#same goes even if you are under 18 but just keep that to yourself
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Chasing Cars | ch 1 (jjk)
☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?
☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female!reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)
☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff
☆warnings: alcohol, curses, jungkook is lowkey a cocky asshole but we love him, mentions of ghosting (reader to Hoseok), mentions of frosh week, mentions of Nabi spraining her ankle, a frat party, beer pong, Sam Hwang, peach, explicit content: overhearing someone having sex, female masturbation, sex toy (vibrator), praising, nipple play, hickeys, dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, degradation, Hoseok likes being called sir (lmao), whip (sorta, with a belt), choking (with a belt), safe word, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, balls fondling, jerking off, spitting in the other's mouth, Hoseok does not believe in aftercare (rip)
☆word count: 11.8k
☆a/n: CHAPTER ONE!! LET'S GET THIS JOURNEY STARTED BABY!!! thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3
☆series masterpost
☆add yourself to the taglist here!
☆☆☆☆☆
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
☆☆☆☆☆
Thursday, January 19th
If there is one thing you’ve figured about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he is an insufferable prick, yet an endearing one. As your older brother’s best friend, Jungkook has taken a liking to teasing you, treating you like his own little sister. It was weird at first – the day you met him, you were struck by his looks. Who wouldn’t be? Jungkook is tall, has a sleeve of tattoos, and he rocks an eyebrow and two lip piercings.
It took you all but three days to realize that he is a too full of himself asshole. And had you known what you were signing up for when Taehyung suggested that you move in with him when his friend Jimin moved out to live with his girlfriend, maybe you wouldn’t have accepted.
You love Taehyung. He’s an incredible brother, has always taken care of you when you were younger and your mother was never home to do so. You love him enough that you didn’t mind moving in with him even though there was a third party you didn’t know.
Jungkook, that is.
It’s been months now. Months of living with Jungkook, of waking up to his insufferable smirk and even worse teasing, whenever Taehyung is not around. Because, of course, when your brother is here Jungkook is an angel, never once saying anything to you that could be taken the wrong way.
Thing is, Taehyung has always dreamed of studying abroad, in Paris. Has always wished to experience the French lifestyle, to wake up to eat croissants and gaze at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. So when he got the opportunity to do his winter semester over there, of course he jumped on the chance.
You’ve been living alone in the same apartment as Jeon Jungkook for less than a month and you already wish May to be at your door and for Taehyung to come back.
It’s late. Sometime close to two am, and the bed creaking in the room next to yours, the one banging into the wall, has been keeping you up.
Or maybe the intermittent high-pitched clipped moans are what are keeping you up. Because, mind you, the walls of your apartment are paper-thin. So paper-thin sometimes you think you’re in Jungkook’s room while he’s ramming some girl he probably doesn’t even know the name of. Sometimes, you think you can almost picture him. Almost see the muscles of his back move under his skin as he jack-hammers into yet another girl, almost see his powerful thighs slap on hers each time he pushes in, almost see his fucked-out face when he comes with that loud grunt of his…
You miss Taehyung being around because Jungkook wasn’t as loud then. Still brought girls home every Thursday like clockwork, but made sure he wasn’t loud enough for the whole building to hear him. With Taehyung gone, Jungkook has stopped caring, and you have been suffering the consequences since then.
In truth, it hasn’t been that long. Less than three weeks, and you’ve heard Jungkook fuck like four times? You reckon it could be a lot worse… but he could also be respectful and not fuck people when you’re trying to sleep because you have a nine am class the next day.
The first time it happened, you were mortified. You listened to music, hoping you wouldn’t hear it anymore but, the thing is, his headboard bangs against the same wall your headboard is against. So you still felt it, and you suffered through the whole ordeal hoping you would disappear through the floor.
The second time it happened, you were annoyed. You considered knocking against the wall to tell him to shut the fuck up – or rather to tell the girl to shut the fuck up – but you resisted. Solely because you didn’t want to stir shit with Jungkook. You considered asking Taehyung to tell Jungkook to be more respectful, but it sounded childish and stupid so you eventually let it slide.
The third time it happened, you were… aroused. Maybe because it had been a long time since you had sex – the last time being in late November with Hoseok, a guy studying in the same major as you, though he’s Jungkook and Taehyung’s age. Yet, even though you felt aroused, you focused on all the ways you were going to murder Jungkook the next day.
Today… today the arousal is winning the game. It’s been making your heart run wild, and your grip on your sheets has your knuckles turning white, skin stretched taut over how hard you’re clenching your fists.
And when you hear Jungkook say something that definitely sounds like “Good fucking girl”, you lose it. You’re too aroused, dripping from just hearing him, and you need to have the coil inside of you snap if you want to be able to sleep tonight.
With all the sounds emerging from his room, you doubt Jungkook is going to hear you. So you shamelessly rummage through the top drawer of your night table, searching for your vibrator, smiling in victory when your hand closes around it.
You’re wearing PJ shorts, and you quickly rid yourself of them as the girl lets out a short-clipped moan that makes you think you’re listening to porn, and not to your roommate fucking.
Though you reckon sex with Jungkook really does sound like porn.
You lie back in bed once you’re rid of your shorts, taking a hold of your vibrator. You turn it on, adjusting it to your favourite setting. You feel strange doing so, like you’re doing something you really shouldn’t be doing, but you can’t help it.
The second you press the vibrator on your clit, you forget all about how what you’re doing is wrong. All you can focus on is the pleasure that radiates through your body, and your eyes close tightly, images of Jungkook swirling in your brain.
When the girl moans again, and Jungkook tells her that she’s ‘taking it so well’, your free hand shoots to your breast, pinching your nipple through the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s not enough, and you’re quick to move it under the shirt. You pinch hard, and you let out a breathy sound as your thighs instinctively close on your wrist.
Jungkook’s headboard starts banging against the wall even more, and your brain produces an image of Jungkook between your legs, fucking you until all you can think is his name. It has you pushing your vibrator inside of you, and you lightly moan again at the pleasurable intrusion.
You let go of your nipple, moving that hand to your clit instead, and your fingers expertly start drawing circles on it. You listen to Jungkook’s grunts all along, to the girl’s moans, and maybe you’re a little too blissed out to realize they’re done, but when you reach your high you can’t help the broken moan you let out, a little too loud for the paper-thin walls of your apartment.
As you’re coming down from your high, you realize the apartment is eerily silent, and you swallow the lump of awkwardness that’s formed in your throat. You wipe your vibrator with some tissue, knowing you’ll have to actually clean it on the morrow, but you don’t want to kill the silence of the night just so you can put your vibrator back in its hiding spot right away.
But you’re not stupid, and you know you need a trip to the bathroom anyway. You put your PJ shorts back on, grab your phone to use it as a flashlight so you don’t bump into a wall on the way to the bathroom, and you tiptoe all the way over there, hoping to be as soundless as possible.
You have to walk in front of Jungkook’s room to get to the bathroom, and then halfway across the living room. You notice his door is closed on your way, and you peacefully make it all the way to the bathroom. You quickly pee and clean yourself up, washing your hands before you open the door.
Which, you reckon might have been your demise. Because when you open the door of the bathroom, it’s to let out a high-pitched startled yelp at the sight of a shirtless Jungkook on the other side. The sound of the faucet must have hidden his footsteps.
You stare at each other for a few seconds, and in the dim light, you’re pretty sure Jungkook is smirking.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks after the silence has started to stretch into awkwardness.
You clench your jaw, gaze dropping to the ground. “You were disturbing my sleep.”
He chuckles, cocking his head to the side. “Was I now?”
Your eyes shoot back to his face at the low huskiness of his tone, and you wish with all of your heart that you had the courage to punch him in the face. But you don’t, so all you reply is, “You need to start fucking your hookups somewhere else.”
His smirk falls into a pout. “I won’t go over to the girls’ places. But I can make sure they’re more silent next time.”
Your brain can’t help but wonder if he means ‘they’ as in he was fucking two girls or just they as in generally referring to a single person.
You obstinately remain silent for a moment, holding his gaze with surprising defiance. “Please do,” you finally choose to say, and the smirk makes its way back to his features.
“I promise,” he says, voice low once again, and you hate how it has something tightening inside of you once more.
You hate it so much that you escape, wishing him good night as you walk around him. You feel the warmth of his body on the way, and you’re thinking about ways to stab him in the back when he says, “Sleep well, peach.”
Saturday, January 21st
You’ve taken to referring to last Wednesday night, or early Thursday morning, as The Incident. At least that’s what you call it when you talk about it with your friends, Ria and Nabi. Ria, who’s always had some sort of a crush on Jungkook is absolutely flabbergasted each time it’s mentioned, and Nabi thinks he’s proven that he’s the biggest asshole in college.
You relate to both, and mostly agree with Nabi.
You’re supposed to go to some party later tonight. Ria convinced you to pre-drink at the girls’ dorm before you go, considering it’s closer to the party than your apartment, and the three of you are sitting in a circle on the floor, with music playing in the background. Needless to say, Nabi has been complaining ever since you got there, because she doesn’t usually do parties, and Ria is so excited she’s got you convinced that tonight will be the best night of your life.
Almost.
“Shots?” Ria asks as if you haven’t already taken two shots each.
She’s holding the bottle of tequila up, a red flush to her cheeks and mischief lighting her gaze. You don’t find it in you to say no, because you know that without the tequila Nabi is never going to make it to the party.
“Let’s do this,” you say, offering her a smirk as Nabi hides her face in her hands.
“You girls are going to kill me,” she complains.
“Come on,” Ria says, playfully pushing her on the shoulder. “Maybe that cute guy you like is going to be there!”
Nabi has had a crush on someone from your major, Kim Namjoon, ever since you met her at the beginning of Frosh week last semester. He’s a tall guy, with dimples whenever he smiles, and you can see why she’d have a crush on him. Thing is, Namjoon has been dating someone ever since then, and Nabi has just been suffering in silence.
You still remember the moment you saw the crush bubble to life. It was day three of Frosh Week, and Namjoon was in charge of your team, along with Hoseok. You, Nabi, and three other first years were winning the relay race, figuring out the puzzles so quickly you had a good advance on the other teams. In a leap of happiness, Nabi jumped over a small stone wall on campus. One of her feet got tangled, and she ended up spraining her ankle.
Namjoon had been right by her side, asking her if she was okay. And Nabi has been in love with him ever since that day, though she’d never dare say it aloud.
“I don’t like anyone,” she grumbles, but the way her cheeks flush red is telling.
“Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon,” you singsong, offering her a shit eating grin.
She retaliates by saying, “When’s the last time you’ve fucked Hobi? Didn’t you say he was the best lay of your life?”
Your mouth falls open in surprise, and Ria lets out a loud laugh.
“We stopped fucking in November, you know that!” you burst, feeling yourself turning crimson. “And it’s not like I have a crush on him, I stopped because it felt like he had a crush on me.”
Nabi has a winning smile on her lips. “And what’s so bad about that?”
“I mean…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “The sex was good, but I didn’t feel like dating him. Simple as that.”
“Why not?” Ria asks, tequila forgotten. “You never told us.” She adds a pout to her sentence, trying to get you to explain.
There’s no explanation. You just didn’t feel like it. You tell them as much, but Nabi doesn’t buy it. Ria, on the other hand, lets out a sound that has both you and Nabi startling.
“I know why!” she explains.
You cock an eyebrow. “Why?”
“You live with fucking Jeon Jungkook, of course you don’t want to date Hobi. Especially after The Incident.”
You laugh, as it’s just as ridiculous as you expected it to be. “Not at all. Jungkook is Tae’s best friend.”
Both your friends look at you, as if what you said was the stupidest shit they ever heard.
“What?”
“What does it change?” Nabi asks with a small voice.
“Well,” you let out, because you don’t really know. It’s just weird to you, and you don’t know how to explain it. “For one, I’m pretty sure Tae would kill him if he ever laid a finger on me.”
“Tae is in Paris,” Ria innocently says.
“Irrelevant,” you say, chuckling. “He’s going to be back in just a few months.”
“A lot can happen in a few months,” she adds, wiggling her brows suggestively.
You roll your eyes before reaching out between the two of you. “Give me the tequila.”
“I’ll fuck him if you don’t,” she teases, and she cradles the tequila to her chest. “As a matter of fact, maybe I’ll try to fuck him tonight.”
“Have fun!” is all you answer before making grabby hands at her. “Now, give me the alcohol, let’s get plastered before we get there so we don’t have to drink the crappy frat booze.”
*****
The frat house hosting the party is wild. Has always been – you’ve always found they go too far with most of their parties. But they also host the most memorable parties, and you know tonight will be a blast the moment you set in to see the strung LED light, shining different patterns of colours around the main room. A table in the corner is stacked high with every bottle of hard alcohol imaginable, and there are three coolers you assume are holding beer or something of the sorts.
One of the guys – Dave? – shows you three where you can leave your coats, on a bed in the upstairs bedroom, and then he walks you to the alcohol table, offering to pour you some shots.
Nabi giggles, because by the time you left their dorm, she got quite drunk, claiming she needed it if she were to run into Namjoon after what you and Ria had said. She accepts the shot she’s handed, though half of it has spilled on her hand by the time the guy gives you yours. He puts salt on your hands, carefully, as Ria makes fun of Nabi, and you look around, scanning the crowd. You recognize a few people from your class, along with the usual party crowd of your college. You smile at two guys you’ve spoken to before at least once, before resuming your attention on Dave (?) as he hands you a slice of lemon.
When the four of you are ready, you lick the salt, knock back the shot, and then bite in the lemon to chase the taste of tequila away. It’s cheap tequila, and even with lemon the taste lingers while you prepare vodka cranberries for you and your friends. And though Ria loves dancing, you and Nabi win as you choose to head to the kitchen, where you know the music isn’t usually as loud.
The first thing you notice when you enter the kitchen is the beer pong table in the middle. Jeon Jungkook is currently playing, along with Jimin, another of your brother’s friends. As he sees you, Jimin raises his glass, offering you a wide grin, and then he punches Jungkook in his side before motioning to you.
Jungkook notices you then, and he offers you a smirk as he eyes you up and down. You feel shy for half a beat, though you know you look good. You’re wearing a green corset along with a pair of black leather pants, and you know the two pieces of clothing hug your body perfectly. Plus, Ria did your makeup, and Ria never fails when it comes to makeup. So you wait as Jungkook looks at you, hoping the foundation Ria put on your face is thick enough for him not to see you blush as The Incident inevitably comes back to your mind.
You look away, and then you see Hoseok hovering by glass sliding doors, along with Namjoon and their other friend Yoongi. Hoseok is busy with a conversation, and when he bursts out laughing you can hear it clear as day.
