were both very fast, but he was a monster. It was like trying to escape death, his claws almost catching your suit, the image of his fangs gleaming in your memories.
“Miles!” you yelled to the boy swinging a few feet ahead of you, his body stalling for you to sync with his movements. “We’ll draw them out-” you panted, your surroundings becoming familiar, recognizable to the entrance of headquarters, “-and when they’re gone, get to the machine, and go home.”
Web after web shot at you, red and blue of all kinds clouding your vision as you maneuvered around gloved hands and swinging limbs. “Y/n,” that familiar voice shouted again, trying to pull your attention away from the obstacles in front of you. “Stop running-” you heard Miguel growl under his breath, the ear splitting sound of shredding steel hitting your senses as he literally tore through walls to get to you.
He had never ever scared you before, but with his feral strength directed at you instead of a casual villain, true fear coaxed its way through your veins. You were his prey. That’s the thought that repeatedly flashed in your mind. He was hunting you and there was inevitably, no escape.
Flicking your wrist, your webbing shot to the upper beams above the training area, pulling you through the air, a panicking Miles right at your side. That particular choice was probably not the best decision, a horde of waiting spider people coming into sight as soon as you appeared through the floor.
Interrupting the frozen crowd, two glowing webs broke through the air to pull a very rage filled Miguel up after you, your feet stepping back to scurry in the opposite direction towards the glistening wall of windows. You could feel him right at your heels, his breathing ragged, a whoosh of air hitting your back, the only explanation being his claws trying to swipe at you.
Dropping into a perch-like position, you ducked a particularly harsh swing, Miguel’s body already moving too fast to stop, his large form smashing through a lower window. Miles went right along with him, leaving you to a room of people just itching to please their boss. That was until your foot was pulled from under you, a familiar web wrapped around your ankle pulling your body to the floor and out the shattered window.
You’d never gotten used to free falling, your stomach wound in knots as the air whipped past you, your wrist helplessly flailing to find some kind of structure to attach to. The web stuck to your ankle was tugged, harshly, pulling you down towards none other than your husband.
Miles was lone gone, his own fleet of spiders chasing him down, leaving you to fend for yourself. Shooting your web to a passing car, your body was caught between two forces, Miguel watching as you cried out in pain, a frustrated groan leaving his lips as he cut his web loose, letting you go. You knew that’d make him buckle, see, he didn’t want to hurt you, no, he just wanted to catch you.
Slinging to the flying car, you were glued to the roof, eyes peeled to search for Miles, your sense lighting up at the sound of Miguel hurling himself from car to car to get to you. A yelp left your lips as two sets of web-patterned arms wrapped around you, one set grabbing your legs to pin you, the other holding your midriff, squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your legs helplessly kicked against them, body bucking in their hold to get away until a rough yell resounded. “Leave her,” Miguel shouted, his fangs extending, eyes tracking their hold on you. “Ella es mía.”
Squirming out of their grasp, you swung to the train-like contraption holding the roadway, Miguel’s suit in your peripheral, his form hurtling towards you, leaving no room to escape. You landed first, crawling along the top of the silver train, Miguel’s claws scratching behind, tearing the metal in their wake.
“Miguel, please-” you panted, your eyes wide as they looked down at him, his mask dissolving to reveal crimson eyes and furrowed eyebrows set on you. “He’s just a kid,” you pleaded, your muscles aching with exhaustion as you climbed away from him. A growl left the lips of your lover, his unbeaten endurance still strong, claws pulling him right towards you and your struggling form.
His hand closed around your ankle, pulling you down until his arms caged you, your back was pressed to his broad chest, hands pinned down by his own, preventing you from using your webs. “All you had to do was listen,” he muttered in your ear, a pained gasp leaving your lips as four sharp prongs sank into your neck, his fangs burying themselves into your skin. Warm liquid flowed from them, eliciting a burning sensation throughout your limbs that slowly turned into numbness.
You could still talk and move, albeit barely, most likely because your husband didn’t want you completely paralyzed, but you couldn’t escape his grasp, his strong arms lifting you until you were slung over his shoulder, lax limbs completely subject to his movements.
“Lyla, send everyone after Miles,” his voice was gruff as he swung off the train, you in one arm, his weight carried by a web in the other, “I’ll handle her.”
———
By the time the paralytic venom wore off, you found yourself at the door of your shared bedroom, Miguel grabbing you from his shoulder and pushing you inside, your legs wobbling slightly from the strange sensation. Shutting it suspiciously lightly, Miguel rested his forehead against the cold panels of the door, your weak legs already positioning you at the other end of the room.
“Miguel, I- I was just trying to help..”
His body went taut at your words, his back rigid, muscles shifting as he turned to look at you. You almost cowered at the sight of him, his eyes a deeper red than you’ve ever seen, his lips pulling back to reply, revealing four-sharp teeth still extended.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his pupils dilating into a deep black, almost consuming his whole iris. “All you needed to do was listen to me, and you went and disobeyed a direct order.”
“You’re my husband, not my master..” you muttered under your breath, his breath catching at your little retort, anger lacing his features. “He’s just a kid, Miguel, you’re being too harsh.”
“Harsh..?” He went still at your words, an exasperated laugh leaving his lips as his eyebrows rose. “I’ll show you harsh,” he said under his breath, shoulders squaring to show his full height, long legs making their way to you in easy strides. Your mouth went dry at his words, feet stepping carefully to back away from him, his approaching steps pushing you further and further until your back hit the wall.
“Miguel wait-” your words were cut off as his large hand closed around your wrist, wrenching you towards the bed, your heels digging into the ground. With a battle of limbs, you found yourself atop his knees, your stomach pressing against his strong legs, his fingers gently caressing your bottom. Your hips wiggled, legs struggling to get away at the implication of his hand. “You can’t run now, cariño,” he growled, sharp claws cutting through the fabric of your suit exposing your ass and legs to his preying eyes.
Long fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down to reveal your soft skin, fingers tracing every inch, his touch disappearing for a second before returning in the form of a harsh slap, a yelp leaving your lips at the scorching sensation blooming along your bottom.
His hand continued its assault, your legs shaking in his hold. “Poca pucha, just couldn’t listen could you,” he gritted out, palm smacking and smacking relentlessly until your ass was flaming red, choked cries spewing from your lips as you pleaded for him to stop.
He didn’t listen though, every spank leaving a new mark on your skin, red handprints painting your bottom half as your hands clawed at his ankles. “M-Miguel please! I’m s-sorry,” you squirmed, hips bucking until he landed a particularly rough slap against your skin. “Stay still,” he grunted, hands pushing your hips down as he repeatedly spanked you, tears rolling down your cheeks and onto his lap.
You were hiccuping now, so distressed your cries caught in your throat, your bottom raw and red, so sore it stung, the feeling of fire consuming you with even the smallest touch. His hand relented when he heard you muttering ‘i’m sorry’ like a mantra, the rough pads of his fingers gently massaging your inflamed bottom.
Miguel tutted at your soft cries, rubbing your skin as his other hand spread your legs. “Mírate-” he whispered, fingers dipping to scoop up your liquids, spreading your folds, “puta chorrea.” Without any preparation, he stuffed two fingers into your cunt, a choked gasp leaving your lips as he immediately started to curl his fingers into you, throwing you straight into the grasps of pleasure it was almost painful.
His thick fingers nudged at every pleasurable spot inside of you, your walls sucking him in greedily despite your current distaste of your husband. Every curl and poke elicited a whine from you, your body shivering as it neared climax, cunt pulsing around his fingers as a tell tale sign. Before you could release, Miguel pulled his fingers from you, large hands grabbing your waist to throw you on the bed.
You couldn’t even process the loss of pleasure before he was tearing the rest of your suit off and pushing your back into an impossible arch, your inflamed ass stuck in the air as his hands grabbed onto your hips. “Wait Mig-” all air was pushed out of your lungs as he sheathed himself in you with one thrust, the stretch causing a burn to ignite in your cunt.
His palm never left your back as he thrusted in and out at a brutal pace, soft groans leaving his lips, his strong legs slamming into the back of your thighs. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, your mewls and pleas muffled by the pillow Miguel shoved your face into, his fingers cradling the crown of your head to keep you still.
His cock was so thick and long, you felt it hit an unknown area every time he pushed into you, and without normal foreplay, the stretch was insane. Your walls pulsed with the struggle to take him, the ring of muscles at the entrance of your cunt visible as it wrapped around his shaft to suck him in.
Caught up in pleasure himself, Miguel leaned down to cage you in his arms, chest pressed to your back in a primal, animal-like position, his muscled arms placed on both sides of your head, hips never relenting with their intense thrusts.
“Too harsh, arañita?” he whispered into your ear, his teeth pulling at your earlobe, lips sucking at your neck as you trembled beneath him, your voice too hoarse from crying to respond. Heavy balls slapped against your cunt, Miguel’s thrusts becoming harder as you recognized his own tells of an orgasm. His ab muscles rippled against your back, his claws started to emerge, his breathing turned ragged, and he always kissed somewhere on your body, this time being your shoulder.
Groaning into the nook of your shoulder and neck, Miguel released inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum painting every inch of your cunt, his hips stuttering to push every last drop into you while you tipped over the edge, your climax small and sudden, cunt sucking his juices in as you released your own, clenching around his spent cock.
Catching his breath, Miguel pulled out of you slowly, ears catching the pained whimper you let out, eyes looking down to watch as his white liquid poured from your hole. Your hips slumped and rested against the bed, your face still hidden by the pillow as you caught your breath, exhausted and extremely sore.
It was like he’d been clouded with lust and anger the whole time, because as he looked at your trembling form, the clear feeling of guilt consumed him. As careful as possible, he collected as many soothing ingredients he could find from the bathroom; a cold washcloth, calming lotion, and water all included.
Kneeling on the bed, his hands gently moved to prop your hips up, a choked out ‘no’ leaving your lips, your fear quickly extinguished by his soft, cooed words. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, wiping the washcloth along your irritated folds and your inner thighs, cleaning up any excess liquids. Taking your reddened bottom into his hands, he smoothed and rubbed lotion onto you, the tender skin of your ass slowly becoming soothed by the cool substance.
Kissing up your spine, Miguel stroked your hair, his hand tilting your head to be able to see your face, his heart dropping at the sight of your red eyes, tear stained cheeks, and lack of speaking. “Oh- mi amor..” he murmured, strong arms pulling you onto his chest (careful not to nudge your bottom) as he rubbed your back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips at the feeling.
“I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you,” his voice was filled with regret, leaving a kiss to your head as you hummed your agreement. “I-” he pursed his lips, releasing a sigh as he struggled to say a certain admission, “I may have been a little too harsh on him.”
A breathy laugh resounded against his chest, your hoarse voice a relief to his ears as your tired eyes looked up to meet his own, “you think?”