Why didn’t you want to date him? You don’t know. You actually really don’t know, because he ticks off all the boxes. But something was missing, you presume, and sometimes you hate yourself for it.
He must have sensed your attention, and he turns his head towards you. You don’t miss the way his smile falls a little, and he nods once in recognition. When you smile, his mouth closes to offer you one of those awkward tight-lipped smiles, and your gaze drops away to the cup in your hand.
Of course, Ria has a nefarious plan in mind, because she hooks her arm with yours and Nabi’s, pulling you towards the trio of guys. You’re fully aware that it’s mostly for Nabi, and that it’s stupid because last you’ve heard, Namjoon is still dating his girlfriend, but you let your friend pull you towards the men, gaze still stubbornly hiding in your cup.
You watch the liquid slosh around as you stop in front of them, and Namjoon greets you. Hoseok falls eerily silent, and Yoongi asks you all how you’ve been doing.
You only join in the conversation when you’ve taken a long sip from your cup to ease your nerves. Not that it really helped, but you reckon just standing there in silence would probably make things more awkward than anything else.
“Nabi is pretty drunk,” Ria is saying when you finally look up from the cup.
“Am not!” Nabi insists, voice slurred. “Or maybe just a little.”
Namjoon laughs, while Yoongi chuckles. “As long as you don’t fall and sprain your ankle again, I think you’re alright.”
“Won’t fall again,” Nabi promises. “Not with these two with me.” She says that motioning to you and Ria, and it somehow brings Namjoon’s attention to you.
“I saw your essay on the synthesis and control of energy metabolism,” he tells you, a dimpled smile on display. “It was pretty good.”
You can’t help but slide your eyes to Nabi, who wrote a far better essay on human health and bacteriophage in your opinion, and you don’t miss the way her gaze drops to the ground.
“Thanks,” you reply to Namjoon nonetheless.
He’s started TA-ing to help out Seokjin, one of the biochemistry grad students. All of you are biology students, except Ria and Yoongi. Ria is in administration, and Yoongi studies music, his concentration being piano and producing.
There’s an awkward silence, and you glance towards Hoseok, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. He’s good-looking, even though he’s simply dressed in a T-shirt with some graphics on the front and a pair of discoloured jeans. Knowing him, he probably has a crazy jacket upstairs, because you know he’s good when it comes to fashion.
It’s what attracted you to him in the first place.
“How are you?” you ask him, and you notice Yoongi’s pointed gaze on you. It’s disapproving, you think, but the question left your mouth without you even wanting it to.
“I’ve been great,” Hoseok replies, though it’s a little colder than what you know him to be.
You nod, gaze dropping to the ground as Ria strikes a conversation with the three others, clearly trying to give you and Hoseok some space. It has the two of you just standing in aimless silence, until the sound of whooping behind you attracts your gaze to the beer pong table, where Jimin and Jungkook are celebrating a win. “I’m…” you trail off as you turn back to look at him. “I’m glad. How are your classes?”
He sighs. “They’re harder than first-year classes.”
You don’t miss the ghost of a teasing glint in his eyes, and you immediately latch onto it. “Oh, please, you struggled in molecular biology. I got A+ in the class.”
He chuckles, and you physically relax. Because you haven’t really talked since you ended things in November, finals coming in the way of partying and other events where you would run into him. So you didn’t know before today where you stood with him, and you’re relieved that he doesn’t seem like he’s holding a grudge.
“You weren’t in Lester’s class,” he points out. “Even Namjoon almost failed Lester’s class.”
You gasp in fake outrage. “No way! And now he’s the biochem TA.”
“I know,” Hoseok says, slightly shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
The renewed complicity between the two of you is easy, you realize, and when he suggests playing a game of beer pong, you immediately agree. Or maybe you only agree because you don’t know where Nabi, Ria, Yoongi and Namjoon went, only that they aren’t next to you anymore.
Jungkook and Jimin are still undefeated at the table, and when Jungkook catches sight of you moving closer, he winks before shooting.
You’re not surprised when the ball goes right in a cup, leaving only one on the table. Jimin laughs as their opponents claim Jungkook cheated, and Jungkook shrugs his shoulders.
“You should know better than to call me a cheater, bro,” Jungkook says, and he runs a hand in his hair.
An infuriating small strand falls in his big doe eyes, but he seemingly doesn’t care. He glances at you once again, eyes trailing between you and Hoseok.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks when his gaze settles back on you.
You don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your cleavage before moving back to your face.
“I’m here to beat your ass,” you reply, and you offer him a shit-eating grin.
He laughs, and he sets his attention on Hoseok. “I hope you’re good, bro, because she’s just declared war.” And then he looks at you, smirking that insufferable smirk once more. His doe eyes narrow threateningly, and you find yourself wishing you had never heard him fuck before.
Because all your brain can picture right now is how you came to the sound of his grunts a couple of days ago.
“What?” you can’t help but say, though he looks away from you as the two other guys shoot, completely missing the three cups left in front of Jimin and Jungkook.
You notice Jimin looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, and the smile on his lips means nothing good. You furrow your brows, because you know how much of a gossip he is, but thankfully enough for you, he has to throw.
You watch as he does so, landing it right in the last cup. Jungkook of course throws right in the cup too, claiming the victory for them as the two other guys grumble and leave the table, leaving the place free for you and Hoseok.
You meet Hoseok’s gaze, offering him a small smirk. “I hope you’re ready to get fucked.”
You only realize how crude your words sounded, especially considering your history with him, when he starts laughing, that contagious laugh you’ve always found cute.
“I mean, I’m a pretty good shot,” he says once you’ve calmed down. “Are you?”
You wince. “Once in a while I’m good,” you answer truthfully. “Most of the time I suck.”
“Well hopefully you’ll be good tonight,” he teases, gently nudging you with his elbow.
You offer him a determined nod, before turning to face Jungkook and Jimin. You quickly put the solo cups back in position, as Jungkook watches you with a half-smile on his lips. You don’t know what to make of it, so you ignore him.
A small, tiny, minuscule voice at the back of your head tells you he probably knows about The Incident, but you ignore it entirely like you’ve been doing for the past few days.
Turns out Hoseok really is a good shot. He lands all of his shots, but of course, it has to be the day you suck. You don’t land any, up until the redemption that brings you back into the game when Jungkook and Jimin are about to win.
It makes you scream in happiness, and you throw your arms around Hoseok’s neck, right as his hands lay flat on your waist. He pulls you close, laughing in your ear until you let go, and you have the decency to feel bad.
You’re pretty sure you broke his heart in November, and you’re pretty sure you’ll only end up breaking it again. But there’s just something in the way Jungkook is staring from the other side of the table, smile gone, that makes you want to cling to Hoseok. So you do, and when he stands behind you to help you with your next shot, you let him put one hand on your hip.
Your gaze meets Jungkook’s, and you watch as his eyes dip to the fingers on your hip. He cocks his head to the side, wets his lips, and then an infuriating smirk lights up his features dangerously until you feel like you need to look away or else you’ll combust. So you glance at Jimin, who is just smiling prettily because when is he not, and then you focus on the lone solo cup you have to aim for.
“What you want to do,” Hoseok says, leaning so he can speak in your ear. You’re infinitely aware of how his pelvis brushes your ass, and your breath catches in your throat. He continues, “is to throw in a parabola. That way you won’t hit the rim of the cup”. He grabs your wrist, lifting your hand. “From this height, it should work.”
You nod, because you don’t think you can answer, especially not as you can hear Jungkook snickering from where he’s standing. Instead, you really focus on the cup, and when you’re about to throw, Jungkook speaks up.
“Put it in, baby.”
Your brain short-circuits, and it’s no wonder you miss by a good, few inches. Jimin is a giggly mess next to Jungkook, Hoseok can’t resist his laugh, and all you can do is glare at Jungkook’s satisfied smile.
“What the fuck?” you let out.
He winks at you. “Gotta learn to not get distracted, peach.”
You hate the nickname. He knows that you do, and it’s the reason why he’s been using it for months now. Ever since one late night where you played Mario Kart together with Taehyung and Jimin, and you kept choosing Princess Peach as your character. When you went in the kitchen to grab a drink, Jungkook followed you and teased you about it, and now the nickname has stuck.
Though evidently never in front of Taehyung.
You wish you had a snarky retort in you, but all you can do is think about The Incident, and pray he can’t tell that your cheeks are burning up because of him and not because of the alcohol.
You end up losing the beer pong game, and you cringe internally as you watch Hoseok dapping Jungkook and Jimin up. You begrudgingly congratulate them, as Jungkook teases you for the loss.
“Would have thought your brother taught you better than this,” he says, nudging you with his elbow.
You roll your eyes, glancing at Hoseok, but he’s striking a conversation with Jimin.
“Tae and I didn’t spend all that much time together, Jungkook,” you remind him. “You know I just moved in with you guys because you needed someone after Jimin left.”
Jungkook shrugs. “You seem pretty close to him.”
He falls silent, pulling at his piercing as you glance at his features. You’ve left your liquid courage somewhere on the table, and you really wish you had it with you right now. Only so you could avoid the sudden wistful look in Jungkook’s haze, though it disappears so quickly you think you might have imagined it.
“He’s really protective of you,” he comments as you too remain silent, not knowing what to say.
You chuckle, because if there is a thing that is true, it’s that your older brother is an overbearing asshole. “That he is,” you agree, and you both laugh.
“Hey, do you want a drink?” Hoseok suddenly asks, and you realize that Jimin has disappeared.
You’re pretty sure Jungkook is eyeing him up and down when you reply, “Please, I need a new drink.”
Hoseok beams, and you make to move towards him when Jungkook grabs your arm to stop you. Your eyes widen, The Incident flashing in your mind, but his tattooed fingers let go of you as you throw him an inquisitive look.
“I’m not drinking tonight,” he admits. “I came with my car, thought I’d offer to drive you home.”
At that, your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline in surprise. “What?”
He shrugs, corner smile back on his pink lips. “As long as you don’t get sick, that is.”
You ponder for a time, because you were supposed to sleep over at Nabi and Ria’s dorm tonight. You reckon heading home would probably be better, especially now that Hoseok has caught your attention again.
Maybe you can give Jungkook a piece of his medicine.
“Ayt,” you tell him, moving closer as a secretive smile moves on your lips, brought up by the evil plan that is just starting to form in your brain. “I’ll find you later?”
Jungkook looks down at you, tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side. A smirk moves on his lips and he glances at Hoseok before settling his doe eyes back on you.
He looks nothing like a doe when he says, “I’ll be waiting for you.”
And then he’s the one that walks away, and you can’t breathe for a few seconds as Hoseok waits patiently, either unaware of the situation or not caring. Though you know he knows Jungkook is your roommate – he probably just thinks Jungkook is being nice.
You inhale deeply, before turning to look at Hoseok as you let out your breath. “So, drinks?”
He smiles, genuinely, nodding his head as he offers you his hand to take. To your surprise, he pulls you close to him, and the way his gaze looks down on you makes you all too aware that you used to fuck him, and he used to fuck you good.
“What are you drinking tonight?” he asks, head dipping so he can ask the question in your ear.
“What do you want?”
His smile turns a little dangerous, and he looks over your head to the doorway to the living room. “Shall we?”
You laugh, nodding your head enthusiastically, and you let him pull you behind him. He guides you to the drink table in the living room, where he makes you a rum and coke as you scan your surroundings. You spy Ria and Nabi dancing, and you only understand why when you notice that Namjoon is nearby too, with Yoongi who’s just standing to the side, scrolling on his phone as if bored.
You know Hoseok likes to dance. That’s how you first kissed all those months ago, so you don’t hesitate to ask if he wants to join your friends after you’ve both drank a couple of sips from your respective solo cups. He obviously agrees, and you take his hand to guide him to your friends. You’re painfully aware of how Yoongi raises his head when you get closer, eyes dropping to your entwined hands. He furrows his brows disapprovingly, and you wonder if he’ll speak up.
If he’ll speak up and ruin your plan for you.
He doesn’t, instead meeting your gaze as if daring you to do something. It makes you feel bad for a split second until Hoseok lets go of your hand to rest a hand on your hip as he nestles his lean body against your back.
“You know,” he says in your ear, and you look away from Yoongi, refusing to acknowledge his challenge. “I always wondered why you ghosted me.”
You gulp, and you follow his lead as he makes you sway your hips against him. Ria whistles and your eyes widen a little as if to say ‘please not right now’.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it’s true. “I didn’t really mean to ghost you, just got busy and…”
He laughs, and you’re surprised to hear it ring true. “Y/n,” he says. He leans even closer, and his lips brush your ear. It makes goosebumps rise all over your body, right as he continues, “You can say you got scared. I gave you plenty of reasons to be scared.”
Because you had agreed on no feelings, and he still had developed some, hadn’t he?
“I’m still sorry, ghosting you was shitty of me.”
He chuckles, and you’re starting to recognize the man that he is in the bedroom. His voice is low, husky, when he says, “Should I punish you for it?”
The Incident and Jeon Jungkook are thousands of miles from your thoughts when his words settle in, making heat pool at your core.
“You’d still want to do this?” you ask, breathlessly.
He nibbles at your earlobe, and you instinctively tilt your head to the side to give him better access. He kisses under your ear, tongue darting out to taste your skin, and this time Ria fully hollers in front of you.
You glare at her, only to see that she and Nabi are having the time of their life watching you.
“I haven’t been able to forget how good your pussy feels wrapped around my dick,” Hoseok replies after he’s sucked a hickey on your neck. “Trust me, if I can fuck you again, I’ll do it.”
You don’t hesitate when you turn around, resting your forehead against his. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
And you know you would. Especially considering how tense he was when you first talked to him tonight.
“Sweet of you,” he comments, and a smirk grows on his lips. He pulls away from you, taking a sip of rum and coke. “I wasn’t catching feelings for you, if that’s what you were worried about.” He pauses as his face falls fully serious. “You just don’t like when people treat you right.”
You’re insulted. You really are, yet… he isn’t entirely wrong. The minute a guy gets too close, you dip – you blame that on the fact your father abandoned you and Taehyung when you were still kids.
“Is that why Yoongi is glaring at me?” you ask, a little colder than intended.
The message still passes, and Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t care what Yoongi thinks. He always thinks he knows me better than I do but, trust, he doesn’t.”
You’re surprised at just how bitter Hoseok’s sentence sounds. You always thought Yoongi and he were best friends. It’s strange to think that maybe they aren’t, or at least maybe they aren’t close enough to be.
“Anyway,” Hoseok adds when you remain silent for a little too long. “If you’re willing to fuck again, I’d be down. I haven’t found another pussy like yours since the last time we fucked.”