—————————————————————————
ella es mía- she’s mine
cariño- sweetheart
poca pucha- little cunt
mírate- look at you
puta chorrea- fucking dripping
arañita- little spider
mi amor- my love
2K notes · View notes
ipegchangbin · 1 month
Text
— boypussy!skz.
18+ only. minors do not interact.
sub!skz. dom!reader.
🏷️ boypussies, use of toys (a dildo machine and a cumming toy), breeding kink, oral (cunnilingus), pain kink (pussy biting), squirting.
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— bang chan
chan is no stranger to having his cunt used. he loves it when you rub your skin against him just to tease, or slide toys in his tight and wet hole. considering how pretty his folds look and how huge his oversensitive clit is, it’s easy to get him on edge by just flicking your tongue against it. he especially loves it when you lock your lips around his clit, sucking on the bud, making him squirm and writhe under you.
“t-too good,” he’d whine, attempting to cage your head between his trembling thighs; it’s no use with the way your arms lock his legs down so you could concentrate. chan’s desperation to orgasm washes over him as you lap up at his sweet clit, taking your time to taste his juices in between flicks. the savory taste of his folds paired with the delicious whimpers only spur you on. you could eat him out for hours.
“y-y/n,” he stutters, “i’m close!” and he instinctively tries to push you away from his cunt, but your lips are attached to his aching clit and it feels so good. too good. chan’s head spins even more when you shove your fingers inside him and you clamp his clit in between your lips and tongue. chan creams all over you, embarrassed at how wet and sticky his cum is, but you eat it and show your tongue to his shy face.
“you’re so sensitive, channie.”
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— minho
it’s no surprise that your favorite catboy has one hell of a pussy to play with. there’s something about his that screams addictive to you: maybe it’s the taste of it. he’s particularly sweet, surprising for a boy who creams more than he squirts. it doesn’t help that of all the places on his cunt, his hole is heartwarmingly delicious, as if it was made for your tongue to stick inside. minho loves it when you’re casual with it. any agenda of his to out-brat your other boys is thrown out the window every time you caress his pussy and stick a finger inside his creamy walls.
“so needy for a boy who claims to hate this,” you smirk, “aren’t you such a liar?”
“i’m not,” minho’s voice vibrates, “just stop making it feel good!”
but of course, you don’t stop. you keep going. you dip your head down to his cunt and replace your fingers with your tongue every now and then, sometimes biting his thighs when he dares to close his legs around you. he barely speaks until he’s a squeaking mess, begging and creaming on your fingers in an endless orgasm that just won’t stop.
“don’t pull out,” minho pleads with wide eyes while he shoves your fingers back inside his sticky cunt. “i want to feel full.”
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— changbin
puffy, pretty, and pink. his hole hides cutely behind chubby lips and it’s delightfully sensitive along the sides. he loves being penetrated most, his nerves connecting and jolting best when you stretch his tight hole with yourself. whether it be fingers or a cock, changbin gets shy yet increasingly more greedy with every thrust of anything that enters his cunt.
“am i a good boy?” he asks every now and then. you reassure him with kisses that yes, he’s indeed so good, taking the biggest dildo so well even if it’s pushing his limit. he’s unsurprisingly a size king, which is surprising considering how tight he is. even if the monster cock toy leaves him gaping, his pussy has the magical ability to revert back to being too small for your two fingers right after.
“i want to cum!” he whines over and over, chasing your lips for another kiss while he bounces on the dildo again. he loves workouts but his body is so sore from bouncing. it doesn’t help that, instead of helping him finish, you simply push down on his puffy tummy and let him feel the whole size of the toy inside him.
you ask “is it good?” and he nods speechlessly, only to respond seconds later with a loud whimper. you look down to see his cream leaking down the dildo, coating all of it in his juice. when you finally pull the toy out, changbin whines into your warmth, hiding his pretty pussy as his cum seeps out all the way onto your thighs.
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— hyunjin
hyunjin’s biggest kink is to get creampied, so he did something behind your back. he ordered a cumming dildo, and of course, used it right away. his cunt couldn’t be any more excited — the only thing rivaling how sopping wet he gets is when you’re actually playing with him. hyunjin could settle with this for now, his pussy only dripping more until his panties got soaked as he connected the cum lube to the toy.
from how wet he was, the big toy slid in with ease; he felt like crying as soon as it hit his limit, squishing his insides even if the toy hasn’t filled him up with cum yet. so, as he would do with you, he moved his hips to “please” the dildo and felt the toy all the way inside. his instinct to be bred, one that came along with having a cunt as beautiful as his, overloaded his system as he greedily rode the toy. he definitely minded when you came in the room to help him, though.
“y/n, please, breed me!”
cutely enough, his moans fill the room as you pressed the mole on the side of his pussy. your laughter along with your hands helping his hips down made him leak cum, but he didn’t dare stop. you grabbed the end of the toy and squeezed cum to load out of it, which only urged hyunjin to keep going. the cum filled him up slightly, but not quite — the boy kept bouncing so as to “empty” the cock inside him. that was, until the toy finally emptied, hyunjin’s body spent after five consecutive orgasms. the cum seeped out, flooding out of his beautifully folded lips like a waterfall of delight.
“good boy,” you say, “how about you get the real thing, hmm?”
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— han jisung
his pussy is the freakiest, having tasted it all from your antics: he’s taken vibrators in public and he lost his pussy’s virginity to you. who wouldn’t treat it as cruelly as you do? why not, when jisung tends to leak his wet essence messily each time you play with it, especially since he’s tried so many toys with you?
the one toy jisung hasn’t tried yet was a dildo machine. he can immediately feel the heat pooling in his core at the mere sight of you stroking the dildo, teasing him by previewing the speed controller. his legs instinctively closed and tightened firmly to hide the wetness running down his leg. but jisung blinked twice, and unbelievably instantly, he was suddenly on all fours in front of the machine.
“wait—” he asked, but you didn’t hesitate one bit when you slid the dildo into his cunt.
the machine starts pumping slowly into the boy, stretching him fully and filling him up to his limit before slowly pulling back to leave him empty. then it would thrust back inside again, the squelching of his leaky pussy filling the air alongside his moans and cries. jisung held his ass up high as he melted onto the carpet, drooling and relishing in the picked-up pace.
an orgasm started before he could even prepare, jisung whining loudly not even five minutes into the machine action, before the toy slides out — jisung squirts everywhere without warning, his clear and sweet cum making its way on your thigh even if you were on the couch. that’s how messy he always gets, but he’s never came this fast.
“that’s all? i didn’t buy this for you to cum in three minutes,” you smirk, pushing him back down on the toy.
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— felix
something about a freckled pussy is just too cute to you. you loved kissing felix’s cunt for the sole reason that it was just so adorable. the shape of it, the color of it, even the starry sky of freckles littered around his pussy. there’s a lot to kiss, a lot to love, a lot to destroy.
given the oversensitivity of felix’s nerves down his crotch area, it’s easy to overstimulate him. even something as light and lovely as the pecks you leave on the beauty marks and freckled skin gets him writhing. “but i love your pretty pussy,” you justify, leaving lipstick marks all over his cunt in the process.
feeling your lips on his pussy lips is heaven to him. felix grabs onto the sheets, too scared to pull on your head, jutting his hips upwards so that you could kiss him better. it’s all over when you kiss his clit though, all of his nerves reigniting at once as lightning strikes through his core. he instantly gets wet, essence spilling on your bottom lip and chin in the process.
“s-sorry, didn’t mean to…” he could almost cry from the pleasure and the rising need. he feels you smile, even if your face is hovering over him now and not touching his skin in the slightest. he still feels it without looking — he’s too shy now, burying his face in the pillow to the side.
but you’re not done.
you take two fingers down his slit, teasing his severely wet entrance, but it’s all a distraction. felix waits for you to put it in, let him cum, get it over with. the rare impatience grows within the usually patient boy until he feels pain shoot up.
you bit his clit. and it feels so good that he squirts under you, wiggling under you like a poor little boy.
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— seungmin
what you don’t expect of seungmin is for him to admit that he’s a squirter. he confessed it in a dirty party game once and ever since then, it’s been your life’s mission to see it in action. you knew that he’d always been so incredibly wet every time he came, but he apparently squirts like a fountain personally sculpted by god.
as you slide your fingers through his cunt, his pussy squelches sinfully. it drenches the sheets beneath him, coating everything in a savory essence that can only be described as a natural aphrodisiac. the wet sounds paired with seungmin’s shy whimpers fills you with an aggression you can’t express without a necessary gentleness on his pussy. as poetic as it is literal, even the scent of his cunt is enough to drive you down between his legs, ready to ruin him.
“no, n-no, don’t do that! i’ll squirt—” seungmin chokes on his own words as your fingers hook his sweet spot, clit violated by your tongue and lips. he practically screams as you bite through your lips, jolting everywhere as his body readies itself for a full orgasm. “i-i can’t take it, too much, too much!”
begs and pleas fill the room for you to both stop and keep going, his grip on your head either pushing you away and pulling you in, he doesn’t know either. but before he could even spare a second thought, he jolts his hips up, followed by a powerful stream of wet cum. he soaks you fully, apologizing with his face behind his hands. you open his fists and kiss his cheeks happily, making him smile contently.
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— jeongin
there’s nothing more for him to be confident about than of his freshly shaved pussy. he promised to be a good boy for you on this date night, and in the off-chance that you were going to treat him, then he had to be at his best. now here you both were, making out on the couch, jeongin whimpering because the both of you were still fully clothed after an hour of teasing.
“what’s wrong?” you ask. “i wanna show you my pussy…” jeongin shyly asks, every shroud of prior confidence leaving him as the desperation kicks in. you only chuckle in response, the delightful sound making his clit firm in excitement. but you don’t do anything. it’s a part of your teasing, sure, but he’s been waiting so excruciatingly long for you and it shows through his needy whines.
jeongin finally takes it upon himself to tug at your tie; you pull down at the hem of his pants , revealing his panties, only to shove both down in only two swift moves. it catches jeongin by surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the shock on your face to see his clean pussy.
you love him hairy and you love him clean, you don’t really mind either. jeongin’s still the same, the prettily creamy folds presenting themselves to you along with a hidden slit that can only be described as angelically cute. you finger it immediately, all teasing discarded along with both your clothes, and your haste brings him over the edge. “y/n,” he pants, your name being the only thing on the tip of his tongue as he immediately creams all over your hands.
but date night isn’t quite done yet.
535 notes · View notes
xzaddyzanakinx · 2 months
Text
Romance Novel
Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader Oneshot
18+ MDNI
Warnings: unprotected PiV, oral (female receiving), inappropriate relationships, scent kink? panty kink? Anakin is freaky idk, L-bomb, accidental cumming inside you
Info: Anakin is your stepdad, you’re in college, he LOVES to embarrass/tease you; so of course he can’t miss the opportunity to read your filthy little romance novel!!! Sweet n’ tender, alittle mushy ❤️ low key making fun of myself/fanfic writers just alittle with the book Ani teases you about (hehehhehehe)
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"That's better," Anakin mutters in satisfaction, wrapping an arm around around you as you tucked yourself against his side.
"So, what have you been reading?" He asks, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly.
"Oh, just some romance novel," you mumbled, trying to sound casual. Knowing we would tease you about it.
Anakin chuckled lowly, his deep baritone reverberating through the room. "Aww, a little romance, huh? Do tell me more about these knights and their damsels in distress." He teased, kissing the top of your head.
“Anakin.” You groaned, your face getting pink with embarrassment.
"Those college boys really so bad you had to turn to books?” He chuckled, grabbing the book from the coffee table.
“Jesus… this is raunchy.” He laughed, a glint of something dark in his eyes as he looked over at you. “you like this stuff?”
“I mean… yeah?” You giggled nervously “I’m reading it aren’t I?”
"I knew it," Anakin smirked, setting aside the cigarette in the ashtray and flipping through the pages again. "You're not as innocent as you let on."
“Wow.” He chuckled, a wide grin on his face as he read over a paragraph.
“Maybe I should be your narrator for a minute. Just to see you blush.” He teased, pinching your thigh lightly as he cleared his throat.
“No!” You yelped trying to grab the book from his hands. “Oh my god no, please I’d rather die.”
"Well, I’ll make sure they play your favorite song at your funeral.” He grinned wide and devilish.
Anakin started to read out loud, his deep voice flowing like honey. His hand slowly crept upwards, tracing along your thigh until it reached the hemline of your skirt.
"The hero, strong and muscular, towering over the petite damsel... ohh, she feels his hands caressing her delicate curves..." He said mockingly, his fingers brushed against your waist.
“She closes her eyes, surrendering to his touch..." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, a smarmy expression on his face.
“Really?” You huffed, rolling your eyes and pretending this wasn’t doing anything for you. Nothing at all.
“Gods… this is-“ He cleared his throat, not-so-subtly adjusting himself through his sweatpants.
“He dipped his tongue into her dripping hole, devouring her slicked cunt with lewd slurping noises.” He glanced over at you to gauge your reaction.
“Anakin!” You gasped, covering your face with your hands. You were getting flustered, panties dampening just at the thought of Anakin doing those things to you. It was even worse that he was saying them out loud to you.
“Hmm. Let’s see… gonna skip ahead just a bit.” He hummed, obviously having a wonderful time embarrassing you.
"Ah, yes... the climax," Anakin chuckled, his voice husky as he continued reading. “The hero thrusts his massive cock into her tight, virgin entrance, filling her up to the brim..."
"She cried out in pain and pleasure alike, begging for more..." He paused, his eyes locked onto yours.
You knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing. What he was trying to convey through his beautiful blue eyes. His want. His need for you.
You’d known for a while about his secret obsession. He spoiled you, treated you like a true princess, hell he was more attentive to you than your mom… his wife. Since they married last year, they’ve done nothing but argue. Anakin is so sweet and caring, he deserves better than her. Maybe he deserves you instead.
“Anakin…” You whispered. Your cheeks red as you chewed your lip and squeezed your thighs tightly together to get some pressure on your throbbing clit.
"What is it doll?" He asked softly, reaching over to stroke your hair in a comforting manner.
“I-I just…” You stuttered, flustered and embarrassed by the situation. You’d always found Anakin attractive, just as he did you. But this was not right. You shouldn’t be wet at the thought of your stepdad, it’s wrong…. Right?
“Take your time sweet girl.” He whispered, pulling you closer, wrapping a strong muscular arm around you while he gently rubbed your lower back.
“I want to give you what you want.” He mumbled, his lips pressed against your temple. “But you have to be the one to ask for it.”
You sighed, furrowing your brows in thought as you buried your head into his shoulder.
“Please.” You whispered. “Don’t make me say it.”
He shook his head. Giving you the answer you didn’t want. You knew he needed to hear it from you. To know he wasn’t crazy for thinking this way, to know you felt something too. To have it said aloud.
You lifted your head and looked up at him. Seeing the same hunger in his eyes that you knew were in your own.
“Tell me what you need.” He softly commanded.
“I wanna kiss you… please?” You asked, voice shaking with nervousness.
He leaned in and tilted your chin just enough so that your noses were touching and whispered sweetly, honeyed and smooth. "You want me to kiss you?"
“Yes.” You said without hesitation, causing Anakin let out a puff of air in a breathy laugh.
“I’m proud of you baby… I’ve been waiting so patiently for you to ask.” He mumbled against your lips, making you wait a few seconds more before giving you what you both so desperately wanted.
The kiss was loving. His soft lips smoothed over yours, slotting together as though they were meant to be. Like two magnets that had finally been turned the right way, snapping into place the way nature intended. He wasn’t rushed, not like you were. He groaned and chuckled when you tried to lift your shirt over your head, his strong hands stopping you.
You should’ve felt embarrassed. Being so desperate for your stepfather’s touch, so needy for the man before you. But you weren’t, you couldn’t be. Not when he looked at you like that.
“No, no. I don’t want to rush this." Anakin spoke between breaks in the kiss, his thumbs teasing your bare stomach beneath your shirt, tracing circles around your bellybutton and downwards towards the waistband of your skirt.
He carefully slipped his tongue past your lips, massaging your tongue with his. The taste of him was so… right. Perfectly curated for your liking. Like the fancy wine he bought for you to share sometimes. You couldn’t help but moan in response, thinking of all those times you could’ve done this, thinking how clear it was… your attraction to each other, how foolish you’d both been to ignore it.
You moaned, needy and practically distraught over his lack of touch. “Please, I need more.”
He groaned, pulling you into his lap to straddle his thighs. His calloused hands slipping beneath the soft fabric of your skirt. Grabbing a handful of ass to guide you closer, pressing you against his chest.
“I will give you everything.” He whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he placed sloppy kisses there. “just let me take my time.”
“Mmmhhhmm.” You hummed in agreement, the feeling of his lips against your sensitive flesh was satisfying in a way you’d never felt before. Midas’s touch in the form of a kiss.
“Ani… th-that feels good.” You breathed out, your voice showing how much you really wanted him. If there was one thing you couldn’t control, it was that. The tone of your voice. Try your best and still, Anakin would always know what you really meant, how you really felt.
Anakin smiled, his lips moving downwards along your neck and collarbone, nibbling on the sensitive skin as he went. He wasn’t planning on speeding this up anytime soon, he was going to tenderly torture you by making you wait. Making you earn it.
“Anakin…” You whimpered, hips unintentionally grinding against the bulge in his sweat pants. “giving me goosebumps.”
Humming, his hand sliding beneath your ass and lifting you up slightly before setting you back down on his lap, now directly centered over his hard bulge. His lips traveled lower, kissing and sucking along the slope of your cleavage, stopping just short of the fleshy part you so badly wanted him to squeeze.
"Are you okay, doll?" He asked, his voice husky with desire.
“Yes.” You nodded, rolling your hips against him. It send a strike of lightning through your cunt, exiting your needy body in the form of a desperate whine.
“Please touch me.” You begged, arm around his neck, hand in his hair while your other fisted the hem of his shirt.* “please I can’t take much more.”
"Patience darlin’. I am not doing that out here, you deserve a real bed." He growled, standing up from the couch and pulling you with him. He carried you towards your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.
Once inside, he placed you on the bed, crawling over top of you, pinning you down with his weight. His mouth returned to cradle yours, devouring you hungrily while his hands continued their relentless exploration of your body.
Anakin pulled away from the kiss, sitting up on his knees and pulling you against his chest to suckle on your neck again. Nipping your earlobe gently as he slowly slid his hands beneath your skirt again. His rough palms gliding over the backs of your smooth thighs. His fingers teasing the crease of your ass cheeks at the top of your thigh before following the line of your panties. He gently tugged it down until it pooled around your bent knees. You quickly kicked it off and out of the way.
Carefully he lifted your shirt up and over your head, as though he were unwrapping something delicate and breakable. The wind knocked out of him with the realization you weren’t wearing a bra. You giggled to yourself thinking ‘yeah, could’ve found that out earlier if you just would’ve touched me.’.
But if you were being honest, you preferred it this way. Being able to see his reaction to your body, the unobstructed view of his eyes as they widened. His pupils dilating in love and lust.
"Oh fuck..." His voice cracked as he looked down at your bare breasts, nipples hard and begging for attention. "You are beautiful..."
Anakin's hand cupped one breast, squeezing firmly, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger while the other hand found its way to your waist.
“Ohh Ani.” You gasped at his touch, ‘finally’, you thought, ‘this was worth the wait.’. A fresh gush of arousal leaking out to form a wet spot on your panties.
“Anakin, please you’re torturing me.” You whined, desperate for more, anything more.
"I told you I'd give you everything, baby girl." Anakin purred, his hand moving up to tenderly trace your jaw. “but I’m not going to fuck you.” He whispered kissing you softly to quiet your attempt at protest.
“Shhh, I’m not gonna fuck you.” He pulled back, looking into your eyes with a depth of emotion you’d never seen before. He slowly lowered you back down onto the bed. Ensuring your comfort before kissing you again, licking down your jaw to find your earlobe and suck it between his teeth. He released it slowly, and whispered in a deliciously low rumble.* “I’m gonna make love to you.”
The wave of pure lust and arousal that washed over your body was almost painful in the way that it made every pore of your very being cry out for him. Willing you to beg for more, more, more.
He sucked one nipple into his mouth, resting his upper body weight on your stomach. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was actually kind of comforting? Keeping you grounded when all your mind wanted to do was float up to the clouds.
“Fuck.” You breathed out, his lips moving to give the other nipple the same love and attention.
You mewled, trying to buck your hips and squeeze your hand unoccupied with guiding his head on your breasts, down between you to give yourself some well deserved friction on your clit.
He didn’t stop you, nor did he speak, he just looked up at you from his work on your raw and red nipples with a disapproving expression. Reluctantly you returned the hand to its previous position of tracing invisible lines between his shoulder blades.
“That's a good girl." Anakin praised, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His lips trailed downwards, leaving a trail of fire along your stomach before reaching your panty-covered mound.
He gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed so he could kneel between your thighs. He kissed and nipped his way up your inner thigh, stopping to bury his face into the fabric of your soaked panties, inhaling deeply.
You squirmed, cheeks flushed and chest feeling hot. What was he doing? Your heart raced at the way he brazenly took in your scent, he looked completely unfazed, as though this was a normal thing that every man does. Maybe he thought they did, or should.
“Goddamnit.” He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he rested his forehead at the crease of your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your cunt.
“M’taking these off dollface.” He whispered in a husky tone.