Which coincidentally is the last time you had sex with anyone. You’re not surprised Hoseok fucked some other people after you – with his easy charm, you know he can have anyone wrapped around his finger pretty easily.
And if he wants to participate in your evil plan so willingly, who are you to tell him no?
“The night’s barely started,” you point out. “But maybe you can come back to my place later?”
You’ve never invited him over before, because if there’s a thing that scares you more than anything in this world, it’s Taehyung hearing you having sex with some guy. But now that your brother is in Paris, you figure it doesn’t matter.
Plus, if you want Jungkook to get a taste of his own medicine, you have to bring Hoseok home.
“Deal,” Hoseok tells you, and he seals the deed with a searing and unexpected kiss.
You still kiss him back, hungrily, your body remembering just how good Hoseok can make you feel. You just have to make it through a party – with Jungkook driving you home, you know it’s likely you won’t leave until the party is starting to dwindle down.
When you pull away, Hoseok licks his lips once, as if wanting to remember the taste of you, before saying, “I’ll find you at the end of the party”.
You nod, and begrudgingly let him leave when he walks over to where Yoongi is standing, now joined by a baffled Namjoon, who glances between the two of you a couple of times. You ignore him, instead focusing on Ria and Nabi as they drunkenly pull you away, laughing wildly.
“What the fuck was that?” Ria asks in between two sets of laughter as you emerge in the kitchen. “I thought you said you didn’t want him anymore.”
You don’t want to jinx your plan, so all you can think to do is shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “It just happened.”
In a weird moment of soberness, Nabi says, “Please don’t lead him on. He’s a decent guy”.
You tell your friends what he told you, and they both seem taken aback, yet they don’t question it. After all, the amount of alcohol in your blood is enough to make it so it’s a little hard to think profoundly, and inhibitions have flown out the window before you even got to the party.
After the conversation is over, your two friends insist on playing beer pong, claiming that they need you to encourage them. You recognize Dave at the table – you think that’s his name – and you all cozy up next to him as you ask to be next. You linger behind, mostly because you’ve noticed someone you’ve been avoiding ever since you got to college last semester, and you hope he doesn’t notice you.
Maybe he’s one of the reasons why you’ve been struggling with people treating you right, like Hoseok mentioned. Because Sam was your first love, and he played you immensely.
If he notices you, he doesn’t look like he does, instead keeping his arm tightly wrapped around the girl next to him. You don’t know her, and you wouldn’t even care if you did – you stopped caring about Sam a long time ago. But you’re still a little put off at the sight of him, and when you catch sight of Jungkook and Jimin by the backyard’s sliding door, breathing in some fresh air, you decide to join them.
Which, you reckon, is a very stupid idea. Because they are Taehyung’s friends, not yours, but they feel safer for you than being in the vicinity of Sam Hwang right now.
“Weren’t you sucking face with what’s-his-name just a second ago?” Jimin asks straight away as you stop next to them.
You snort in your cup, taking a long sip from your drink. “Maybe,” you say once you’ve swallowed.
“Tae would have killed him,” Jimin jokes, looking at Jungkook.
You don’t miss the way Jungkook’s gaze is focused on a spot on your neck, and you rub it mindlessly.
“Good thing he’s in Paris,” you point out. “And I can trust you two to not tell him?”
You say it like a question, though you know it’s useless. Jimin is the biggest gossip you know, and you expect Taehyung to be scolding you by the time you wake up tomorrow morning.
Though that attracts Jungkook’s attention to your face, and he meets your gaze with that same infuriating smirk he was sporting earlier.
“Lips sealed,” he says, uselessly because both of you know that Jimin is the real danger.
Before anything else can be said, Jimin points towards the beer pong table. “Didn’t feel like playing with your friends?”
You shrug, taking another sip of rum and coke. “They don’t need me.”
“Pretty sure you’d be a liability anyway,” Jungkook teases.
Jimin and he laughs at your expanse, and you’re stuck glaring at Jungkook, right as The Incident takes the forefront of your thoughts again.
You wish it would stop haunting you. Wish it would leave you alone, because you feel like it was the cataclysm to a series of bad decisions. The first event of a butterfly effect that is threatening to push you over the edge of the cliff.
“I did get the redemption shot,” you point out, and Jungkook playfully nudges you again.
“Doesn’t count, your little boyfriend got all the other shots for you.”
Your gaze widens. “He’s not my boyfriend!” you quickly defend.
Admittedly a tad too quickly.
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, wetting his lips before playing with his piercing. “Of course not.”
You narrow your eyes at him, though you remain silent because you feel like saying something else would be far too incriminating.
“Leave her alone,” Jimin jokes. “She did her best.” And then his gaze settles on you, and you balk at the mischief burning in his eyes. “Not her fault if her best sucks.”
“Bruh,” you let out, and you all burst out laughing.
After that, the conversation moves on easily, as you ask Jimin about his girlfriend. He starts gushing about the girl – he always does whenever Sera is mentioned. He tells you about her latest publication, and Jungkook looks bored out of his mind by the time something catches his attention, and he walks away from you and Jimin.
You watch him leave, somehow disappointed, but you entertain the conversation with Jimin for longer still. And Jimin is fun to be around, easy to talk to, and you don’t realize but an hour has passed before he glances down at his phone.
“Shit, I gotta go,” he admits. “I told Sera I wouldn’t be home too late.”
Your solo cup has been empty for half of the hour, so you raise it and say, “Go home, I’m going to get a refill.”
He hugs you goodbye, though you both walk together towards the living room. You part ways as you head to the drink table, once again scanning the room in search of your friends. They are nowhere to be seen, so you set on exploring the house after you’ve made another rum and coke for yourself.
You find the stairs, and you head upstairs thinking they might have needed to settle in a calmer environment. Knowing Nabi, it is to be expected, yet you don’t find them anywhere upstairs. There’s a closed door leading to what you think is a bathroom, but you refuse to look in there.
You almost let out a startled yelp as it opens, and Jungkook steps out, pretty lips swollen red as he leads a girl behind him. At the sight of you, he lets go of her hand, and she looks between the two of you curiously. As both of you remain entirely silent, she furrows her brow but then dips, running a hand through her visibly tangled-up hair.
You can easily imagine what she and Jungkook were doing just a moment ago.
“Really?” you tell him.
His tongue pokes his cheek, and he laughs. “You asked me not to fuck at home anymore.”
You purse your lips, actually surprised that he took your word into account.
“Didn’t expect you would respect it.”
He doesn’t fake the offence that paints his features. “I’m not an asshole, peach.”
The nickname is said condescendingly, and you reckon you should feel a little bad. Because you’re still set on bringing Hoseok home tonight, no matter if Jungkook decided not to fuck anyone at home again.
“Sorry,” you apologize, not knowing what else to say.
Silence moves between you, and Jungkook leans against the doorframe, arms folding on his chest. He watches you carefully, as if he’s never really seen you before and, frankly, you wish he’d looked at you like this before.
It’s a treacherous thought, and you push it away as best as you can.
“Jimin went home,” you tell him, feeling the need to fill the silence with something, anything.
Before he can reply, a group of people move upstairs, talking loudly. Jungkook pushes up from the doorframe, walking towards you.
“Do you want to go home too?” he asks when he’s right next to you.
He’s tall. You have to tilt your head back to be able to hold his gaze, and damn you, you’re hypnotized. You don’t want to look away, don’t think that you can.
“You already want to go home?” you answer, wetting your lips, and his eyes drop to your mouth.
He scoffs, as if it’s an inconvenience, before shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not drinking, I don’t see why I’d stay longer.”
Right.
“Why aren’t you drinking anyway?” you ask, genuinely curious.
He smiles, with no hint of that infuriating smirk for once. “Got morning shift at the library tomorrow.”
The fact he works in a library still makes no sense to you. Though he’s claimed it’s because that way, it’s easy to approach all the pretty, intelligent women who don’t go to parties. Easy targets for a fuckboy like him.
“Ah,” you let out. “Well…” you glance at the group of people as they get out of the room where the coats are. When you resume your attention on Jungkook, you’re struck thinking he’s moved even closer. “My friend is supposed to sleep over, can I go find him?”
You say it innocently, and you don’t miss the way Jungkook frowns slightly. “Who?”
You force Hoseok’s name out, mostly because the way Jungkook is looking at you right now is making you want to disappear through the floor.
“Ah, the guy you played beer pong with,” Jungkook comments. “Thought he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
You furrow your brows. “He isn’t.”
A smirk grows on his lips. “Then why are you bringing him home, peach?”
Your own smirk is easy to come to your lips as you reply, “I’ll let you imagine.”
“Your brother wouldn’t approve.”
As he licks at his piercing, you can’t help but look down at his lips. “Good thing you’re not my brother then.”
He doesn’t reply, only looks over your head as you hear the unmistakable laugh of Jeong Hoseok. It makes you take a step back, and you turn to see Hoseok appearing at the top of the stairs. To your surprise, he’s accompanied by Ria, Nabi and Namjoon, but Yoongi is nowhere in sight.
Namjoon is helping Nabi walk, as she’s clearly gotten even drunker since you abandoned them downstairs. You wince at her sight, knowing she’s going to be a nightmare tomorrow.
Ria catches sight of you and Jungkook, and her gaze widens.
“Here you are!” she shrieks. “We were looking for you everywhere.”
You don’t miss the way Hoseok looks you up and down, and you thank your stars for making this so easy. “I was thinking of heading home,” you tell the group, and you glance over your shoulder to confirm it with Jungkook.
He’s got an unreadable expression on his features, one that makes you think you’re going to enjoy your payback way too much.
When you look back to the group, it’s to see Hoseok cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘Am I still coming?’ You nod, and you take a few steps towards him, interlocking your fingers with his. Ria watches as if it’s a scene from her favourite movie, and you all enter the room with the coats.
You find yours in the mess on the floor, fast enough to catch sight of Jungkook as he’s waiting outside the door. You recognize his coat in the mess, so you grab it before bringing it to him.
“Here,” you tell him.
He chuckles. “Thanks, peach.”
Hoseok is next to follow, and the two guys eye each other before you hear Namjoon say, “Are you sure you’re fine with getting her home?”
You look into the room – Nabi is now lying on the bed, laughing to herself.
“Hopefully, yeah,” Ria answers. “I’ve already called an Uber.”
Namjoon is watching Nabi with a strange expression on his features when he says, “You guys are still at the dorms?”
“Yeah, we are,” Nabi slurs. “Where else would we be?”
Namjoon chuckles, and he glances your way. You immediately look away, right as he says, “I’ll come with you guys, then.”
Your thoughts head to his girlfriend for a few seconds, feeling bad for the girl, though clearly, Namjoon is just trying to be a gentleman. When you see Jungkook and Hoseok waiting patiently for you, you forget all about Nabi, Ria, Namjoon and his hypothetic girlfriend, especially as you see the not-so-genuine smile on Hoseok’s lips, and the dark look in Jungkook’s gaze.
Maybe your plan was a little too evil after all.
*****
The night is cold outside ─ arctic ─ and you wish you were drunker. That way, you’d barely feel it, but no, you’re forced to a shivering mess as you walk behind Jungkook towards his car, which he was forced to park a few streets over because of a recent snowstorm. All that can be heard is the sounds of your shoes crunching in the snow and the distant buzz of the highway. Up above, the stars twinkle in the night, and smoke moves from your mouth to create a cloud over your head.
You hate winter. Always have, and always will. Especially when it’s so cold you feel like your face will fall off, and you reckon tonight is one of the coldest nights in a while.
Your eyes trail to Hoseok, and you smile in relief – at least your bed won’t be cold tonight.
You finally reach Jungkook’s car, and he unlocks the doors, the sound reverberating through the cold air. You sit in the back seat with Hoseok, pushing Jungkook’s gym bag to the side, and Jungkook is quick to turn on the engine, blasting the heater on. He meets your gaze in the rearview mirror as he waits for the engine to be warm enough to actually start driving.
For a moment, you forget Hoseok is next to you. All you can focus on is Jungkook’s gaze. Where it’s usually wide, big and innocent, his eyes are narrowed now, as if he’s eyeing you. Judging you, even. Judging your choices, and you think he’s full of shit for it – he’s the first one to fuck around whenever he has the opportunity, after all.
A moment later, he deems the car finally ready, and he looks away, focusing on the street instead. He turns up the music on the stereo, and you watch as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. You do so until you feel Hoseok’s hand landing on your thigh, which attracts your attention to him.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Hoseok says, not too loud, but clearly Jungkook hears because his fingers stop tapping on the wheel.
You smile, glancing down at Hoseok’s lips. They look chapped from the cold, yet when he smiles that bright smile of his back, you can’t help but think they are still inviting.
“Please don’t judge the state of the apartment,�� you whisper, leaning closer to him. “This idiot doesn’t know how to –“
Jungkook slams the brakes, and you whip your head towards him as the aftershock sends you back into your seat. His eyes are gleaming with barely concealed mischief, and the infuriating smirk graces his lips.
“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t seem apologetic at all.
You roll your eyes, but that kills the conversation until you arrive at your apartment, which thankfully isn’t too far away from the party. Jungkook parks out front, and you all file out of the car, walking up the stairs to your door. You unlock it while the two men stand next to you, and you’re not sure what’s colder – them, or the actual winter night.
You’re not sure you want to know the answer either.
Warm air wraps you in its embrace as you open the door and step in, and you quickly shut it after the two men to make sure the cold doesn’t come in too much. By the time you’ve turned back around, Jungkook’s already halfway to his bedroom.
“Good night,” he says over his shoulder.
For some reason, you expected him to be more of an ass about the situation, but you’re reduced to thinking he actually doesn’t care all that much. You watch him until he disappears in his room before your eyes slide to Hoseok.
He’s been observing you all this time, and the moment your eyes meet, he smiles.
“We can hang our coats in the closet,” you tell him as you unzip yours, and he follows your motion.
You grab a hanger for him, handing it to him before taking off your coat and hanging it. Once that is done, you head towards your room, pit-stopping in the kitchen to grab glasses of water. You reckon you didn’t expect him to be so silent, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable.
Even when you’re in your room, and you’ve plugged in your fairy lights, Hoseok still doesn’t say a thing.
“You good?” you ask him, doing your best to calm your sudden nerves.
Was it a good idea to bring him here after all?
He grins, nodding once. “The apartment isn’t as messy as you let it sound like.”
Not expecting that at all, you let out a small laugh. But he isn’t wrong – out of the three of you, Taehyung is by far the messiest. And now that he is gone, Jungkook and you have managed to keep the apartment tidy and clean, though sometimes Jungkook does leave some dirty dishes around.
“Oh,” you let out, and you chuckle. “Yeah, we cleaned this week.”
Last Wednesday, actually. Right before Jungkook had his pussy appointment, it turns out.
Hoseok looks around, and you gaze at his honey skin for a time. It looks warm in the lights, and his smile is still just as blinding when he offers it to you.
“Like your room.”
You scan it as if you haven’t lived here for months now. You’ve brought most of the stuff you had at home – except your collection of plushies. Polaroid pictures of you growing up are hung on threads over your desk, which is a little messy from the project you were working on yesterday. Your laptop lays there unattended, screen black, and you walk over to shut it absentmindedly.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” you tell him, and you don’t have time to turn around for him to put his hand on your hip like he was doing earlier at the party.
You take a long swig of water, before putting the glass down on your desk. Hoseok imitates you, and then his other hand finds a home on your waist.
“Feels like you,” he whispers, head dipping down so he can say the words in your ear.
You shiver, eyes fluttering shut, as he moves your hair out of the way before kissing on the hickey he sucked on your skin at the party.
“Yeah?” you breathe out.
He nods, and you feel him move against your neck. He pulls you closer, and your breath itches in your throat when you feel his dick against your ass.
“Fuck,” he curses. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you again for so long.” He nibbles at your earlobe, and one of his hands moves to your neck, holding you firmly into place. “But you had to run away, thinking you knew me. Baby,” he pauses, as his fingers dig in your arteries, making your head swim with the lack of oxygen, “you don’t know me at all. And I’m going to fucking punish you for it tonight. Understood?”
He releases his hold on your neck, and you suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.”
“Mmh?”
You know exactly what he wants, and it makes your insides boil again. “Yes, sir.”
He smirks against you, before biting at the skin of your neck. “You’ll be a good little slut for me?”
You nod, entirely unable to form a sentence. You’ve completely forgotten that the goal of tonight is to make Jungkook pay for how he’s been having loud sex. All you can think about right now is the man behind you.
“Then turn around, baby. Strip out of your clothes.”
You obey, mostly because Hoseok brings out a submissive part of you that just craves to do what he wants. Yes, you’ve always been more on the submissive side. But with other people, you can’t help the brat in you.
You fear being a brat with Hoseok would be a very dangerous game to play.
You don’t break the eye contact as you take off your clothes, slowly. He doesn’t look away from you, though he wets his lips as if the sight of you is making him hungry.
Hoseok has a duality you have rarely seen before. Where he is an incredibly sweet person in his regular life, his bedroom self turns into a demon, a force to be reckoned with. No wonder sex with him is always so good.
When you’re finally naked, panties pooling around your ankles, Hoseok offers you a smirk. He doesn’t say anything, but he slowly undoes his belt, before motioning for you to get closer.
Only one step separates you from him, and then you’re standing right in front of him. He raises his hand, making you tilt your head back, and then he captures your mouth in a hungry kiss.
You can’t help but moan when he swats the belt at your side, the leather making your skin tingle. He pushes his tongue in your mouth, and your hands instinctively grab onto the hem of his shirt.
“Nu-uh,” he tuts, making you let go of it. “Get on your knees, baby.”
You drop to your knees, eyes darting to the bulge in his pants once before he makes you tilt your head back again. You gulp, right as he wraps his belt around your neck until the buckle is pressing against your skin. He doesn’t make it tight enough to hurt, but your hands still shake a little at being so vulnerable in front of him.
“You remember the safe word?” he asks.
“Red.”
He nods appreciatively. “And if you can’t speak, you tap my leg, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck you look so good like this.”
Not knowing if you can touch him, you just smile up at him, wetting your lips.
“Want to get a taste of me?”
You already know where this is going to lead. Hoseok fucked your mouth more than once in the three months you had casual sex with him. So you answer, “I want you to come down my throat.”
He smirks. “Good girl.”
With his free hand, he unbuttons his pants, before pushing them down his legs. He doesn’t step out of them, instead palming himself through his boxers. You watch the imprint of his dick, salivating at the sight, especially as precum is already wetting the fabric.
Hoseok doesn’t have a particularly big dick. But whenever he fucks you, it feels like he’s the biggest you’ve ever had, mostly because he knows how to use it. Knows how to move and snap his hips in a way that makes you think you’re seeing into the future. It also makes it so sucking his dick doesn’t hurt your jaw too much, so you’re able to do it for a longer period of time.
Tonight, you have an inkling that you’ll be doing it for a while.
He pushes his underwear down, freeing his dick. Your eyes drop to it, not surprised to see the angry, swollen tip. He looks like he’s about to burst, but you know it’s a trick of the eye – Hoseok has more stamina than one would think.
Holding the base of his dick, he brings the tip closer to your face. Your mouth falls open, expecting him to push his cock in, but he instead taps your cheek with it.
“I want to ruin you,” he says in a low voice. “I want you to never be able to fuck another guy because you still think of me.”
You gulp, tongue darting to wet your lips. He gets the cue, and he brings his dick to your mouth. You don’t hesitate before licking at his slit, the salty taste of his precum filling your mouth. You then wrap your lips around the head, giving a tentative suck as your tongue plays with the underside of it.
He grunts, cocking his head to the side. And then he starts pulling on the belt – just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it so it’s a tad harder to breathe. He’s usually pretty safe in his sex practices, but you feel like this could be dangerous.
You only then understand what he really meant by punishing you, and it makes your pussy drip on your thighs.
You moan around his dick, before slowly pushing forward until he hits the back of your throat, and your eyes water. You swallow around him, keeping the gag reflex at bay as he circles his hips. You pull away from his cock to move to his balls instead, still not using your hands as you lick at the spot between them, licking up his dick at the same time.
“Hands on me, baby,” he commands.
As per usual, you obey. One of your hands moves to fondle his balls, and the other wraps around the base of his cock so you can jerk him off as you suck. And then you get to work, eyes shutting as you concentrate on pulling grunts out of him.
He doesn’t let you do it for a long time. He’s quick to pull on the belt more – it’s a leash more than a belt, is it? – which makes you pull away, lips parted as you struggle to suck in some air.
“Eyes on me,” he tells you. “I want to see you cry as you choke on my dick.”
When he guides his cock back towards your mouth, you keep your eyes on him, ever so a good girl, and you let him thrust in your mouth. The first two times he does it, your gag reflex doesn’t show up, but the third time you gag, spit rolling on your chin as he pulls away. A line of drool connects his tip to your mouth, and it breaks as he once again taps his cock on your cheek. Tears water your eyes, and he watches you blink them away, slightly shaking his head in disapproval.
You know that was your last chance when he pushes his dick in your mouth again, establishing a steady yet hard rhythm that has your gaze blurring. You moan against him, right as he grunts, whispering filthy curses entwined with mentions of your name. And when he starts going faster, the sounds of you choking get louder. It’s indecent, pornographic, and tears roll on your cheeks as he throws his head back, grunting loudly.
“Fuck, baby.”
He stops at the back of your throat, looking down at you. He wipes some tears on your cheeks as you swallow around him. His dick twitches inside your mouth, but you know he’s not about to come.
Soon, perhaps, but not just yet.
“You’re okay?” he asks, because even though he’s pretty rough, he always does care about his partner too.
He lets you pull away to catch your breath, releasing his tight hold on the belt too. You breathe raggedly, throat feeling raw from the intrusion.
“Yes,” you breathe out.
“Good.” He licks his lips, offering you a dangerous chuckle. “You’re going to let me come down your throat?”
You nod, and he taps the tip of his dick against your sealed lips. You don’t remember shutting your mouth, so you open it wide again for him. He pushes forward, slowly, until all of it is embedded in your mouth, head pushing against the back of your throat. He remains unmoving long enough for you to gag, and then he pushes forward even more before pulling back.
When he starts fucking your mouth again, you know he’s chasing his high. So you fondle his balls, moan around his dick, try not to choke whenever he hits the back of your throat. Evidently, you still do sometimes, and tears roll down your cheeks by the time he growls, “Open your throat up for me, baby”.
You moan one last time, as he pushes all the way to the back of your mouth, grunting loudly as hot spurts of his cum fills your throat. As his dick twitches, he pulls out a little, and you know better than to swallow right away. So you patiently wait as he finishes, before fully pulling away.
He grabs your jaw, and forces you to tilt your head back. “Open up.” You do, and he spits on top of his cum before saying, “Swallow”. You do that too, and the next time you open your mouth, it’s fully empty. Only then does he let go of your jaw, and he also quickly takes his belt off from around your neck, letting it drop to the floor.
It falls with a loud thump, and you breathe in deeply for the first time in a while. Your throat aches, and you massage your neck where the buckle left an indent in your skin. Concern grows on his features as you chuckle awkwardly, getting up from the floor.
Your knees are already hurting, and you know you’ll have bruises by the time you wake up tomorrow.
“Is your neck okay?” he asks.
You drop your hand, and his fingers ghost over the spot. “Yeah,” you reassure him. “It’ll be okay.”
“Good.” He smirks, and then he captures your lips in another heated kiss. One of his hands moves between your thighs, and he feels your wetness, groaning in satisfaction. “You’re dripping for me,” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.
“I am.”
He licks at your mouth, before saying, “Too bad you won’t be getting some tonight, mmh?”
And he moves his hand away from your core to settle it on your waist instead.
“What?” you let out.
At this, he laughs, and it’s a little mean. “You think I’ll make you come when you’ve ghosted me for a few months?” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Nah, you’re going to have to work for it, baby.”
You want to curse him, but somehow it just turns you on further. “When can I see you again then?”
He ponders for a time, pulling away so he can meet your gaze. “What about next weekend?”
You’re disappointed, but you try not to let it show. “Any chance you’d be available during the week?”
“Maybe,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Will you be nice and not touch yourself until then?”
You bite at your bottom lip, nodding once.
“Then yes, we can hang out this week,” he concludes. He frees your lip from your teeth with his thumb, before gently tapping your cheek. “But I’ve got to go now.”
It surprises you. Back when you were friends with benefits, you always stayed the night at his place, so you expected him to stay tonight. But he immediately steps away from you, putting his clothes back on quickly as you just stand there, naked and awkward.
“You’re leaving?”
He glances at you as he’s putting his belt back on. “Yeah, won’t have you think I’m into you like that again.”
It hurts just a tad little bit, but at the same time you agree with him. Not sleeping over is a good way to avoid feelings, so you decide to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater so you can walk him to the front door.
Hoseok kisses your forehead once when you get there, before grabbing his coat. You watch as he slides his arms in it, draping it on his shoulders before he bends down to put his shoes on too. When he straightens, he offers you a hug and you gladly embrace him as he wishes you good night.
You’re somehow confused as you shut the door behind him, and you stay there for a few seconds, almost expecting him to come back. He doesn’t, and you’re left heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth, only so you can get rid of the taste of him, and then you head to your bedroom.
And as you lie awake in bed, the only thing you can hope is that Jungkook didn’t hear you after all. You’re ashamed of what you did, but you’re far too tired to think about it deeply. All you can do is stare at the wall in front of you, hoping that sleep will take you.
It doesn’t, not until the early hours of the morning, when the sun is starting to kiss the horizon, turning the sky to liquid gold.
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my privatter, or a bunch of tissaia nsfw
to celebrate something something: I have set my privatter to accessible to everyone (over 18y) so if you want to see some steamy, probably questionably kinky stuffs, they are not password protected anymore, just type "yes" by the pop-up question
#including the octopus#and the monsterfucking#not gent!tissaia getting railed into next week though that is spoilers#you can see them you can leave a like you can print them out stuff them into chorizo eat them with breakfast cereal idk#same goes even if you are under 18 but just keep that to yourself#sometimes i draw filthy things
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give in
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: joel shows you how to love yourself the way you deserve
warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, age gap, comfort, smut, size kink, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, exploring sexual trauma, mentions of guilt & shame, intrusive thoughts
word count: 2.8k
“Doin’ real good, baby. That’s it, nice and slow. No need to rush it.”
Joel needs you to believe it.
He can feel your discomfort and sense the intrusive thoughts threatening to overtake you, but he needs you to know that everything you're doing right now is okay.
It’s normal and natural, and, under his roof, highly encouraged. All he's ever wanted is for you to feel good. For you to allow yourself the grace and gratification of coming undone at your own, perfect hand.
But you live by an unspoken rule, one that doesn't apply to anyone else but you. There's nothing you love more than watching Joel touch himself, whether it's quick and dirty, or drawn-out and meticulous, his body teetering on the edge of all-consuming release for hours. Yet, when it comes to your personal pleasure, there’s only shame.
He's beginning to realize that your aversion goes beyond a lack of education. You were young when the outbreak hit, and while FEDRA schools aren’t exactly known for their top-tier sex ed classes, that isn't what's holding you back.
There's something else there, too, buried beneath the surface. A lifetime's worth of guilt and doubt that he alone gets the privilege of unraveling. So, whenever you come to him for help, he leads you to his bed and gently coaxes you to self-completion.
He takes it slow and keeps his hands to himself unless you tell him otherwise—and you always tell him otherwise. But those are your boundaries to set. New, spoken rules to replace the old ones.
Pressed firmly into your side, he whispers soft reassurances in your ear, his lips brushing the wispy baby hairs framing your forehead with every word. He swallows every gasp and moan, and cherishes the sharp sting of your nails biting into his skin as you reach your peak.
And when you come down from the clouds and turn to him with hazy eyes and a blissful smile, he knows it's all worth it. Even if it takes years more, he’ll continue to talk you through it, banishing the cruel thoughts that plague you and replacing them with the promise of relief.
Just like he is right now.
--
"Tell me what you're feelin'. I wanna know what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours."
You shake your head, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Your body never responds to you the way it does to Joel, and, on the rare occasion it does, it just isn't the same. It takes too long, and there's none of the gradual build-up that allows you to lose yourself in it. Not in the pleasure of it, anyway.
"S'a little...dry," you mumble, slowing to a stop. It'll start to burn if you keep going like this, but you're not sure what else you can do. Joel presses a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before pulling back.
"Lemme see your hand, sugar," he says, gesturing for yours with his own. Confused, you remove your fingers from between your legs to hold up in front of his face.
You're waiting for him to inspect them, or come up with a valid reason why they're not working, when he abruptly sucks them into his mouth. His tongue feels hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dips between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet.
A wave of heat almost identical to the one enveloping your hand begins to pool at the base of your spine, and you feel a sudden, heady whoosh at the apex of your thighs. If he could just keep doing that, exactly that, but further down your body—
But, to your disappointment, he stops as suddenly as he started and slides your fingers from his mouth with a lewd pop before guiding them back to your core.
"How 'bout now?" he asks earnestly, and Christ. He's so good at that. He always knows how to work your body, even by proxy.