He peeled your damp panties off, bunching them in his hand while his other teasingly dragged his fingers through the curly hairs between your legs. He brought the fabric to his face again and inhaled like he was oxygen starved. His voice rumbled in his throat as he removed his hand from its place of teasing to assist his other in unwadding the panties.
“Smells so goddamn good.” He growled, bringing them back up to his face; making eye contact as he dragged his tongue across the large wet patch on the fabric.
Oh. Oh, okay… so he’s kinky; you whimpered at the realization that he’d somehow gotten even harder just from your scent. You couldn’t help but be incredibly turned on at this unexpected moment. It was filthy, so filthy. But more importantly it was extremely fucking hot.
At devious thought occurred in this moment; ‘has he done this before? He’s done your laundry often… fuck, that would just make it even hotter.’
“Mmmhmm..." Anakin moaned and nodded his head as if to answer your unasked question, his eyes locked on yours as he tossed the panties behind him.
He slowly lowered his head to finally get a proper look at your wet and waiting cunt.
“Oh my poor girl.” He cooed, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at you through hooded lids. “all swollen n’ red baby. I made you wait to long didn’t I?”
“Uh huh.” You nodded frantically. “need you Ani… please.“
You tried to wiggle your hips alittle closer to his mouth but his strong hands held you firmly in place, causing a whine of impatience to fall from your lips.
“Anakin please!” You begged without hesitation, without a second thought at how desperate you must sound. “please, please I can’t stand it anymore. It hurts.”
“Shh it’s alright sweetheart." He said, tracing slow circles around your entrance with his index finger, collecting more of your juices before bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. “I’ll make it all better.”
He paused, his thumb pressed against your swollen, throbbing clit, teasing you mercilessly. "Is this where it hurts baby girl?"
“Gods yes.” You groaned through gritted teeth. Your hand fisting the sheets beside you while the other laced through his thick hair.
At your admission he slowly began to lick and suck your sensitive folds. Each stroke of his tongue sent wave after wave of pleasure to blanket your aching pussy in well earned attention.
His hands gripped your thighs tightly, legs wrapped around him as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving deeper inside with each thrust. His fingers trailed along your collarbone before reaching up to caress your breast again, massaging it roughly while keeping eye contact.
"Perfect… such a pretty little pussy." He groaned, his voice almost broken by the intensity of desire in his tone.
His dirty words lit a fire in your stomach that burned hotter and hotter with each swirl of his tongue. Gently he inserting one long digit into your sopping hole, the vibration from the lustful rumble in his throat traveled straight to the coil wound tightly in your gut.
"That's it baby girl, you’re close already huh?." Anakin encouraged, his breath hot against your needy core.
Each thrust of his finger making your body shake and quiver. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your swollen and overwhelmed clit. The way he spoke, even with his face buried and his words muffled from your wet folds… it was beautiful. He was beautiful. His eyes looking up at you with love and devotion as he showered your most intimate place in pleasure.
“There it is… you can do it baby.” He panted.
He added another finger, spreading you wider apart, stretching gently but firmly. He brought his other hand down to pull and pinch your clit, holding it firmly while he viscously attacked it with his talented tongue and the suction of his plump lips. His two fingers relentlessly massaging the spongy front wall of your cunt.
“Anakin oh my god.” You gasped, white hot lightening shooting through you and practically blinding you with pleasure as your legs quivered, thighs clamping around his head.
“Cum-cumming oh fuck don’t stop!” You cried out his name in ecstasy. He took your pleas to heart, he never faltered in his strokes; only humming and moaning along with you as he greedily drank down every drop of your juices.
Anakin kept sucking and licking, his tongue tracing every inch of your sensitive folds until he felt you start to calm down. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your aching core, leaving you drenched and panting.
"That was beautiful, doll." He praised, wiping his face with the back of his hand before standing up to gaze down at you with a satisfied smirk. “You’re just a fucking Angel aren’t you?"
Without further ado, he pushed his pants and boxers down, freeing his thick, hardened member. It throbbed and leaked a bead of precum, glistening in the dim starlight that illuminated the room.
He helped you get settled back into the center of the bed, positioning himself over you, one hand caressing your red cheeks with his still wet and sticky fingers. Going behind the trail he’d left to lick it away, pulling back to make eye contact while he sucked his digits clean.
“Damn… th-that’s hot.” You whispered, eyes widened as you watched him throughly clean every trace of creamy juices from his fingers.
“You taste so fucking good." Anakin growled, his hand moving down to cup your breast again, squeezing and massaging it roughly while his thumb circled your nipple.
With his weight propped up on one forearm he leaned forward to capture your lips in a slow and loving embrace, his tongue tracing the seam, begging be let in.
You moaned, dropping your jaw slightly to allow him to explore the depths of your mouth as he pleased.
Breaking the kiss Anakin looked down at you, cupping your cheek in his hand. A look of something foreign and familiar in his icy blues. He looked like he wanted to say something, his plump lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them. He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his forehead to yours, rubbing his nose against yours in that odd affectionate way that he often did. When he pulled back, the look was still there, just dimmer, calmer.
“Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped as you deserve to be.” He pleaded, positioning himself between your spread legs. Slowly, he lowered himself onto you, his thick cockhead pressing against your sensitive entrance.
"Tell me when you're ready, baby girl." He panted, his hips rocking back and forth teasingly, rubbing the head of his cock against your tight opening. Gathering your mixture of slick and his saliva to lube his cock. “I’ll be so gentle, I’ll make sure you feel good baby. This is all about you.”
“I’m ready.” You whispered, looking at him as his free hand soothed you with gentle caresses on your waist, over your navel and back again.
Anakin groaned, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pushed inside, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Each bit of his girthy cockhead sliding deeper into your tight, stretched passage.
You moaned, arching upwards towards him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving small crescent marks in his skin.
He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the intrusion before resuming his pace. Each thrust was slower than the last, each one deeper, stretching you wider and wider until he finally bottomed out, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm.
"Relax sweetheart. Daddy’s got you." He groaned, his breath hot against your ear, teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe.
The growl in his voice, the gritty undertone of the one little word made you clench tightly around his cock, alittle ashamed at loving the way he called himself that. You’d been so caught up drowning in pleasure, you had practically forgotten Anakin was your stepfather, forgotten how wrong this was, forgotten that he wasn’t yours. The reminder almost brought you to tears, or maybe it was the way he circled his hips to hit every ridge and crevice in the depths of your pussy. Maybe it was the way he held you closely as he rocked into you, both his arms tucked underneath you, one hand cradling your head, the other had a firm grip on your ass.
Or perhaps it was the way he praised you, complimented you, put you up on a golden dais. When he said he wanted to worship you, he truly meant it. Every inch of your body felt surrounded by him, like you were fully blanketed in his tender attention.
His hand left your ass to grip your leg tightly, pushing it back and up to your side; anchoring himself as he buried his cock deeper inside with each thrust. Every time he pulled out, he trailed his cockhead along your sensitive folds, before plunging back in again, hitting your G-spot perfectly.
"You’re so fucking tight, baby girl." He groaned, his voice low and husky. "Oh goddamn, I'm close..."
The sensuality of it, the sloshing sound your unbelievably wet cunt was making each and every time he moved, the fact that I could feel your own arousal dripping down your legs, it was overwhelming.
You were so focused on everything you were feeling that you only registered Anakin’s next words after you heard him let out a reedy whimper.
“Fucking hell. You’re killing me here doll.” He groaned. “squeezing me s’tight, being so fucking loud.”
Loud? You were being loud? Oh shit… you were being loud.
“Moaning like a fucking pornstar.” He mumbled, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration.
You flew back to the present moment, suddenly aware of everything ten times more intensely. A roar of white noise deafened you as your eyes rolled back in your head. Your throat constricting as you let out an unholy scream of pure heaven-sent pleasure. Your legs shaking, hands finding purchase behind your head in the form of gripping the headboard.
You called out Anakin’s name over and over again as though it was the only word you knew, your orgasm flooded you in ecstasy coating his cock and thighs in squirt, soaking the bed beneath you.
Anakin groaned, his own orgasm threatening to crash over him like a tidal wave. His grip on your leg tightened to the point of bruising as he pounded into you harder, faster, fucking you so senseless that you were as limp as a rag doll in his arms, whining and moaning, tears of pleasure and overstimulation trickling down your cheeks.
He growled low in his throat, his voice hoarse with need. "Oh fuck... Oh goddamn..."
Anakin groaned, leaning back to watch his cock disappear into your well-fucked hole. His bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
“Shhh-shit shit fuck oh…” His hips stuttered and you swear you saw goosebumps flare up on his arms as he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a low whine.
“Damnit, oh shit.” His breath hitched as he came, as though it took him by surprise. He quickly pulled out, watching his cock twitch as it prepared to shoot another load of sticky white cum. He lightly laughed at himself and looked down at you before pushing back in deeply, his cockhead brushing your cervix as he emptied the rest of his seed into you. “Fuck it I guess. Too late now.” He panted.
The feeling of him emptying himself inside you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was hot, sticky, and somehow right. He remained buried deep, his breath steadying slowly, and his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"That was... damn." He finally managed to pull out of you slowly, his cock still half-hard, drenched in your shared fluids.
“Ani.” You moaned softly, chasing after him as he flopped over onto his back. You crawled over and tucked yourself against his side, playing with the coarse hairs beneath his navel.
"Mmm... you okay baby girl?" Anakin asked, reaching over to run a finger down your back, tracing the line of sweat that had accumulated during your lovemaking.
"Uh huh." You murmured, snuggling closer to him, your hand moving up to trace circles on his chest. You felt oddly content in this position, nestled against him, bodies still joined together by the thin layer of sweat and cum.
"Good." He muttered, placing a gentle kiss on top of my head. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. "How about we go shower? And I’ll change the sheets if you’ll go get me my cigarettes from the living room.”
“Deal.” You sighed contendedly. Standing up on wobbly legs, shooting Anakin a glare when he laughed at your expense; grabbing your ass to ‘help’ steady you.
"My poor little princess." Anakin chuckled, watching you stumble toward the bathroom door. "I don't think you'll be able to walk straight for hours."
Once in the bathroom, he turned on the water and waited patiently for it to heat up before joining you under the showerhead.
"Use my soap," he instructed, passing you a bar of something resembling cedar. "I want you to smell like me." He added as he nipped your shoulder.
You giggled and did as you were told, letting him wash your hair while you rinsed the soap from your body.
After stepping out of the shower he wrapped you in a towel as well as himself. Then ushered you to the sink so he could brush the tangles from your hair, he did this often, but now it felt different, more intimate… special.
He patted your ass with the back of the hair brush to send you off to get his cigarettes while he made the bed with clean sheets.
You happily went about the task and brought the cigarettes as well as a cup of ice water. By the time you returned Anakin was straightening out the blankets.