You're wet. You don't even need the added moisture of Joel's saliva, anymore. Just the action itself has you breathing heavier, enticing a craving you never knew you had. Your fingers slip clumsily through the slick leaking out of you, and your eyelids flutter at the fleeting sensation of your fingertips catching your entrance.
"B-better...feels better," you stumble over your words. Your fingers continue to explore your folds without your permission, stoking the fire in your belly. And also your doubt. "But I'm—J-Joel it's..."
That telltale embarrassment is starting to creep in again, reminding you that you're doing something wrong. It feels too good, and you really don't want to stop, but what does that say about you? Sinner, slut. The intrusive thoughts are louder than Joel's gentle panting in your ear, now.
As if he can hear them, he snakes a hand past your stomach to grip the soft plush of your thigh. He spreads you open for him, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massages soothing shapes into your skin, silencing the ugly words with his kind touch.
"S'alright, sugar, you can keep goin'. You liked that, right? That's good. You're treatin' your body the way she deserves," he says encouragingly. His hand inches closer to where you're dribbling onto the sheets, but stops the moment his thumb reaches your coarse curls.
You ache to wrap your soaked fingers around his to tug him closer, but you know you can't. And that feels surprisingly okay. For the first time in a long time, you're actually keeping yourself sated enough without his help.
Now that your legs are parted, it all feels...different. Heightened, almost. It's because you're hyperaware of every movement you're making, you realize, and it turns you on way more than it should. Or, no. No. Exactly as much as it should.
Joel isn't immune to it, either.
As your bedroom fills with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds, you can feel Joel fighting harder not to rut into your side. His body is tense beside you, and the bicep pillowing your head flexes intermittently every time your hips swivel to meet your hand. His praise is also starting to take on an edge, now tinged with something a little...filthier.
"Y'hear that? You're gettin' so loud, sugar. So wet," he grits out, his expression pained. "Just look at'cha. Needy, perfect girl. Doin' everythin' right."
His eyes dart up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. He's watching you a little too intently, likely to avoid the image of your glistening palm and fingertips working to bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. You're making a huge mess.
And it's making Joel hard as a rock. Twitching and leaking, and temptingly bare against the sweet friction of your hip bone. You know he's doing everything he can to focus on you, but he can't even begin to imagine how much his reaction is spurring you on.
More. You want to give yourself so much more.
"Joel, I don't think I'm doing it right," you twist to whine into his tousled, graying hair. You breathe him in, and the familiar scent of pine and suede makes your head spin and your fingers stutter. "S'not enough. I-I need more, I keep losing it."
He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, wrenching his gaze away from you to glance down the bed. Christ, he can't even hide how badly he wants to touch you. His cock jerks the moment he catches sight of you again, smearing precum across your skin, and you involuntarily mimic him, your hips bucking up into your unpracticed touch.
Blunt nails dig into your thigh before his hand trails back up to your stomach. It trembles as he guides you, languidly and with a hint of desperation.
"S'okay, just follow me," he instructs you, swirling his middle and ring fingers in a tight circle around your belly button. You shiver at the raspiness of his voice. "Right around your clit. Remember where that is?"
But before you can shake your head, his arm slides out from under you and he shifts further down your body to lean over you, propping himself on his elbow. His fingers continue their ministrations on your stomach while he moves lower to gently tug up the hood of your clit, revealing your swollen nub.
"Fuckin' hell," he swears quietly under his breath, his stomach visibly tensing. He's careful to steer clear of everything else, giving you enough space to heed his lesson.
"Alright, c'mere, sugar. There ya go. See? You remember," he releases you, shifting a hand to your thigh and wrapping the other tightly around the base of his cock. He keens, his back nearly bowing with the pent-up tension in his body. "That's it. Nice, tight circles. Just like when I make you cum with my mouth."
You choke on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you're suddenly inundated with memories of Joel between your legs, fucking you with his tongue until you gush into his mouth. You press down harder, swirl faster. No guilt, no disgust. It all still feels so good.
He notices the change in your breathing immediately and begins to stroke himself in time with the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. The hazel of his eyes sharpens to pitch black. A warning, preparing you for the ecstasy to come.
"Oh, you like that, huh? S'good, you're doin' so good. Can ya give yourself two fingers? Wanna show ya all the ways I make you squeeze mine," he croons, teasing just below the ridge of his head with his thumb while he waits for your response.
"I...yeah, y-yes," you whimper, your brows furrowing as you slip your fingers lower to circle your entrance. But as you start to press into yourself, you hesitate. "W-wait, it feels like too much. I don't want it to hurt."
At that, he all but winces like he's in physical pain, and his hand shoots to the base of his cock again, squeezing hard.
"Christ," he grits through his teeth, but it sounds more akin to a growl. It wasn't your intention to make him fight his own body like this, but you won't lie and say you're not devouring every second of it. He exhales sharply through his nose to ground himself. "Does it feel good when ya take my cock?"
Those dark eyes are on yours, now, but somehow they're still so gentle. He's not saying any of this for himself. You can tell, it's all for you. Reminders that you can do this if you want it, and that he'd never ask you to do anything that could harm you.
You nod quickly because it does feel good. You need him to know that having his cock inside you feels so, so good.
"Look at those pretty, little fingers of yours. They bigger than I am?"
Your eyes drop to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around himself. He's leaking all over his fingers, thick and tinged an angry shade of red.
"No, Joel. You're bigger," you whisper, your pleasure intensifying the longer you watch him. His lips quirk into the beginnings of a smirk.
"Now, ya don't have to. You can get yourself there just like that. S'just as good," his drawl commands your attention. "But I think you'd like knowin' how it feels like to cum around 'em—"
The tips of your fingers begin to sink into your heat before he finishes his sentence. The sensation is...everything. Too much to keep your eyes from rolling back or your jaw from dropping. It's so different. As you bottom out, you wonder how this is even possible for Joel. How he ever manages to fit.
"S'hard to move," you pump your fingers in and out experimentally, moaning quietly at the addictive way they drag against your sensitive walls.
You're not too naive to realize your body stretches to accommodate him, but you're too caught up in the sight of his hand resuming its previous pace to recall that knowledge. He looks a little desperate now and sounds even more so.
"Fuck me. S'it tight? Tell me, sugar. Tell me how tight ya are," he pants heavily, unable to stop himself from fucking into his fist. You unknowingly match his pace, clenching around yourself every time your palm slaps into your clit.
"M'so tight, Joel. And wet and warm," your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the beauty of your own body.
Letting the slick sound of his hand slamming into his pelvic bone be your guide, you bring yourself closer and closer to your own, distinctive state of nirvana. The same explosive release Joel gives you all the time that you're finally allowing your body to experience with itself.
"Joel, I'm...I...," you sob around your words, barely able to force them out as your entire being quakes with your impending orgasm. "...I can't—m'gonna cum, Joel, I can't."
Without warning, he throws a leg over your body to straddle your hips and crashes his lips into yours. He continues to work himself as he coaxes your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours fleetingly before he pulls back.
"Ya can. Let go, sugar. Give in to it, s'okay. I got ya, I'm right here," he breathes against your lips, and you tilt your head to meet his again. When your head drops back onto the bed, your eyes are pleading. You need his help.
And he understands. That's what he's here for.
"Cum with me," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours. "C'mon, perfect girl, you deserve it."
You believe him. The shame and never-ending guilt that twists and snags like barbed wire in your chest is nowhere to be found right now. There's only silence, save for you and Joel teetering on the cusp, and his tender reassurances in your ear. He's right. You can have this.
"Ngh—Joel, it's...cumming. Fuck, fuck, m'cumming."
It creeps up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaks, then slams into you like a freight train. His name leaves your lips in a sharp exhale of sheer relief, repeated like a prayer while you ride it out.
You're vaguely aware of a ragged, drawn-out groan above you as you soak the sheets beneath you, your cunt squeezing your fingers hard with every spasm, just like he said it would. You feel it all.
Then, you feel him, splattering across your stomach and breasts in thick, white streaks, his release as messy and prolonged as yours. Gasping, you continue through your aftershocks together until sensitivity sets in.
Joel collapses on the bed next to you and immediately pulls you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, drying residue smearing between you. He cups your cheek and kisses you, firmly but chastely, before reluctantly pulling away.
His eyes search yours carefully like he's looking for something. Peace, maybe? A sense of calm, an absence of the cloudiness he so often sees there and fights to keep at bay. Whatever it is, he must've found it because, then, his lips are on yours again, a longer, deeper kiss that you melt into with loose limbs and a light heart.
"How we doin', sugar?" he asks tentatively as he parts from you.
You take a moment to respond, appraising your body and everything it can sense right now. The wetness between your legs and on your chest, your aching wrist and thighs, and that sweet, pleasant buzz settling at the top of your spine.
"Good," you tell him honestly. You gaze up at him with a blissful smile, preening at the affectionate one he gives you in return, before burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"Thanks...for this," you continue, mumbling carefully into the warmth of his skin. "And for putting up with me. I know all of this is shitty and weird, and not fun. Just...thank you—for never giving up on me."
He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer and enveloping you in his strong, soothing embrace. It feels safe here. In Joel's bed, surrounded by his scent and heat, and unwavering patience, you start to feel hopeful. He lifts your hand to his lips and softly kisses the pads of each finger, then the center of your palm.
"Ya don't have to thank me for any of that. We'll keep doin' this, s'long as it takes," he murmurs, urging you out of your hiding spot to meet his eyes. "Not a damn thing wrong with ya. Ya hear me? You're perfect."
Maybe one day, you'll be able to believe him outside of this bedroom. But, for right now, you just feel lucky to be loved by a man like Joel. One who accepts your trauma and your past, and will always be there to save you, even from yourself.
thanks for reading!
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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over again
ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader
cw: 18+ content, dark content, heavy dub-con, forced ddlg, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, fingering, p in v, creampie, mentions of past drugging, daddy kink, lots of pet names
a/n: took me forever n ever to write this ahhh sorry :/ hope you all enjoy it !! feedback always appreciated !! hopefully the writers block will finally perish.
word count: 1.6k words
14 weeks. 98 days. 2352 hours.
Leon leaves the house at 7.30 am every morning, except for Sundays. From Monday to Thursday, he's home around 6 pm. On Fridays, he isn't home until around 9 pm. Saturdays are the worst because he's home just after lunch.
Usually, when he comes home, he goes to the bedroom and unlocks the door to let you out. He threads his hand in your leash to take you upstairs, giving you a kiss on your forehead as he takes you to the kitchen to eat a meal. He gives you your food on a pink, plastic princess plate with plastic cutlery, and cuts the food into bite size pieces. More often than not, he hand feeds you.
You don't fight it. You'd learned your lesson. You refused food from him once. For 2 out of your 14 weeks locked up in his home, he'd underfed you to the point of starvation until you were begging him to feed you. He sat you in his lap, cooing all sweet as you chewed and swallowed every mouthful he'd given you. That day was the first day he slept with you.
It wasn't all bad. He was sweet. Gentle. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend he was a loving boyfriend. Someone who cared for you, not the creep who'd snatched you from the street after you had a few too many drinks at your friend's party, promising you a better life, safe from the world.
But he isn't sweet, or nice, or kind. He didn't do this for you, despite what his twisted brain tells him. You can pretend all you want that he's something other than what he is, but it doesn't change what he is. A monster.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Where's my little princess?” Leon's asking as soon as he walks into the house, kicking his shoes off and hanging his jacket up at the door. You recently got free reign of the home for being on your best behaviour. Didn't even have to keep the leash attached to your collar anymore. Lucky you.
“Here, daddy.” You say meekly, poking your head out of the living room to approach him, fiddling awkwardly with the edge of your shirt. Head down, so he doesn't have to see the defeated expression on your face as you force out the words, swallowing thickly to hold back your tears.
“You have a good day, sweetheart? You do any coloring in those cute little books I got you?” Leon's hands come up to your cheeks, gently stroking his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. You shake your head, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from saying something.
“No? Why not, baby? You don't like them? I got the one with lots of kitties. Pretty girls like you like cute things, don't they?” He coos, squishing your cheeks in his hands to make your lips all pouty so he can lean down and give them a little kiss, letting out a loud ‘mwah’ as soon as his lips make contact.
“You eat at least? I left some food in a lunchbox for you.” You shake your head again, and this time it seems to elicit a worse reaction. His brows furrow, and his hand grips your face even tighter. “No? Silly baby… can't do anything without daddy, can you? Come on. Daddy'll feed you, cutie.”
He heats up some food for you and puts it on a plate. The pink, plastic princess plate. He sits you on his lap and feeds it to you from a fork. Pink, plastic fork. The routine is the same, no matter how much you wish for it to change. When you finish eating, he presses a tender kiss to your head and rocks you in his arms.
“Such a good girl. Good girls get rewarded, princess.” He murmurs, pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck, trailing them up until he's nosing at the hair behind your ear. His hand slides up your thigh and under your skirt, his thumb swiping your swollen bud through the already damp fabric. It didn't matter if you didn't want it. Your body didn't seem to understand what was happening - all it knew was Leon made you feel good. You hated how compliant you got when he touched you, how any thoughts of defiance melted away.
You go limp when he touches you. Docile. You let him do what he wants to you, just like a good girl should. Back-talking daddy is a big no-no. He wrote that in big writing on the rule list that's pinned to the fridge. Escape didn't use to seem impossible, yet now the thought never even crossed your mind. You'd tried, but he kept a tight lock on you. You wouldn't be surprised to find out one of the many injections he gave you when you were unruly had a tracker in. He always seemed to know exactly where you were.
You whimper as he dips his hand under the waistband of your panties. He parts your puffy lips with practiced ease as he continues on with the next part of his routine. 98 days later and he's mapped every inch of your body perfectly - found out everything that has you keening under his touch. Your hips buck as he runs his fingertip between your folds, gathering slick before rubbing small circles into your clit.
“Poor, dumb baby. She's soaking me already. You couldn't make yourself feel good when daddy was gone, huh, sweetheart?” His words are followed up by a finger burying itself in your tight heat, curling to find that gummy spot that has you clenching around him and bucking your hips. “Pretty princess cunt's been drooling for me all day.”
A choked sob leaves you when he pulls his cock out and sits you on top of it. He pulls you down until he's buried to the hilt, groaning as you tighten around his length. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, peppering it with tiny little kisses. You can't help but cry whenever Leon fucks you. 98 days later and you still sob whenever he bullies your cervix with his dick. No matter how many times he makes you cum or makes you go dumb on his cock, it doesn't change anything. He took everything from you - your family, your friends, your job.
You hated yourself more than Leon. For letting him break your walls down. For clinging to him as he tightens his grip on your waist, manhandling you on his cock, lifting you up and down. For finding yourself missing him when he's at work.
“Love…love you, daddy…” Your words come out more like a cry, nose all runny and cheeks wet with tears as he fucks up into you, his head shifting to hang back in pleasure. His fingers dig into your waist as he hears the words, a breathy laugh leaving him as he smiles - all toothy and bright like it always is when you say that.
“Love you even more, princess.” He grunts out, leaning back on the seat to force himself deeper into your pussy, guiding your hips back and forth so you're grinding his cock inside of you, rubbing your pretty clit against his happy trail. You gasp at the sensation, your hands gripping into his shoulders as your brows furrow in pleasure.
“Daddy… daddy…” You gasp out as your orgasm hits, your lips parting as you gush all over him. The look on your face as you cum is enough to have his balls tighten, his teeth gritting as he starts to shallowly thrust into you once more, chasing his own release. You always cry when you cum, and Leon always kisses the tears away when you do, his lips pressing against the wetness on your cheeks repeatedly. Another part of the ritual, another moment repeating day after day.
“Want daddy to fill you up, sweet girl?” He grunts, nipping at your neck as he wraps his arms tight around your waist in a bear hug, holding you steady as he fucks up into your drippy cunt. “Gonna warm you up right in that cute lil’ tummy.”
His hips stutter as his orgasm hits him, his jaw going slack as he presses the tip of his cock right up against your cervix, filling you to the brim with his sticky cum. He slides a hand under your shirt, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the skin of your tummy.
“That's it. Keep it all in, okay? Daddy doesn't want to see his little angel spill a single drop.” He says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He holds you there for a couple of minutes, cradling you against his chest until it's time to go to sleep.
Before bed that night, Leon ushers you into the bathroom. Like every night before this one, he gently grips your jaw with one hand as he stands behind you, his other hand gripping your pink princess toothbrush as he brushes your teeth, his eyes locked onto you through the mirror. At bedtime, he tucks you in and curls up behind you, spooning you with one hand on one of your tits, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist.
Tomorrow is a Friday. He wakes you up at 6.30 am with a kiss to your head as always, a warm cup of milk in one hand and your breakfast in the other. He feeds you off of a pink, plastic princess plate and presses a kiss to your lips before leaving at 7.30 am on the dot.
#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x you#resident evil x you#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut#tw dark content
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Pretty Girl [3] Eddie Munson x fem!reader
Summary — Eddie thinks he'll actually die if you keep ignoring him. So he's going to make you talk to him. Even if that means climbing through your window.
Word Count — 3.1k
Warnings — graphic depictions of sexual activity, oral sex (fem receiving) dirty talk, Eddie jerks off while eating you out
18+ ONLY
I didn't forget about you sluts.
“I can take you home.”
You watched as your group of friends slowly disappeared from view, their voices diminishing into silence as the car drove further down the road. The smile faded from your lips as a chilly breeze crashed against you were overcome with the realization that you were alone. Both literally and figuratively. Your friends, something you weren’t even certain you could call them, had forgotten you. No, that wasn’t the right word. Left you must’ve been more accurate because they knew you were there but none of them seemed to even care they left you alone under a yellow streetlamp on an empty road as raindrops dampened your uniform. Yes, left behind was the right term for it. Disregarded and ignored. You glanced down at the brown stains on your white, or what used to be sneakers. Goosebumps rose on your exposed legs as you crossed your arms, trying to preserve as much warmth as you could. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the journey home as your eyes stung with warm tears.
With reluctance, you peered over your shoulder and sighed shakily. There was a flicker of anger passing through you as you took him in; casually leaning against his van with his adorned hands stuffed inside his pockets. Of course, he was there. He was always there whenever you needed him as far away as possible. You blinked away the dwelling tears and whirled around, ignoring his presence entirely. You didn’t make it very far before you heard his heavy footsteps near you. “Oh, come on. I might be a dick but I’m not gonna let you walk home alone, at night, in the rain.” You wanted to remark that ‘might’ wasn’t accurate. He was a dick. “Especially in your pretty little uniform.”
You could feel your strands of hair sticking to your skin as you hesitantly faced him. “Oh, so you’re gonna protect me?” You questioned as if the mere idea of him keeping you from everything that goes bump in the night was ridiculous. Because that wasn’t him and that wasn’t how this dynamic worked. “I don’t think so. I’d rather take my chances with whatever is out there.” You said, glancing at the darkness surrounding the town. You knew what was out there. Dealt with everything that could’ve possibly killed you and survived, but here you were, dreading getting inside a car with him.
He loomed closer and your glare hardened as your nostrils flared. God, he couldn’t get over how pretty you looked when you were mad at him. You were finally acknowledging him again with that delicious anger he’d been craving. And for a brief moment, he couldn’t have even bothered to notice your wrath flaming beneath your harsh gaze because you were finally acknowledging him. You were finally looking at him with those damn eyes he swore he could lose himself in and he didn’t seem to care that you were only looking at him because you were on the verge of slapping him across the face.
Things were different. And this time, this change wasn’t a welcome one and you were desperate for everything to suddenly transform back to ‘normal’. Or as normal as things could get between you two. The weekend arrived and you didn’t want to go anywhere, irrationally worried you were going to see him. Avoiding him like he was contaminated with the plague wasn’t something you were used to. Sure, before this relationship progressed, you didn’t go out of your way to speak with him, but now, you couldn’t even walk in the same hallway without being consumed by embarrassment.
As ridiculous as this might’ve seemed, the kiss you abruptly pressed against him was strangely intimate. Well, for you it was. Because sex could just be something as simple as people seeking physical pleasure from another person. A simple hook-up. That connection was fiery, consuming, and temporary. You might not have had sex with him, but he allowed you to chase that all-consuming pleasure from him and you felt stupid for thinking he could’ve thought of you as anything other than some sex toy. You kissed him and he rejected you.
“You don’t mean that.” His smirk was cruel and you were moments from scratching his face until he was unrecognizable. “Come on, pretty girl. I’ll keep my hands to myself and drive with two hands on the wheel.”
As soon as the words fell from his lips, another breeze moved through the ice-cold air and you shivered. The light rainfall slowly dampened his unruly hair and you knew the downpour was going to drastically change soon. You looked upward at the dark skies and clamoring clouds, silently cursing at them for this. Oh, gosh, this couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t seriously be considering this. Sitting in a small and enclosed space with Eddie Munson for who knows how long after he had practically rejected you was outrageous. You were going to deny the offer when a loud crack echoed throughout town. Thunder. His smile only widened. “Fine. Give me your jacket.” He raised his eyebrows at the sudden demand but complied regardless. That’s how it worked between you both; you demanded and he complied. Most of the time. In one fluid movement, his jacket was removed and he wordlessly handed it to you. You removed your backpack and cheer bag and roughly smacked it against his chest before walking to his passenger door, decidedly ignoring his groan. He quickened his pace to open the door for you. “If you try any of your shit, I’m jumping out of the car.” You warned.
His jacket was warm and smelled like his cologne and weed. You tightened the fabric around yourself and flicked on the heater. He pulled away from the school’s desolate parking lot and drove away. A minute hadn’t gone by before he opened his mouth. “Why were you at school this late?” He knew why. He had practically memorized your schedule and knew exactly what you were doing most days, but he just wanted to listen to your voice. It had been too long since he had heard your voice directed at him.
You were quiet and didn’t answer immediately. He was going to ask the question again before your voice filled the confines of his car. “Cheer practice.” You answered shortly, gaze remaining outside the window and at the passing blur of colors. “You?” You hesitantly asked. You didn’t know why you bothered asking. You knew what he was doing there. He was cleaning the mess left behind by the Hellfire Club and doing whatever else dungeon masters do. You only knew because the kids were practically attached to him. It’s not like you wanted to know or asked about it before. Of course not.
“Hellfire.” And you must’ve been delusional if you thought Eddie was granting you some kind of mercy and deciding to drive the remainder of the trip in sweet silence. Yes, delusional indeed. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. These past couple of days, you know.” You did know, it was impossible to not notice such an imposing figure in your life like him. Beneath the facade of flippancy and sarcasm, there was the undeniable truth—he was hurt. And this wasn’t an ordinary kind of hurt. This was an ache that throbbed and demanded to be felt, the lifeless thump of a cracked heart before transforming into a sharpness, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Heartache was a disease desperate to be felt. The cure of his was inches away from him, shrouded with his clothes.
“I didn’t notice.” You lied straight through your teeth and he knew you were lying.
His eyes remained on the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened. “I just wish you would let me explain—”
You breathed in sharply. “There isn’t anything to explain.” Another lie.
There was another crackle and a flash of light scattered across the sky. “Yes, there is. Just let me—”
The driveway of your household was steadily approaching and you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, practically tumbling outside as soon as the van stopped moving. “Thank you for the ride.” He watched as you disappeared behind your door, closing it without glancing back.
Beneath the warmth of your blankets, you readjusted yourself with your eyes closed. Your face was smushed against your pillows, a small sigh escaping you as you squeezed your pillow tighter. The sound of your window opening filled the silent air and your eyes snapped open, hurriedly looking over your shoulder before jolting upright. “Your hair is sticking out everywhere.” A voice said casually. “Cute.”
The chill from the midnight breeze crashed against you like an icy tidal wave. Across the room, and casually perched on your windowsill, was Eddie. You rubbed the side of your face and groaned, promptly shoving your face back onto your baby pink pillows. You should’ve been worried, frightened even, that he had broken into your room, but the only emotion you could manage was exhaustion. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was muffled as you spoke into the fabric.
This must’ve been a figment of his depraved imagination, a scene plucked from his dreams—you were languidly sprawled across your blankets and wearing nothing but a small nightgown. And that nightgown revealed the softness of your breasts as you slowly faced him, your bare ass peeking beneath the thin fabric. As you pressed your cheek against your palm, finally offering your hazy attention, the breath was stolen from lungs and he subtly latched onto the windowsill to steady himself. “You know, those friends back there didn’t really seem like friends. Just an observation.” He was stalling. He knew he was, but he was desperate for a semblance of normality.
You breathed in sharply. “Well, you can keep your observations to yourself.”
It was silent for a beat. “You wanna hear another observation?” He didn’t care if you didn’t.
You yawned, blinking slowly. “Not really, but I’m sure you're going to share anyway.”
He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the annoyance searing your voice. “I think you like being around me because you don’t have to pretend. You can be your mean, stubborn, and bratty self around me. Around them, you have to be The Head Cheerleader.” You weren’t even focusing on the coldness filling the room or even acknowledging that he was inside your room. That hadn’t been processed completely. Yet. “It’s obvious. I don’t know how no one else doesn’t notice.”
Through your sleepy gaze, you narrowed your eyes. “You think you know me, Munson?”
“No, I do know you.” He answered so surely. “I think you’re forgetting I grew up with you.” That wasn’t something you could ever forget even if you had tried. And you had desperately. “You were my first-ever crush. I was obsessed with you. Still am, by the way.” He casually added. “I grew up watching you. I memorized everything about you. I even watched those damn pep rallies for you. Failed classes so you could be my tutor. I even bribed Mr. Johnson so I could be your partner for the project that let me see those pretty little panties of yours.”
He moved away from the windowsill and loomed closer to the edge of your bed. “So I need you to understand something. You were my first and only crush. You were my first of many wet dreams. You were the only girl who made me nervous and made me feel like some lovesick loser because you looked at me. There were times when I couldn’t fucking function because you smelled so good, said something so damn smart in class, or yelled at Carver for being a dick. I need you to understand I have been and still am, fucking crazy for you and you kissed me.”
He kneeled, his tentative hands softly caressing your thighs before pressing a small kiss on your knee. “I need you to understand that I’m the loser who plays D&D with freshmen, sells weed, and hasn’t had a girlfriend, who fucking watches porn to practice for this exact moment and you’re you.” Another gentle kiss on your other knee. “And, fuck, you’re so perfect. The goddamn prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss on your thigh. “So damn smart.” Another kiss on your other thigh. “And you’re funny. You challenge me.” His nose nudged the hem of your nightgown as he licked the inside of your thigh. “So I do know you and I know you like me. And that’s something I can’t wrap my head around.”
You shuddered as his breath brushed against your skin, unintentionally wrapping your leg around his shoulder, your calf pressed against his back, pulling him closer. You whispered his name, a plead for something. Anything. Your voice, breathless and desperate, was a siren’s call and he would’ve swam to the depths of the darkest ocean to hear it again and again.
The words uttered from his flushed lips were barely processed as lifted the hem of your nightgown. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before closing them, almost as if he were murmuring a silent prayer, and he took a moment to admire the godly sight before him. Hidden beneath the softness of your nightgown and thighs was something he had only dreamed of. Yeah, of course, he’d seen pussies before. From porn, mind you, but this was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He didn’t understand how you, probably the most perfect woman to ever roam this earth, had just become even better.
You could feel each slow breath from him as he simply admired. “Do something.” You whispered. Your voice was a soft reminder that he needed to move, do something as you put it. Slowly, his tongue dragged across your pussy and a primal groan escaped his mouth. He pulled away suddenly and you glanced at him curiously. He looked concentrated, brows scrunched together in deep thought. “I-Is something wrong?”
A moment passed and he shook his head. “I’m just trying not to cum.” He eventually said.
You threw your head back and laughed, which was stifled by a moan as he shoved his head back between your thighs. His initial movements were experimental, unsure, but as he continued and listened to your sounds, he knew what he was doing. Sort of. “Fuck, yes.” Your voice was unrecognizable to your own ears and the moans slipping from your lips were unlike anything you had made when alone.
This was the exact moment where Eddie decided he was going to marry you in the future. But first he was going to make you cum.
With his tongue still flicking against your clit, occasionally sucking, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock from the confines of his clothes. Your legs shook as he shoved two ringed fingers inside you, slowly pumping you and memorizing every detail of this moment before he gathered the juices of your arousal and jerked himself off. “So fucking wet.” He said, pathetically whining as the pornographic sound of your wetness coated his cock. “I don’t know how I lived this long without tasting you.”
Your thighs pressed against his face as your hand pulled his hair and he promptly decided if he were to die tonight, he would die a happy man. This is where he belonged. Most men wanted to be businessmen, sleep on a bed full of money with dozens of women keeping them company, but he didn’t. His face shoved between your shaking thighs, sucking on your clit as you yanked his hair and moaned his name, was where he belonged. “Please don’t stop.” You pleaded. And as much as Eddie loved hearing you yell at him, he decided this was how he wanted to hear you from now on. "Yes, yes, yes. Don't stop."
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my pretty girl.” God, him and that nickname were going to be the death of you.
“I-I’m gonna—” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t finish your own sentence.