"Thanks, doll." Anakin accepted the items with a nod and smile, handing you a clean pair of panties as he slipped into some fresh boxers. Once dressed, he motioned for you to lie down, while he walked over to plop himself in your beanbag chair.
“What’re you doing all the way over there?” You complained.
“Shhh.” He chuckled. “I’m not smoking in the bed. It’ll make the sheets reek.“
“Fine.” You huffed. Letting your arm hang over the side of the bed as you looked over at him, watching the smoke curl around his head.
“You’re staring sweetheart.” He chuckled.
“Mhm. I know.” You nodded. “just… like to look at you.”
Anakin took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifted toward you. His eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite identify, possibly contentment mixed with a hint of something else.
"You're beautiful. Always." He murmured, taking another drag before setting aside the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and putting out his cigarette in an empty water bottle on your nightstand. “I love to look at you too.”
You blushed, smiling as he crawled in beside you to pull you into a crushing embrace. Slowly releasing you to tilt up your chin for a slow and tender kiss.
“Is it… okay if I sleep in here with you?” He asked. Tracing your lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “I’d like that.”
"Good girl." Anakin smiled, rolling onto his side to spoon you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he placed a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.
His hand drew patterns on your stomach, occasionally traveling up between the valley of your breasts.
His voice was low, almost inaudible as he spoke. “This- it feels right. Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah… it does.” You agreed, in the same tentative tone. You weren’t sure where he was going with this conversation but you were hopeful that maybe it meant this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Maybe it meant he could be yours… maybe.
Anakin’s hand moved lower, tracing slow circles along your panty line before settling on your hip bone. His thumb massaged in a lazy circle, mirroring the rhythm of his breathing.
"This is probably a bad idea." He muttered, voice thick with emotion. “what I’m about to say.”
"But I can't fucking stop thinking about you. Everything about you... your smile, your laugh, the excited little clap you do when you’re happy.” He whispered.
“I would do anything to make sure you’re always that happy, that’s why I spoil you the way I do. You’re… you’re the most important person in this world to me.”
“Now that I’ve had you… your smell, your taste, how it feels to hold you. To kiss you.” You couldn’t see his face but knew he was on the verge of tears by the way his voice cracked.
“I don’t know what to do. I-you’re… you are everything I want.” He cleared his throat.
“I think…” He breathed deeply. “I think I’ve loved you in ways that I shouldn’t for a long time now.”
“You love me?” You asked quietly, heart leaping from its cage and clawing up your throat.
Anakin didn’t respond immediately, leaving you both in a suffocating silence. You felt his heart racing faster against your back, matching the beat of your own.
"Yes." He finally managed to whisper, voice breaking. "I love you, doll. Always have." His hand squeezed yours tightly, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm.
“I want more.” He choked out. “and I know I shouldn’t.”
Anakin remained silent, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he processed his own confession.
"I don't fucking care." He finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "I want you, I've wanted you for years. And now that we're here... I can't stand the thought of not having you."
“Please say something.” He whispered, his forehead resting on the nape of my neck.
You let out a shaky breath, feeling your eyes welling up with tears of joy and relief. "I love you too, Anakin."
“I- um… I don’t-“ You stammered, turning over to look at him with tear stained cheeks. “I don’t want to be without you. I love you. I want to be yours. I want- I mean… Anakin I…”
He quickly scooped you into his arms to hold you tightly, cradling your head as you cried.
“Shhh. It’s alright doll.” He said, stifling his own emotions. “it’s okay. I will figure this out for us okay? I will.”
You sniffled. “Promise?”
"Promise." Anakin parroted back.
He held you tightly, rocking you both until you calmed down, and eventually, exhaustion caught up to you . You drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, feeling safer than you had ever felt before.
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Lord Vader have mercy on my soul for the smut about to be unleashed on my page. This is a sweet little mushy thing… but my notes app is plagued with raunchy things that probably should’ve never left my brain.
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pedge-page · 30 days
Note
Hellooo - please tell me you have plans for late-stage pregnant!reader and himbo!joel, and breastfeeding himbo!joel once the baby arrives 🥺🥺❤️
Mine is Mine
Himbo!Sub!Joel Miller x F!Reader
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Notes: I went somewhere with this and then made a 180 at the end--hope you like!
Warnings: himbo! Joel, sub!Joel, pregnant reader, breastfeeding, lactation kink, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dry footjob, Mommy kink, brief puppy talk, crying during sex, cowgirl/riding, Joel pulls a uno reverse on you and gets a bit aggressive at the end which may be triggering for some, sign of obsession turning toxic and negligent behavior
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Joel gets so visibly excited watching your belly grow day by day.
Sometimes, however, when his little brain can’t communicate well, it gets the best of him.
You’re atop him, riding his cock casually. You lean back, the ache in your lower back a little more tolerable in this position, with your arms straight and hands gripping his bent knees. the bed creaks with each roll of your hips. Joel has the glorious sight of your rounded tummy on display, moving up and down with you. He touches it, palm splayed out, amazed at how big you’ve grown. 
But this position—he hates it. You don’t notice the whimpers in his throat until you’re catching a glean of a tear in his eye.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” You ask, concerned laced in your motherly voice. You sit up but can’t get much closer to hold his face with your baby in the way.
He shakes his head. 
“Why are you crying?”
He grumbles, biting his lips. Your movement stilled, clenching around his cock expectedly as he stumbles over his words.
“I—I can’t kiss you like this. I hate it.”
He usually takes you in missionary, mostly so you can pet his hair and he can hump you pathetically, but with the bump now growing by the day, it's not as comfortable for him to lie on top of you. There came a point where there was no longer a position the two of you could be in to be able to hold each other close. It was how Joel always liked it, pressed tight against you, feeling each other’s breath and tongues and lips. Close, almost inseparable. This might be the one thing he regrets about getting you knocked up.
You can’t help but feel sorry. “I know. I know. It’s soooo hard for you, isn’t it?” You say, rolling your hips up and the sinking back down on him slowly. 
He hisses. There’s probably some bell in his brain that detects the double entente, but he doesn’t show it.
You sit up a bit more on your knees, and make him take both hands in yours. “Like this, okay? That way you can hold me.” With your hands locked, you started rocking against him again. Smooth, gentle movements that has him twitching underneath you.
His eyes don’t know whether to lock on to yours, your tummy pressing against his, or the space below that he can feel your wetness coating his member. All he knows is clenching hard with his fingers laced into yours, and your beautiful encouraging smile as you ride him eases the desire  inside him.
“Better?”
“Better, Mommy…” he moans, a little more breathless. There’s a twinge of a smile at the end, gasping as he feels pleasure bloom in his tummy once again.
He’s a passionate lover, for sure.
But as the months get closer to due date, no matter how shitty of a day you’re having, or clearly short tempered with him and your hormones, or snapping at him for being too clingy when you’re sweating your ass off, he’s never not happy. It’s like trying to train a puppy when he’s doing something wrong, but doesn’t recognize the change in tone quite yet.
So finally one day while you’re struggling to cook your famous roast and everything in the kitchen is going wrong, having Joel up your heel trying to touch your 8 month heavy belly sets you off.
“Joel I swear get the FUCK off!” You snap. 
He backs away solemnly, a mixture of shock and pain shatters his entire demeanor.
You don’t notice, don’t care, trying to fan your shirt from the sweat dripping down your shirt. You can finally breathe without his big hand being a furnace on your belly button and caging all the heat along your back.
You throw the entire dish away after burning it and decide to order Pizza. The two of you sit in silence, and it takes you a moment to realize why it feels off with him.
You had never yelled at him like that. You were kind mommy, nurturing mommy, loving mommy.
When did you become such a bitch to your pup?
“Joel. Come here.”
He quietly gets off his seat and kneels beside you, between your open legs. His face casts downward, apologetic.
You cup his cheeks and bring him to rest against your belly. He sighs, pressing in closer, his cock stirring at the feel of you on him again, so warm and gentle, nurturing.
Nurturing him, nurturing the baby he put in your belly right now.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you, baby.”
“S’okay.”
“You like being around Mommy a lot huh?”
He nods, his scruff rubbing against your shirt.
“It’s okay. You should be allowed around your Momma and baby whenever you want.”
He perks up. “Really?”
“Yes. You did such a great job. Look at what you did to me,” you hum, holding his hands and bringing them over your tummy and breasts. “I’m all swollen ready to have a baby for you.”
You can feel the way he’s vibrating a bit, so overly joyed but unable to contain himself. His hands roughly grasp your tits, now twice the size they were when you two started your breeding sessions, and his soft lips ghost over the rounded protrusion in your middle, planting soft kisses as he rides your shirt up over your head.
You want to laugh at him when he starts rocking his hard-on against your leg.
“Are you excited for something?” You ask curiously.
He nods. “I want to drink your milk.”
“It’s not ready yet.” 
He casts down again sadly. 
“But you can practice,” you tease, lifting him up so that his jaw is level with your ribcage.
He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his sinful tongue around your nipple and swirling it over to harden in his mouth. “Gentle. Nice, that’s it, puppy. Doing so good. Gonna drink up all my milk when it’s ready, right?”
He groans fervishly. His thighs parting wider of their own accord, to rock into the air as he focuses on the feel of your heavy breast, trying widen his jaw and take in as much fat as possible. You grant him mercy and start rubbing his clothed bulge with your bare foot.
A rumbling whimper purrs in his chest, panting hard. Only a few minutes have passed and he’s already cumming in his pants, staining the denim and getting your foot all sticky with his mess as he swallows around your boob, desperate for the day he’s going to taste heaven.
A few months later and your sweet baby girl is born safe and healthy.
He watches with fascination in the hospital as you try skin to skin with your baby. The poor thing is fussy, unwilling to latch on your breast. You can see Joel’s agitation, and despite the intense labor you went through, you want to ease his mind.
“It’s okay Joel, she’ll feed soon. She’s got a lot of new things to get used to. We’ll get there.”
“That’s not why I’m … figitin’…” 
He’s really bad with words.
You look down at your uncovered chest, a droplet of milk pebbled at your nip while your baby falls asleep without taking the bait.
Oh.
So when you finally go home, get the baby settled, unpack, shower, and are looking forward to lying in bed while your entire fucking uterus and above and below heals, Joel’s “helping” to take the long awaited ache in your chest comes at a benefit to you.
He curls up next to you, careful not to put any weight on your body as you prop yourself up with a few pillows. He’s quiet, yet his eyes scream a primal need. He haphazardly tosses your shirt away and gawks at your massive breasts. They were ripe, full and needing drained and since your baby wasn’t in the mood to try it tonight…
You rub over the darkened part, perking up your nipples until they were longer and hardened. A single pearl of white beaded along the tip.
You feel a drip of drool pool onto your belly as he stares open mouthed and wide eyed at the sight. Just like a dog, you muse in your mind.