His hand clutched your thigh with a newfound roughness, pulling your closer, and his other hand squeezed and tugged his leaking cock. “Come on, pretty girl. Come for me.” His pace and movements didn’t change or falter. “Give it to me. Come for me, please. I need it.”
At that moment, you decided Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was never getting rid of you because he ate your pussy like a starving man and made you cum until you saw twinkling stars. “You have the filthiest fucking mouth—”
His wet mouth pressed against yours, his hands coated with your juices and he clutched your cheek. “You taste that?” He asked after pulling away, his lips faintly brushed against yours, teasing. “That’s the taste of the prettiest girl—” He kissed you again and you were barely able to process the softness of his mouth against you before he pulled away again. “Who fucking likes me and can’t deny it.”
And his knees buckled as you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you. “What have you done to me, Eddie Munson?” You mumbled. He could feel your glittering smile against his and there wasn’t anything more beautiful.
He saw the gilded walls surrounding your heart and decided he was going to do everything he could to get there. He poked and prodded, tugged and pulled before deciding to take a jackhammer and destroy everything keeping him from you. “My five-year plan of seducing you finally worked.” And he stopped for only a moment, processing the mere fact that this was real. He was really touching you, tasting you, licking your cum off his soaked lips. “I’ve dreamed of this.” His voice was low and below a whisper, his warm breath tickling your face with each word. You could feel the warmth of his lips touching your shoulder, a ghostly caress against your skin.
You placed a few random pecks on his face. “I really like you, Eddie Munson.” There was vulnerability exuding from you, unlike anything he’d ever seen from you before.
“So this is what the famous [Y/N] is like behind closed doors.” The pouring rain soaked the floor outside your room, the grey clouds visible through the droplet-covered windows. "Who would’ve thought my pretty girl was so sweet?”
You playfully rolled your eyes, smacking his arm. “Shut up.” You laughed. He would've fought (and probably lose) anyone just to hear that beautiful sound again and again.
“That’s not what you were saying earlier. Oh, Eddie, please don’t stop. I’m gonna cum!” He mocked with an obnoxiously high pitched voice.
You decided a another kiss would be the best way to shut him up. “God, you’re so pretty I’m gonna faint.” He mumbled, squeezing your breasts and pinching your hardened nipples. “Can I please fuck you? If I don’t fuck you and cum inside that pretty pussy, I think I’ll die.”
You moaned into his mouth and he gratefully swallowed the sound. “Yeah, come on, Eds, fill me up.”
“Fuck yes.”
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson#eddie x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fandom#eddie munson fics#eddie munson filth#eddie munson fic
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angel unaware
ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader
ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.
ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort
ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)
ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k
ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3
ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!
The spider bit you first.
It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.
In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.
You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.
But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.
You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.
Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.
Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.
"You. You just–"
"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.
It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.
The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.
Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.
He’s the only one who gets it, of course.
He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.
"What do you mean?"
"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"
"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"
He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"
You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.
"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.
Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.
"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.
"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.
"Comes from my fingertips."
"No fucking way. You gotta show me."
"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.
"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.
You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.
"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.
"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."
"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.
You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.
"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"
"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.
"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.
He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.
____
He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.
But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.
Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.
"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.
"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.
"And yet you’re here."
"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.
"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.
"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.
"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."
Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.
"Am I a good patient?"
"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.
"What, I don’t get a treat?"
"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.
He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.
It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.
"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.
You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."
"Rabbit."
You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.
"What, Pete?"
"Why don’t you patrol with me?"
"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.
"It’s better when you’re around."
"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.
"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."
"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."
"I think she’s right, though."
You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.
He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."
"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."
"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.
"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."
He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.
____
You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.
You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.
It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.
Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.
Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.
He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.
The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.
Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.
You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.
He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.
"Still as indecisive as ever."
"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.
"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.
"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"
He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.
"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.
"And you love it."
More than you’d ever know.
You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.
When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.
The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.
It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.
"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.
____
You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.
You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.
No, that feels too selfish to say.
But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.
You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.
Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.
"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"
Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.
____
January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.
You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.
Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.
Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.
And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.
It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.
Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.
"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."
God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.
"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.
The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.
He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.
Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.
Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.
But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.
He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.
You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.
As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.
"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.
"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"
He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.
Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.
"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.
"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."
"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."
"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."
"Hey!"
Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.
"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."
Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.
"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.
"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.
"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."
You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.
"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"
"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"
"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"
Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."
You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?
You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.
____
The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.
It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.
He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.
But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.
"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"
Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.
"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.
The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.
Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.
"Hey, you."
"Hey."
Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.
You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.
"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.
"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course," she nods incessantly.
"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.
"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."
It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.
You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.
"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.
"Since when do you drink so much?"
"It’s a party," he shrugs.
"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."
"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."
Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.
Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.
"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.
"What do you mean?"
"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."
You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."
"Seriously?"
You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.
"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."
You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.
A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.
"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.
"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."
You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.
"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.
You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.
____
You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.
He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.
"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.
"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.
Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.
"Dude!"
"What? I’m turned around!"
Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.
His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.
"Idiot."
"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."
"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"
"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.
"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"
"‘m fine. You go home."
"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"
Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"
He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.
"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."
Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.
"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.
"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"
You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.
It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.
"Yeah, I’ll take him home."
____
"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.
"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.
"Not if you were with me."
"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."
"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"
You sigh. "No, he’s not."
"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.
"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.
He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.
"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"
"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.
"‘m not gonna puke."
"I think you might, Peter."
He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.
Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.
"What?"
"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."
You sigh.
"I should get going–"
"Can you stay for a little?"
Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.
"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.
"You didn’t."
"You were gonna go home with Cam."
"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Like a chore."
"Not like a chore."
"Yeah, okay."
He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.
Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.
You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.
His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.
Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.
He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.
You close your eyes.
"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.
"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.
You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.
"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."
"What?"
"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."
"What am I doing?"
Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.
"You’re with MJ."
"I… I know."
Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.
"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.
"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.
He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.
____
It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.
You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.
But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.
It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.
Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.
"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.
"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.
"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."
"I’m fine, Em." A lie.
It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.
He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.
____
Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.
He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.
Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.
He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.
After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.
"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.
"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.
Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.
In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.
When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.
He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.
Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?
The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.
The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.
An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.
"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."
He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.
He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.
"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.
"Peter. You’re hurt."
"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"
"You’re fucking limping."
You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.
Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.
A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.
"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.
You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.
A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.
Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.
"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."
He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.
When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.
"C’mere."
It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.
You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.
There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.
You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.
"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."
"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."
As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?
It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.
"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.
"For what?"
"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."
"‘m not all that good, Peter."
But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.
"I’m sorry for not being around."
"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."
He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.
"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.
"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."
"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."
"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.
"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."
You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.
____
Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.
After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.
You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.
Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.
"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.
You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.
So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”
You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.
"Less overwhelming?"
"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."
I missed you.
Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.
"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.
"You get what?"
"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."
We. We. We.
"There are cows upstate," you snort.
"You know what I mean."
"We can do a road trip."
"You can’t drive."
"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.
He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.
"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.
"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."
"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."
You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.
There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.
You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.
So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.
"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.
"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.
You mock him, of course.
"English, yeah?"
He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.
"We broke up."
You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?
"Shit. You really fumbled, then."
"Shut up," he laughs.
"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.
"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."
"Classic MJ."
"Yeah."
"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.
"I’m not a piece of meat."’
You click your tongue.
"Oh, right, you’re an insect."
"Hey, so are you!"
____
You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.
Or maybe it’s the wine talking.
It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.
It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.
You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.
Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots
If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.
He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.
Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.
His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.
Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.
Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.
“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."
"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.
"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"
Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."
Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.
By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.
"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.
"You're already in my room."
Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.
Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.
"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.
"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."
"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.
"I'd like to see you try, angel."
It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.
It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.
Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.
Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.
He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.
His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.
"Wha--"
"Fuck."
"What is it?" He frowns.
"I owe Ned twenty bucks."
"What?"
"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."
"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”
“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”
“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.
“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.
“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”
He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.
You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.
“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”
“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”
A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.
“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.
“You are.”
Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.
He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.
You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.
A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.
“Please,” you beg.
“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.
“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”
Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.
“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”
He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.
“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”
He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.
You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.
You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.
“What do you wanna do?”
“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.
“Tell me about it, Spidey.”
“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”
“And how exactly will you do that?”
“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”
There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.
“You want it that bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.
You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.
He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.
“You want me to go slow?”
“Of course not.”
You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.
Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.
“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."
Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.
“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.
“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”
You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.
You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.
Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.
“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.
“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.
“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”
You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.
“Pete.”
“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”
“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”
He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.
He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.
It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.
“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.
Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.
“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”
Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.
Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.
He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.
“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.
“Yes, angel?”
“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”
He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.
“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.
“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”
“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”
He laughs and it sounds like heaven.
“You said you loved me,” you tell him.
“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”
You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.
“I love you, too.”
You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.
“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”
“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.
“You’re cute.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How come you call me angel now?”
Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.
“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”
Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.
“I have a proposition.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.
“Okay. What is it?”
“We should use our webs next time.”
He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.
“Deal.”
tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#peter parker fluff#peter parker smut#peter parker angst#spiderman x reader#mcu!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker x you#tom holland x you#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#peter parker x you
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Bartender AMAB reader stumbles upon Luffys crew and has a threesome with Sanji & Zoro?
Two is better that one [UNFINISHED]
I’m sorry it took me so long I’ve been having a few things going on so this is unfinished, if something changes or my writers block goes away I will come back too it and Finnish the rest :/
Female aligned dni 18+ only blog NSFW content below
My life was boring vague even I was just a simple guy on a small island who bartends for extra cash and today was like all the others or so I thought.
My regular customers stumble in and place the same orders as all way leaving me with a taste of Deja vu in my mouth as I fix their drinks this was set in my brain like coding on a computer but what I didn’t expect was a crew of pirates to stumble into town today much less two pirates taking interest in me.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask the green haired man as he bickers back and forth with a blonde “whiskey” the green haired man grumbles as I turn to the blond “and you?” I ask him “well what might your name be beautiful?” the man says with heart eyes as he flirts shamelessly with me making the green haired man angry and starts shouting “oh for fucks sake do you have to flirt with everyone?! It’s bad enough you flirt with every woman now him?” The green haired male says angrily then the blonde chimes in shouting too “please stop bickering you two” I say with a sigh as I stare at the men “sorry about him the names Zoro, and you?” He asks me in a deep voice “oh uh it’s y/n” I respond then turn back to the blonde “now you what do you want to drink?” I ask him unimpressed by his previous flirting “how about yourself and the name is Sanji” he smirks “I’m not on the menu tonight” I say calmly trying to hide any flush that keeps to my face “well I bet you could be, I mean after all you do look delicious doesn’t he?” Zoro asks Sanji the two of them staring at you like you were there next meal and oblivious you were there next meal.
Hah~ “you moan out as you get pushed onto a bed oh how did you get here a few drinks and shitty pickup lines and the next thing you knew you were sitting on a creaky ship bed as Zoro roughly kisses you and Sanji get on his knees between your legs and starts palming you making you groan into Zoro’s rough kiss as he slips his hand under your shirt pulling it off leaving your s/c chest bare and naked as the both look you up and down “I bet you taste delicious huh?” Zoro whispers in your ear and before you could respond his mouth makes it’s way to your hard nipple and his hand to the other as Sanji unzips your slack leaving you in your boxers hard “looks like somebodies excited huh~” Sanji teases as he holds your thighs apart with his hands from between your legs “mh please~ “ you whimper out as you throw your head back slightly as Zoro suddenly stops teasing your sensitive nipples and Stands up, “take your boxers off and get in the bed” Zoro demands in a husky voice as Sanji stands from between your legs and the slowly get undressed as you watched staring and getting hard at the veiw of their muscular bodies as you quickly go on the bed and threw your discarded boxers in the floor while you feel flushed under their eyes as they lustfully stare at you “better” Zoro grunts as he crawls between your legs and Sanji crawls behind your head “on all fours now”Zoro said sternly.
“Such a good boy for us isn’t he zoro~” Sanji says with a grin as you eagerly get on all fours with Sanji dick in your face “yes he is, now suck baby” zoro says as he places his fingers in my mouth making me suck “good” he grunts as he pulls his fingers out and spreads your ass cheeks before prodding one finger in the tight ring of muscle as you clench around it “fuck~” you groan at the new sensation “such filthy words maybe you need someone to keep you quiet hm doesn’t that sound nice sweet boy?” Sanji says in a sweet voice as he raises your chin with his hand and puts his dick on your lips as you start to hazily suck while zoro adds another finger prepping you making you groan around his cock “I think your ready enough for me boy” Zoro says as he aligned the tip of his cock with your hole and slowly pushed in making tears build in your eye from the pain, you felt like you were being split open “your doing so good for us” Sanji say with a smilie as he lifts your chin, your mouth still stuffed with his dick but not having much time to think as Zoro starts moving inside you making you feel him graze your prostate “hmm~” you moan out muffled around sanji’s cock as Zoro grips your hips and starts to slowly move leaving you weak “fuck your tight” Zoro hisses as he pulls out his hips soon slapping against your ass as he fucks you”
#x male reader#sub male reader#x male reader smut#bottom male reader#one piece x male reader#one piece#sanji x male reader#zoro x male reader#zoro x reader#sanji x reader
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a kind of hunger | chapter 2
joel miller x fem!reader
series masterlist
an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?
length: 5.9k
Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow!
a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys.
navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀
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Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.
Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.
You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving.
But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.
And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.
It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else.
You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?
That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would.
It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.
You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.
You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.
It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true.
Fuck it.
You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's.
According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –
"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."
It sure is.
You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.
You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask.
It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.
Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.
The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands.
It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.
“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.”
By Friday, you're at your wit's end.
The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes.
That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –
You pop an olive into your mouth.
“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.
The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.
The air shifts when Joel steps inside.
The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.
But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.
Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.
But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it.
It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different.
Careful, that voice inside you says.
Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking.
He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey.
"Water's fine," he says.
You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?
He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.
“Whatever you want,” you say.
He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table.
You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy.
“Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?”
You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.
“Fucking peachy,” you snap.
Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”
You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance.
"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"
Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --
"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.
You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.
Your shoulders slump.
“I’m just tired,” you tell him.
Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.
"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask."
"Are you asking?"
He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.
"Guess so."
You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked.
“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”
“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time."
That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.
"Does Bill...?"
Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?
Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."
And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.
“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”
Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.
“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”
You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal.
And here you are in your bar.
With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.
You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.
Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.
If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.
Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”
You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”
He raises his water glass.
“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.”
You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze.
It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him.
You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.
“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking.
“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”
You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”
“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”
It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”
“Real asshole, ain’t he?”
That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”
“Not much choice in a small town.”
You hum.
The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.
“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.
“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”
“It’s only eleven, Joel.”
His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.
“Damn shame,” he says.
Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…
And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.