He doesn’t wait for your permission before swallowing as much of your breast whole. A harsh breath escapes his nose when that first trickle of your milk lands on his tongue. He hollows his cheeks and begins sucking, a little too hard, greedily nurturing your sweetness.
His back is shaking from the pent up wait. You coo over his shoulders, “shhhhh, it’s okay. Mommy’s here,” stroking him until his nerves calm. He patters little painful breaths, like he’s trying to force himself to remember to breathe between gulps. His lashes tickle along your chest.
“You’re doing so good, honey. It’s all yours. Take your time. All your reward for breeding me so good, giving me such a beautiful baby.”
His eyes are fixed ahead into your skin. There’s no thoughts behind them, his instinct completely making his brain go lax now that he feeding properly, slipping into a hypnotized, relaxed state of comfort he hasn’t been in since…literally since he was a baby himself.
You almost start to fall asleep were it not for the sudden pitchy scream of your newborn.
Joel holds you still, almost painfully, refusing to let you go anywhere. You had nearly forgotten even in his docile mindset he's still so much stronger than you, especially when he's getting what he wants.
“Joel—that’s enough. The baby—“
You almost screech when his teeth sink into your flesh before pulling off and leaving a crescent mark.
“You said it was mine—so it can fucking wait for me to finish,” he  growls angrily, eyes ablaze in fury that you would make him detach from your tit to have to answer you.
You shiver, eyes wide at the sight of a very unfamiliar Joel, who tightens his jaw and sets his mouth back on your breast again in a clear end of your conversation.
- - - -
more Sub!Himbo!Joel fics:
Safe and Closer
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473 notes · View notes
kithtaehyung · 10 months
Text
busted (3tan) (m) | myg
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title: busted  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍  drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est  word count: 18.8k gdi
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-
Here goes nothing and everything.
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It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher. 
A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car. 
Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time. 
Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else. 
In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root. 
Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him. 
But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive. 
And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.
There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.
However. 
What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household. 
A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.
They change with or without you. 
And they pass by.
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“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.
But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”
When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”
“Okay.”
When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money. 
All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.
Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.
But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.
During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.
You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways. 
Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.
And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.
Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.
But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?
Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now. 
A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,
“You okay?”
Fuck. 
Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.
And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.
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When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer. 
Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers. 
The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”
Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.
Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.” 
“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”
If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.
But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.” 
“You sure?”
“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”
He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”
It’s weird to say it. 
But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”
“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”
“Oh, god.”
“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”
Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview. 
“Who are you seeing?” 
“Kook…” 
“I wanna know.” 
“Why?”
He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back. 
And your heart pangs at how big his back has become. 
Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down. 
“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.” 
“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”
And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret. 
Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon. 
Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees. 
“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.” 
The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets. 
All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him. 
“You did.”
Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.
Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.
Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?
With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all. 
And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you. 
Because they are still the same.
You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side. 
“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…” 
You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide. 
But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back. 
He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears. 
“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.” 
“I know.”
“Do you really?” 
He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk. 
And you’re going to.
“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.” 
His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch. 
You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.
“Is it true that you even loved me?”
“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.” 
Did.
“I still do.”
Liar.
“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?” 
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—” 
When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it. 
“I’ve regretted it every day since.” 
“Bullshit.” 
“I have!”
“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?” 
“No, I—”
“All those calls you never made.” 
“I wanted to call!”
“You wanted nothing to do with me!”
“No! That’s not true—”
“Liar!”
He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to. 
“I’m not lying!”
“You are!”
You thought it would feel better seeing him cry. 
But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this. 
Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—
There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,
“What the hell’s going on in there!”
Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling? 
…Were you both that loud?
“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“You better be serious—”
“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.” 
“…Okay.”
And then it’s completely silent.
But you know he hasn’t left. 
Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight. 
Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off, 
“Dude, I said I’m—”
Oh, fuck.
Yoongi’s right there with him.
And your heart fucking lurches.
Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—
“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”
“Wait, it’s not like th—”
“You come into our house after years—”
“Stop!”
“And pull some shit like this?”
Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”
You and your brother have a thousand differences. 
But one thing you two have in common? 
He’s just as stubborn as you are. 
A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.
“I’m not—”
“Hey—!”
“The fuck—”
“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.
Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you. 
Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them. 
Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”
Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows, 
“Why should I.”
“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately. 
Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.
No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.
It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”
“…So it’s like that?”
Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”
To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout, 
“The fuck it isn’t—” 
“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 
You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior. 
Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops. 
You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done. 
You hope your brother understands that you’re tired. 
And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished. 
When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.
“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.
But they don’t have to do anything. 
Except let you do this yourself. 
“Please.” 
After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again. 
But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,
“Trust me.”
Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts. 
When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence. 
While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times. 
However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.
What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.
It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.
But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay. 
“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers. 
And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.” 
“Yoongi was a surprise.”
Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”
Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.
“Right.”
…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all? 
“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.” 
“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.” 
Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years. 
Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were. 
Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken, 
“You loved me?”
“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”
“What?”
Fuck. 
It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop. 
As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways. 
So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years. 
In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend. 
“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.” 
Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.
When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.
And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost. 
When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”
He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.” 
For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”
“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.” 
“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?” 
When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.” 
“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.” 
He laughs again. So do you. 
And the both of you break all at once. 
He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world. 
While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder. 
You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end. 
But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future. 
“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”
“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.
And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.
Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.
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When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours. 
But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave. 
What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away. 
But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”
Still, Jungkook moves in. 
Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.
What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness. 
You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”
“I promise.” 
“Only alright? I have a chance then.”
“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”
His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”
Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.” 
He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.” 
“I’ll be okay.” 
After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.
Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.
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You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present. 
But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.
And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.
She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.
While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of. 
Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”
Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”
“He said he still loves me.”
Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”
“Dom…”
“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”
“He said it was a mistake.” 
“It sure as fuck was.” 
“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…” 
“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.” 
“I know.”
“Now.”
You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”
“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.” 
In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things, 
“What do I have now.”
As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”
Huh?
Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”
What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on— 
“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”
“K.”
Wait, what.
You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face. 
His name is molasses on your tongue.
What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer? 
He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets. 
“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.
Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need. 
Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.
When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?” 
Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not. 
“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”
“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”
“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 
Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 
“But it’s true.” 
His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,
“Makes me wanna take you home.” 
Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for. 
Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it. 
But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape. 
Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.” 
“Take you home?” 
“Mmhmm.” 
Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 
If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide. 
If you didn’t have to wait. 
At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out. 
But why does he seem so—
You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like. 
And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.
“Listen.”
“Hmm?”
“I know we said we’d say something.”
Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”
“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”
Huh.
What does he mean by—
“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”
You freeze. 
So does time. 
A minute is no longer enough.
“Yoongi, please—”
“Can you do that?”
Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.
Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait. 
There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless. 
And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.
Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?
“Babe?”
But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs. 
Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.
And yet he found a way to be with you one last time. 
Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye. 
So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try. 
You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.
If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.
Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.
“Doll, let me know because—”
“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”
He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,
“Anything for you.”
That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.
“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.
And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 
You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.
But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it. 
Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will. 
And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.
If people are like seasons… 
Which one will Yoongi be?
Fuck.
Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust. 
And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.
“Yoongi, I—”
You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth. 
“I know.”
His name rattles around your mouth.
“It’ll be okay.”
You wanna believe him.
“Okay?”
But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him. 
“Fuck.” 
He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.
It’s not fair.
None of this is fucking fair. 
If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now. 
It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.
And now you’ll be farther apart than stars. 
Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you. 
“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.
Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.
Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest. 
Because you know him well enough.
He was committing your every feature to memory. 
And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.
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The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.
And you hear them all through your door.
Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.
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Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey
Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?
You [1:40am]: yeah
Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up
You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees. 
When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.
Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too
That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.
You🙄 [1:46am]: ok
Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍
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Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.
A plate. A bowl after that. 
Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.
You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.
And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.
“Hey.”
You hum.
“Do I need to beat his ass?”
Well, that didn’t take long. 
Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”
“And I’d deserve it.” 
You pause.
“But I still wanna know.” 
Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.” 
“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”
Your lip stings under your teeth.
“And I can’t just let that go.”
When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.” 
He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.
And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves. 
As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing. 
All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides. 
But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly. 
You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.
But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes. 
“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.” 
“...Why didn’t you tell me.”
Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”
Silence. 
“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I always worry.” 
“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”
Shit, that was close. 
“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.” 
“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.” 
And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got. 
He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore. 
But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.
An apology.
“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.” 
Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years? 
This can’t be it. 
Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.” 
“I know. But I’ll try to be better.” 
He’s gonna what? “Why?”
“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.” 
“…Oh.”
You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.
And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it. 
What the hell happened after he left your room?
Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?” 
Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone. 
But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.” 
“Until they realized we kept going alone.” 
A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.” 
He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.” 
“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things. 
A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.” 
“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.” 
True. “It could be worse, I think.” 
“How?” 
You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges. 
Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade? 
Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence. 
Together. 
“They could’ve left us somewhere else.” 
“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.” 
Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”
And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.” 
“Oh, really.”
“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”
Wait, he did what now?
…You didn’t know that. 
“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”
“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”
The pause he makes weighs a ton. 
“And leave this to us when you came back.” 
So… He… 
Holy shit. 
You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out. 
But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible? 
…Is he paying loans? 
“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.
He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”
“So were you.”
Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t. 
“It’s whatever.”
He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to. 
And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways. 
So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is. 
And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too. 
Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend? 
Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.” 
“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.” 
“What.”
“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.” 
“I like it here, though.”
“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...” 
“Empty?” 
“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.” 
You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.” 
And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.
Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else. 
But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things. 
And regret others. 
A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?” 
“All the time.” 
“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.” 
“Hmm.” 
You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.” 
And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.” 
You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were. 
Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.
He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least. 
So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.
“For what I did. I was outta line.”
“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”
“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.” 
Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.
It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back. 
But that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Love you, too.”
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An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.  
…Calling should be okay, right?
Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you... 
Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.
Yoongi: Outgoing Call
It’s ringing.
Still ringing.
…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.
Fuck. 
Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.
And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can. 
This hollow, aching, painful feeli—
Yoongi: Incoming Call
Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.
“H—”
“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”
His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”
Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”
“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”
Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”
You hear a low grunt before he responds. 
“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.” 
Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?” 
“It’s not that bad. Just stings.” 
“Okay.”  
There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through. 
“Spoke to Kook.” 
Shit.
“And the guys.”
Oh. About work. “What’s up?”
“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.” 
Ah. No finish line in sight.
But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.
“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.” 
“When you get it.”
You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”
“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”
“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”
“See? Claiming shit already.”
You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.” 
“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”
“Yoongi.”
“Fine.”
“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”
“Just work stuff.”
“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate. 
Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”
“What.”
Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.” 
“…I see.”
Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”
“Huh? Don’t be.”
“You sound mad.”
There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,
“Not at you, doll.”
Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”
“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”
You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper. 
“Mm.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.” 
There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.
“I was there first, doll.” 
He what?
“Wait… You were?” 
He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke. 
Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway. 
Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.
“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.” 
“So… You both heard—”
“Nothing until the yelling.” 
They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him? 
Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams. 
Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—
Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling. 
Run.
“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.” 
“You okay?”
Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”
“Wait—” 
“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”
“Babe, talk to—”
“Bye, Yoongi.”
And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.
He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most. 
Yoongi: Missed Call
All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you. 
And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself. 
But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before. 
And you’ve been through hell.
Yoongi: Missed Call (2)
Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?
Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?
Yoongi: Incoming Call
With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort. 
And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.
“Knew you’d answer on the first try.” 
Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.  
“You didn’t let me say bye.”
When you don’t respond, he trudges on.
“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”
Huh? 
“And no hanging up this time.”
What the heck does he… mean… 
As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note. 
Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.
A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.
And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.
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For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s. 
And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.
It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened. 
Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked. 
But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen. 
And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you. 
Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts. 
As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place. 
Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—
“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?” 
Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen. 
Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat. 
“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.
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“How’s Jimin?”
“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”
You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.
“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.” 
“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?” 
When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.
“How long has it been?”
Ah. That’s a good start. 
As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,
“A month.”
“...Damn.” 
Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game. 
“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?” 
That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.” 
“That’s good, at least.”
As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat. 
Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.
And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.
It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.
“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.” 
If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.” 
“What do you mean?” 
Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.” 
That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?” 
A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.” 
“Mm.” 
That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants. 
Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public. 
“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.” 
Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.
Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes. 
But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?” 
He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?” 
Huh. “Me? How?” 
Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.” 
All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer. 
“Not even denying it. I like this.” 
“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again. 
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The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start. 
“Break? Or what do you feel like?” 
You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.” 
“Mmk.” 
Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.
Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week
Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but
Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know
Right.
You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.
“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.” 
“You can definitely be upset.” 
You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all. 
Only warmth. And understanding. 
“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.” 
There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time. 
Him? Being more upset than you?
You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way. 
But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause. 
It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.
Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…
Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present, 
“What are you gonna say?” 
Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again. 
If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot. 
You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 
You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 
When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders. 
They’re lighter. 
How is that possible? You’re still sad. 
But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing. 
Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out. 
Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.
You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again. 
The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.
Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says. 
Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you
And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this. 
You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later
Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob. 
Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll
But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle. 
Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.
The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.
But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.
Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close. 
The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone. 
“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers. 
And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours. 
“You will.” 
Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.” 
His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.
“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.” 
“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.” 
“Oh? The luckiest then.” 
“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.” 
With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food. 
“Maybe you’re right.” 
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One week turns into three. 
Then two more pass.
And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought. 
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“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay.”
“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”
“So?”
“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”
“You got a heating pad?”
A what? How does he know about— 
Oh. Right. 
…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of. 
“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”
He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,
“Go get it, doll.”
Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision. 
Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”
“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”
“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”
Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes. 
“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 
Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons. 
“Okay.”
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To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day. 
Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.
And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.
Soon.
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Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.
Both can give people a bit of hope. 
But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.
Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good. 
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“Going to Yoongi’s.”
“K.”
“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”
You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”
“K. Have fun!”
When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.
Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere. 
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On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.
When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.
It’s perfect.
And completely useless for the time being.
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Calls have been the one thing getting you by.
But over time, even those have virtually stopped.
It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up. 
Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too. 
However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded. 
Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.
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You accidentally spill your drink.
And you sob. 
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One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time. 
But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…
There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size. 
No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.
Painful.
As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo. 
If you forget this one on the railing, too…
Will he finally show up to hand it back? 
A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all. 
Three months. 
Ninety days.
Eight million seconds. 
It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else. 
How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up? 
You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer. 
A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels. 
Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either. 
To the point where it’s starting to scare you. 
Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly. 
But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling. 
Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.
It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.
But that night in his kitchen… 
It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.
On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.
You can’t.
He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.
Your finger moves a bit closer.
What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.
But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.
When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now. 
Hold on, it’s an incoming call?
Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.
Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight. 
How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know? 
Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.
You can’t even say hello.
“Hey.”
Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong. 
“Hello?”
But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable. 
As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.
Because it plummets.
“Where are you.”
There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.
“What’s wrong.” 
Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing. 
Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.
You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.
However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted. 
“Babe, tell me. Now.” 
“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—” 
“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?” 
Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement. 
Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.” 
“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.” 
Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.
“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.” 
That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”  
“I am.”
You freeze.
So does time.
And the next three seconds are enough.
“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”
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After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner. 
And your chest has never felt lighter.
Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats. 
If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.
And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.
It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing. 
But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.
As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.
“Fucking hustler.”
No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all. 
In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours. 
Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.
Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left. 
And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.
Endless. 
“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.” 
With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,
“Anything for you.”
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With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.
“You still have to gimme chips.” 
Maybe not quite everything.
Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”
“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”
Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.
As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”
“You’re the smartass.”
“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.” 
When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?” 
“I just… You read.” 
To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window. 
Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”
“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”
He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”
“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”
“Proactive.”
“Huh? For what?”
He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 
Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”
“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”
“That was you!”
“No?”
“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”
Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.
And you glitch when you realize why.
Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 
He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.
Way too familiar.
Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?
No no no. Why is he taking you there? 
You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.
All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.” 
He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.” 
“I don’t care.”
“I was only gonna bring you back.”
“Baby, please.”
“He’s home—”
“Do you still miss me?” 
He freezes. 
Which gives you a chance. 
Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.
Almost everything.
“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 
Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done. 
“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”
He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”
Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close. 
You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.
Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.
Yoongi’s still way too quiet. 
So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.
“Stop.” 
You do. 
And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive. 
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The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door. 
Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place. 
If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.
“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 
You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want. 
“Please what.” 
Everything you want. 
Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”
“Huh?”
A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”
All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways. 
But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap. 
“The fuck.”
Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines. 
You don’t know what’s coming over you. 
Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.
“Babe—”
Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.
“Are you su—”
“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum. 
Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…
Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding. 
What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?
When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?” 
“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh. 
Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.” 
Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance. 
“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”
He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”
“This.”
Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips. 
He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”
And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too. 
Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.
“Holy fuck.” 
You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight. 
And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher. 
“So fucking filthy...” 
You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair. 
“Don’t do that.” 
You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls. 
“Fuck!”
There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses. 
Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin. 
Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus. 
“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.
Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time. 
And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.
But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time. 
“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.” 
You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”
“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,
“I’m fucking you with them on.” 
“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything. 
You know your panties are soaked. 
You know he’s gonna wreck your shit. 
But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night. 
Perfect. 
“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you. 
He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 
You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means. 
But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot. 
The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want. 
He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath, 
“So fucking perfect.” 
“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”
“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 
“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,
“Almost made me come.” 
“Be for real.” 
“Damn serious.” 
The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”
“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.” 
“Fuck me like you missed me.” 
A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck. 
Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between. 
“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”
“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”
Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple. 
His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”
Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved. 
“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”
“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.” 
He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”
You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,
“I said. Don’t move.” 
“But—Yoongi!” 
You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him. 
“Uh uh.”
And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes. 
You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling. 
Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.
If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops. 
When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure. 
All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”
Suddenly.
He stops. 
And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”
The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,
“What’d you say?” 
“Plea—Baby!” 
“Huh?” 
Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again. 
And again.
You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.  
In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—
“This is what you wanted, huh.” 
Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.
“You gonna be a good little slut?” 
Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided. 
“Then fucking beg.” 
He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out. 
To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.
You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”
“Need you, too.” 
He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming. 
Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips. 
When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides. 
Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too. 
Because his eyes speak volumes. 
They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size. 
But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem. 
And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window. 
You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck. 
“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”
When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”
You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”
“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—” 
Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”
“Now swallow.” 
As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.
“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.
“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.” 
“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 
Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 
“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 
Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 
“What?” 
“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”
When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better. 
It’s not. 
But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds. 
Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke. 
“Feel so good—”
When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” 
What is he— 
You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.
What’s—
Oh fuck, are you on his desk?
Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass. 
“Yoongi—”
You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make. 
“Uh uh. Stay like that.” 
“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”
“There you go.” 
The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.
But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.
You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.
“Goddamn.” 
Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back. 
Oh, fuck!
Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—
“Come here.” 
He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat. 
And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel. 
Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear, 
“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 
When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—
You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright. 
But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 
“Yes!”
“Good.”
He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs. 
Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk. 
Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise. 
It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again. 
When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.
“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”
“You already fucking know.”
“Show me what I’ve been missing.”
“Don’t fall in love.” 
When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it. 
“Fuck.”
His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver. 
You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.
Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain. 
“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 
“It missed you, too.”
Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips. 
Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple  a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.
But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard. 
“Yoongi!”
“Uh huh.”  
Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.
“You gonna come?”
A frantic nod.
“Then come.” 
As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips. 
“Again.” 
Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying. 
Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true. 
The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands, 
“Again.” 
You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want. 
Oh, if they could witness you now. 
You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Two hearts.
One night is enough.
“So fucking perfect.”
“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.” 
He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. 
Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months. 
When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house. 
Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there. 
It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back. 
And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,
“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 
Oh, shit!
Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things. 
This man leaned right into the whole thing.
“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”
“First off.”
“Uh huh.”
God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes. 
Yeah. Stuff like that. 
“I’m her favorite.” 
Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”
A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”
Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”
When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes. 
Does he feel at home, too? 
“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”
Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next. 
Then you pull away.
Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore. 
“Come here.”
You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets. 
But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern. 
“How are you gonna get home?”
Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 
“K.” 
“Did I keep you from anything?”
A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 
“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”  
“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 
“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure. 
When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 
“S’ok.” 
“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.” 
After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.” 
Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper, 
“Maybe try that one more time.”
And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed. 
When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak, 
“I always do, babe.” 
Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.
“Miss you.”
As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering. 
His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this. 
“That’s my fault.” 
Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 
After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care. 
“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.” 
“You gave me tonight.” 
When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, 
“A little longer is nothing.” 
A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again. 
Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”
Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 
Us.
Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”
Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,
“What’s the fun in telling you?”
“Ass!”
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While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.
“We have a game next week.” 
As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”
“Mmhmm.” 
“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.” 
“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.” 
And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.
What’s he doing?
You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.
When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul. 
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An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds. 
As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others. 
You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window. 
“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”
“Huh? Tonight?” 
“Yeah.” 
“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”
Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”
He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 
At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?” 
“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 
“Ah, I see.”
You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips. 
“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”
“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 
Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours. 
You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface. 
And you start to hum.
It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones. 
You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.
And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.
“Shit, was I too loud?”
He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side. 
“Not at all.” 
So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head. 
And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.
Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.
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When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss. 
Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light. 
You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.
For him, you can do anything. 
But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.
And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.
“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”  
tbc. :) 
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a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?
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A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)  A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.  A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist 
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mysecretlittlelibrary · 2 months
Text
The Words Hung Above But Never Would Form
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: let's see fingering, handjobs, riding, marking/Loki with a pain kink- unprotected sex (wrap it or don’t tap it) I think that's it idk
Genre: smut, fluff
Summary: You thought you and Loki wouldn't be more than a casual thing, but there's a reason they say never say never
I couldn't Utter my love when it counted // Ah but I'm singing like a bird to ya now ~ Shrike by Hozier
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***
Your relationship with Loki isn't complicated. You call and he comes and- then you cum, all night, usually. It's a simple arrangement, because Loki's incredible in bed, and it's easier than anything you would've asked for from him. You'll admit there was a time you wanted more, but- never mind, there's no need to dwell on that. What you have now is good. It works. The knock on your door comes at exactly 9 o'clock p.m. It's funny, Loki's commitment to punctuality, even for something as low stakes as breaking your back a few times a week. You smile to yourself as you cross your apartment to open the door.
"Hello darling." Loki smirks, his eyes gliding over you.
"Hi Loki, how've you been?" You ask stepping aside to let him into your apartment.
"Busy. I don't know why I thought joining those ridiculous Avengers would be tolerable." Loki rolls his eyes as he drops onto your couch.
"Because it was that or being an intergalactic war criminal?" You remind him, climbing into his lap.
"I'm starting to think I'd be better off never being allowed to return to Midgard." He scoffs and you giggle.
"Oh relax, they can't be that bad, you guys save the world or whatever." You run your fingers through his hair and shower him with quick kisses against his lips.
"You can say that, you've never had to work with them." He mutters between your kisses.
"You're such a baby." You laugh.
"Shut up." He frowns.
"I will if you kiss me." You smirk.
"You-" Loki stops himself as if he didn't quite process your request right away. His hand comes around the back of your neck and he pulls you down for a proper kiss. You moan and Loki uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. He explores your mouth as he always does, the feeling so familiar yet still as thrilling as the first. It doesn't take long for his mouth to part from yours, traveling down your throat. He nips and sucks at the exposed skin as nimble fingers undo the buttons on your shirt. One of Loki's hands settles against your back as he lowers his head to take an achy nipple between his lips—your back arches against his mouth as he teases the bud with his tongue and teeth. You hardly realize your hips grinding against him until he growls lowly at the friction. Loki's other hand slides across your waist to dip beneath your shorts. Two digits plunge into your already dripping center and his thumb lightly strokes your clit, reveling in the breathy moans coming from you at his hands. He toys with your body like an instrument he's played all his life, a smirk plastered on his face as you grind against his fingers desperately. Quickly, frantically, you undo his pants, pulling his erection out and stroking him.
Loki momentarily loses his rhythm when you touch him and you take advantage of the moment's reprieve to shimmy out of your shorts. It's a bit awkward to do with his dick in your hand admittedly but you manage- although Loki makes it no easier, staring at you as he sucks his fingers clean of your juices. Distracting man. Freed from the barrier of clothing between you, you line him up with your entrance and sink down with a satisfied hum while Loki tosses his head back with a groan. You ride him eagerly, relishing in the drag of him against your walls, the feel of his hands squeezing your hips, the quiet cacophony of grunts and moans leaving his lips. You pull his shirt over his head exposing his pale, sculpted chest to your gaze, but more importantly your hands. He never says anything about it but you know for a fact Loki always cums harder when you mark his skin with evidence of your little trysts. You drag your nails along his body, harsh enough to see the red trails left in your wake, and hear the way Loki's breathing changes at the action. 
Loki, just as in tune with your body as you are with his, watches for the moment signs of an impending orgasm start to reveal themselves before his hand slips between you two, fingers finding your clit again. Your hips stutter for a moment at the stimulation but you only ride him harder as he rubs your bundle of nerves. Loki can feel the moment you tighten against him and with his free hand, he takes over rocking your hips against his as the waves of your orgasm make it impossible to keep pace. He allows you to ride it out before he flips you on your back rutting into you, chasing his own orgasm. When his muscles tense up and his grip on your hips tightens you drag your nails down his back, the groan he releases deep and long as he spills into you. You bask in the afters of your orgasms for several minutes before eventually, you tap his shoulder needing to get up.
"Well this has been fun, as always." You say stretching as he sits up.
"Kicking me out already darling?" He smirks.
"No, you're welcome to hang around but I have to shower." You shrug standing.
"Shall I join you?"
"If you do that I'll need a shower from the shower." You kiss him quickly.
"Seems fine to me."
"Of course it does." You roll your eyes. "Oh I have a date on Saturday so I'll have to let you know if you're still coming over that night." You tell him while you remember.
"A date?" He blinks at you.
"Yes, a date."
"With who?"
"Just a guy I met at a coffee shop." You shrug.
"You never mentioned a guy at a coffee shop." Loki tries to keep his tone light though he's not sure how successful he is.
"I'm mentioning him now. No biggie. Anyway, if you're sticking around I made stir fry- help yourself."
"I'd love to but I actually have something to do at the tower so I have to head back but enjoy your evening, have fun on your date, and maybe see you Saturday." Loki is quick to tug his shirt back over his head and tuck himself into his pants.
"Alright have a good-" Loki's out the door before you can finish your sentence, "night?" You frown to yourself for a moment but don't let yourself dwell on it. He said he had something to do, maybe it was important. No need to assume anything more.
The next few days you're pretty giddy thinking about your date on Saturday with the cute guy from the coffee shop. By the time Saturday rolls around and you're meeting up with Marcus you've barely managed to get your excitement under control. The date is as fun as you could've hoped, you go to a  jazz bar and spend the night giggling over drinks and food while lovely music acts as a soundtrack for your evening. You're even humming to yourself as you walk home from how much you enjoyed the evening.
Back in your apartment you take a shower and get ready for bed with a smile still on your face. Marcus has already suggested going on another date and you're not exactly against the idea of seeing him again. 
It's the next morning, when you're making breakfast that the calm before the storm ends. Your back is turned so you don't notice Loki appear in your apartment until he speaks.
"You know normally I wouldn't care if you left me hanging- but seeing as you went out with a stranger it would've been nice to know if you were alive." Loki's voice makes you jump and almost throw your spatula.
"Christ- Loki we've talked about that. Don't appear in my apartment without warning!" You scold him with an eye roll.
"You're avoiding the subject."
"I'm not. I just don't appreciate being jump scared in my own apartment. Especially not at 11 am on a Sunday. But on the subject, I didn't realize you worried so much about me, I'd have shot you a text when I came in." You shrug.
"Y/n." Loki sighs.
"Is something the matter Loki? Avengers getting under your skin again?" You chuckle.
"What?"
"You seem grumbly this morning. Something get to you before you came here?" You ask.
"I'm not grumbly. You're just- excited. What's with that anyway?"
"Dude- you poofed in here talking about the reason I'm excited. What?"
"All this over some guy?" Loki scoffs.
"He's a very sweet guy thank you very much." You stick your tongue out.
"Oh please." He rolls his eyes.
"If you're just going to be a downer Loki go back to the tower, you're not about to ruin my good mood."
"I'm not being a downer, I'm simply here to remind you not to be impressed by little shit. Him having manners shouldn't make you this giddy." He says.
"I didn't say anything about manners. And besides what would you know? it's not like you're trying to impress me." You let out a half laugh as you speak. Loki pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing as he looks at you.
"Is that what you want from me?"
"No? I mean- that's not what I was implying." You say.
"What are you implying?"
"That you don't have a leg to stand on in the dating conversation, it's not exactly your area of expertise." You shrug.
"I guarantee anything that coffee shop boy did on your little date I can do a hundred times better." Loki scoffs.
"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.
"I'm a god y/n, don't tell me you think I'm at all as mediocre as your mortal men in any capacity."
"I didn't say that."
"Yeah there's a lot you don't say it seems." He crosses his arms.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You frown at him.
"You may not admit it but you're comparing me to your coffee shop boy. It's a battle he'll lose in the end but I'm sure you'll hold out as long as you can."
"Loki we fuck a couple times a week. There's really no reason to compare you two. You're categorized differently." You shrug.
"Categorized differently?" He quirks an eyebrow at you.
"Yeah. He wants to date me. You- don't. So, no need to think about you versus each other."
"You have no- You don't even know this guy."
"You are very much missing the point." You shake your head.
"You are the one missing the point."
"Oh am I? And what point might that be Loki?" You smirk, leaning against your counter with your arms crossed.
"Gods you are so stubborn." Loki huffs out crossing your apartment. Loki's hand cups the side of your face and kisses you fiercely. It's like second nature to you, the way you react immediately, matching him each moment. When he pulls away he doesn't step back, still so close you can feel his breath against your lips.
"You're- a strange being Loki." You say softly.
"It's you that makes me this way."
"I haven't done anything." You say with a slight shake of your head.
"You've gone on a date." He says.
"Well yeah but that has nothing to do with-"
"Y/n." He cuts you off.
"Loki." You say back.
"I love you."
"You what?" You blink at him, so shocked you lean back to look at him better.
"I love you." He says again.
"When did that- what?"
"I love you."
"No, I don't think you do." You shake your head.
"I do. Y/n I do and I may not have said it before but I'm saying it now. Please don't tell me it's too late." His eyes search yours, for what you're not sure.
"Too late?" You frown.
"Your coffee shop guy. I can't lose you to him."
"I don't understand- how long have you felt this way?" You ask.
"Too long."
"Then why not say anything before today?"
"I couldn't, I couldn't when it counted, but I'm saying it now. And I'm hoping I haven't waited too long because- I cannot imagine staying on this dreadful planet without being able to see you, to hold you, to call you mine- like a shrike to your glorious thorn, I cannot survive without you."
"That's rather poetic of you to say." You say carefully.
"It's true."
"I- your timing is- what am I going to do with you?" You shake your head.
"You said dating is 'not my area of expertise', allow me to show you how very false that is."
"Are you asking me on a date Loki?" You smile.
"I'd like to ask for more than that but we can begin there, sure."
"I'm not opposed." You say.
"Very well, enjoy your breakfast. I'll be back this evening to take you out." Loki finally steps back, a cheeky smile on his face.
"Where are we going?" You ask.
"That will be a surprise."
"Well, what should I wear?"
"Whatever you like. You'll look amazing in anything." Loki smirks.
"That's not enough infor-" before you can finish Loki disappears in a flourish of green sparkles. "-mation." You say to the empty air. "Nice. Guess I'll wing it." You mutter to yourself. You can't even manage to be fake mad at him for more than a moment, the possibilities for your upcoming night out filling you with delight as you make breakfast. So, maybe you do want more from him, since that's a possibility now.
***
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