You don’t mess around with regulars.
You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?
The pulse between your legs agrees with you.
“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.
“Yeah?”
“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”
He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.
“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.”
He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.
You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.
When you turn around, his eyes are dark.
Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest.
When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.
“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.
“What, you gonna tip me for water?”
“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”
The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.
Which, you guess, you are.
“And what would that be?”
He hums.
“C’mere.”
You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans.
“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.
He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”
As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.
“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”
The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass.
“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”
You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.
You’re going to fuck him. In your bar.
“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.
“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”
He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.
“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.
“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”
Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.
“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.
The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.
“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”
“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”
The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside.
His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers.
You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere.
Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down.
He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking.
“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”
“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.
Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?
“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”
He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too.
“You remember what I said last time?”
Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.
You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.
You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.
You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.
“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say.
His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders.
Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.
“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.”
You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.
“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”
“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands.
He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems.
“So damn pretty,” he says.
Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand.
Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.
You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.
Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.
You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.
A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss.
It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.
So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.
“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.
You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.
“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.”
It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.
Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”
Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.
“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”
“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.”
He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.
The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.
He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple.
“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”
His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going.
Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow.
Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.
Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.
The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.
Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you.
“Joel, I –”
His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.
“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”
You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.
“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”
“Joel –
“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.
“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?”
Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”
Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan.
Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.
“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath.
“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest.
It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing.
You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.
He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.
“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs.
You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.
Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each.
“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you.
You laugh. “No.”
The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.
The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks.
Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?
“So,” he says. “What’re your plans for the place?”
You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.
“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”
“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”
You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look.
“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.
He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say.
“I’m a contractor.”
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”
Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.
You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.
“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.”
“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.
He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”
“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”
Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say.
“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”
He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”
“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest.
Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.
You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing.
But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.
“Why do you want to help me?” you ask.
Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense.
“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”
Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”
“So,” he says. “You interested?”
It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.
The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit.
“I’m interested.”
Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number.
“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”
You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.
“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”
Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave.
“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little.
It feels like pieces are falling into place.
You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it.
It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses.
You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work.
This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.
You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed.
You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left.
thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!
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naruto is the kind of guy who begs to eat you out. like, he has *never* played it cool and you’ve always known he was into you. but one night he’s hanging out at your place and you look so cozy and domestic and soft and squishy and he just—“c’mon please let me make you feel good! you just look so cute!! i’ll be so good at it, i swear!!!” and when you say yes it’s the first time you see naruto actually focus on something that’s not training or ramen (turns out your pussy is the third and final interest naruto has in life) and he absolutely demolishes you—leaves you without your pants or your soul—on the couch.
18+ MDNI // cw: oral (f!receiving), unestablished relationship.
this is so cute, especially for like a situationship kind of thingy.
like, maybe there is an obvious spark dancing between you even if you aren’t exactly official yet. maybe you hang out a lot, but don’t call it dating just yet even if you love to do stuff together.
maybe you keep him company at the food places that are open 24/7 because he tends to get bored and hungry a lot and goes to bed super late, and maybe he sometimes spends the night at your place as a result afterwards; wrapped in your embrace and wearing nothing else but his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to sleep in — of course.
maybe you keep making people assume that you’re a couple because of how you always make sure to sit together whenever you’re out with a group of friends, or how his arm is always draped around your shoulders, or how you’re constantly ruffling his hair and hugging him goodbye.
maybe you’ve even shared a couple of kisses and some heavy petting here and there whenever one drink too many got involved and he offered to walk you home from the bar even if he could barely stand upright himself.
that kind of thing.
so when he makes an actual move on you for the first time — completely sober and halfway through an excruciatingly shitty movie that he picked — you’re kind of surprised, but at the same time… not really?
after all, it’s pretty obvious that he likes you, it’s outright spelled on his forehead. and him being the confident guy who’s super open about his feelings, he certainly isn’t the type to deny it when he’s already dug himself a hole this deep. quite on the contrary, he tells you that he likes you right to your face.
you attract him. he finds you so cute, especially tonight, when you’re dressed in your little top that hugs you in all the right places and the comfortable shorts that sometimes ride up high enough for him to see the fat of your ass whenever you angle yourself just right.
but despite asking if he can eat you out and drowning you in compliments and eager promises, he can be quite the little shit when he wants to be, you know?
so he practically pins you down to the couch under the pretense of playfighting and initiates a doting attack of kisses that are peppered all over your face and that make your heart outright flutter with joy the moment you tell him yes. you can’t really blame him for it; he’s just very affectionate by default and has been waiting for literal ages to exhibit all that love he harbours for you.
you wiggle underneath him, trying to break free from under his weight so that you can return the favour, but his warm mouth is already making its way down your chest; leaving audible smooches that tickle and make you laugh quietly.
and even though he’s sunshine incarnate and all things good, he’s surprisingly strong when he wants to be. you squirm and instinctively try to push him away with the help of your legs, but it’s no use.
all it does is pull him closer. your legs are wrapped around his waist; he’s made himself so comfortable between them. his half hard cock is snug against your clothed pussy. the occasional friction you both experience makes you both breathe a little harder than you normally would and makes blood rush south.
he is very boyfriend material even if he isn’t your boyfriend, so the entire thing is literally just a series of loud kissy noises mixing with your squeals of his name. it’s fun and playful and sweet, just like he is.
and then before you know it, things escalate fast. he’s manhandling you into position, making you hug his head with your thighs as he licks you right over the cotton of your underwear, with your comfy shorts tossed somewhere on the floor and your cute top pushed so far up to the collar that both of your tits are out.
he’s messy and ardent to please. if the panties that you’re wearing are plain white, his drool will make them so damp that they’re practically see-through. he’ll make them stick to your pussy so that he can see the literal outline of it; tracing your sticky slit over and over again with the tip of his tongue and finger, shaping you out.
and then when those panties finally come off, sliding down your slightly trembling legs and ending up dangling from one ankle, he really goes to town.
he’s all sloppy kisses aimed at your cunt and tongue fucking and drool, drool, drool. he’s bright red cheeks and lustful blue eyes that remind you of a sea gone murky after a stormy night. he’s mussed hair in the colour of wheat that you just can’t stop weaving your fingers through, and an adorably smushed nose that keeps on pressing against your clit as he keeps on shoving his tongue in and out of your tight hole, tasting you so much and so deeply that your slick is practically dribbling down his chin.
he’s a calloused thumb being swiped over your nipple and a broad hand wrapped in bandages as it tigtens its grip around your thigh. he’s broad shoulders, a fast-beating heart and sweaty tan skin. he’s overstimulation and loud slurps and moans and raspy whimpers as he keeps moving his hips and practically humps the couch because of how fucking horny you make him.
and finally, he’s also ready to cum in his pants the moment he feels you clench around the two fingers he’s shoved into you at some point.
especially because the name that you end up moaning out is his.
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KINKTOBER DAY SEVEN, SIZE KINK
His heart beats for you, sweet little you, and his head goes wild for your tiny little hole.
Daddy!Ari x Smaller!reader
Warnings: SIZE KINK! Reader is described to be vv small & short. Stomach bulge from Ari’s monster cock. Kinda crybaby reader, lots of dirty talk. Dacryphilia. Not proofread.
18+! Enjoy!
Main Masterlist ! Kinktober 2023
It’s hard to think, hard to breathe when you feel so full. You feel like you’re choking on him, inhaling him, and he thinks it’s funny. He’s chuckling as tears fill your waterline and splash onto your cheeks.
He’s rough and burly, so big as he crowds himself over your little form. “Is it too much, honey? You’re crying, poor girl, you can’t take daddy?”
You can, you know you can, because you are right now. Ari moves a little softer at the sight of your running tears, and he mocks your little pout. You can’t help it — he’s just so big, fills you so well, your little hole stretched out over his hard cock. There’s not much more spreading that your legs can do, trying to accommodate the width of his waist within them. God, he’s such a monster, and it doesn’t help how tiny you already are.
“I can!” You protest with a sniffle, brows creased together unhappily. It only makes him laugh more.
That makes it all the more worse, especially when you can feel his cock twitch inside you.
You whine, pushing your wet face into the creased pillows beside you.
“I know you can.” He mumbles pitifully, finally taking a break from his mean teasing. One of his big, calloused hands makes it’s way up your twitching body until it winds itself around the back of your neck, fingertips brushing your hair at the nape of your neck. “Always take me so well, huh? Prettiest fuckin’ girl with the,” he breaks, a grunt as you look at him with those teary bambi eyes, “tightest little hole.”
“Daddy,” you cry, tiny hands pushing against his hairy chest as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. Deep within your hazy mind you notice how pretty your manicured nails look against him, a treat that he paid for monthly. Ari groans again at your broken whine, leaning down to plant hot kisses against your wet cheeks.
He’s never loved anything as much as he’s loved you.
Angelface you, who fell off your bike in front of his driveway. He had been out the front, sweating profusely as he pushed the mower against the overgrown grass – he’d only just moved in to the massive place, inherited it from some uncle he never even met. He can still remember catching your eye as you peddled past, the way that you had been far too distracted looking at his chest, the way that you toppled over into one of his bushes.
He was enamoured the moment that he first touched you.
Being the natural savour that he is, he jumped straight away to save you. His big hands wrapped under your arms and lifted you effortlessly from the crumple of limbs that you had ended up as. And when he set you on your shaky feet, that was when he realised just how fucking little you were.
The top of your head reached around the bottom of his pecks, leaves wound into your locks. You tried to stable yourself against him, the tiniest of hands splayed out against his stomach. He can remember the way that your big watery eyes had looked up at him, apologising excessively and trying to ignore the throbbing, bruising pain. He can remember the feeling of fullness overtaking him, forcing him to reach out for you, to try his very hardest to win over your heart. The same feeling stays with him now, the need to protect you, baby you, keep you for himself.
So tiny and helpless.
His hips stutter as he looks down and lets out a long winded moan, something that would surely have the neighbours concerned and stray cats replying to the call.
“Look, baby. Look at how good you take daddy.” He’s not teasing anymore, instead moving your limp head to face downwards. Your vision is blurry from the tears, but you blink fast to try and clear your vision. Then you see it, the thing that makes his hindbrain cry out and push his hips faster.
There, at the very bottom of your tummy, is a slight bulge, appearing and disappearing with every stroke he gives. He’s so big, just massive, a juggernaut. You're so tiny, look like some sort of pixie next to him. The hotness of the sight has your eyes rolling and a choked whine filling the air, matching the rough slapping of skin upon skin, and the echo of your slick.
Ari laughs again, pushing a warm hand against the moving bulge. “Is that daddy all up in your guts, huh? M’fucking ruining you, kitten. Does daddy feel good? Can feel you clenching, tightest little hole.” He’s getting just as close as you are, he always gets blubbery and breathy when he gets close to cumming. “Best I ever had, you know that? Best fuckin’ girl. You're my girl, baby. Tell daddy you're his girl.”
Your tears are worse now, but you will always give him what he needs. “I-I’m your girl, daddy. Always your girl -ah!- please, please.” Your breathing is rough and troubled. Your hand pushes against him, but all your pussy does is pull him in deeper. “S-So big. I can’t– M’gonna come.”
“Fuck. Sweetest girl. Make the cutest little mess. Come for me, angel. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”
It’s white hot, the pleasure. It grabs you and swallows you whole, has you shaking and creaming all over his cock. Your squeaks and whines are enough to push him to the edge too, and Ari pulls your tiny frame into a bear hug as he paints your rippling walls white. Ari shudders with you. Mouthing at your jaw, his warmth completely encompasses you. The gentle giant is so good to you, shushing your tired cries as he slips out of your wet cunt, thumbing away the tears at your cheeks. He keeps you there, small and tucked away, like his own little secret, like something fragile and tiny, like his most precious of keepsakes.
Like his sweetest little girl.
#<3 ari levinson#ari levinson#ari levinson smut#size kink#size kink smut#size difference#small!reader#short!reader#ari levinson x reader#dacryphilia#tw: daddy kink#kinktober 2023#abby's kinktober !#kinktober smut
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Hi! I'd like to request a heacanon for Sasuke, Gaara and Neji if that's alright? I'd love to see you write them react to their s/o walk in on them taking a shower naked and just casually invite themselves taking a shower with the boys?
You got it babe! Let’s replace Neji with Shikamaru💗
Warnings: 18+, NSFW AND SFW, darcyphillia
Sasuke
SFW
Sasuke is well aware of the madness that goes on in that little head of yours, so he prepares himself for anything at all times. Walking in on him in the shower might not bother him too much, but randomly deciding to join in and shower too? He might be slightly annoyed, but that annoyance doesn’t last too long as soon as you splash water on his face as you proceed to reach for your soap.
He has accustomed himself to having zero personal space in the time that he’s known you, the beginning being a little unusual to him, maybe extremely unusual, but overtime he’s grown to depend on your presence. Sasuke always takes advantage of his situations, especially if it involves you being in personal space, so before you even get to scrubbing yourself down, the bottle of his favorite shampoo magically appears right in front of your face. Mind you, this is your shampoo. And yes he has his own, but he “only feels special and clean with your products”. Gasping, you shift your head to take a look at him, eyeing him up and down, “How dare you”, you say, “Well, you’re here, so do me the favour, or what’s the point?, he questions. “What the fuck Sasuke, how about a “Oh babe you know I really enjoy having you wash my hair, please help me out, I’ll wash yours too””, you say, Sasuke unable to hold in a chuckle at your weak imitation of his voice. But you remain serious, and when he notices that he gets serious too, the two of you simply staring at each other. Sasuke finally speaks, “Baby, you know I love having you wash my hair, please be a good girl?”, he says as though he’s bored, making you gasp once again. “Please?”, he pouts. “Fuck you”, you say, grabbing the shampoo from his hand, “That’s my girl”, he says before turning around, to allow you to work your magic.
NSFW
If you want to shower with him, then baby, you’re going to shower with him. There’s just something about the feel of your fingers gently scratching his scalp that sends signals to his peepee, so as soon as you’re done he’s definitely in the mood to “wash” you, immediately reaching for your loofah and body wash, lathering it up faster than you can question him.
You’re also a blushy mess because he’s incredibly sexy under all that steam and water, his dark eyes droopy from how relaxing the hair wash was, licking his lips while holding eye contact, making you look elsewhere, trying not to melt under his stare. Lifting your chin up with his fingers, you seriously can no longer hide your blush, making him lick those pretty lips of his once again, forcing you to gulp unconsciously. “Turn around”, he says, his voice deep, low and you know he’s about to rock your world, quickly obeying him to face the fogged up glass. He wastes no time, immediately wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to him, your naked, wet body pressed right against his, the feel of his erection pressing against your lower back arousing you all the more. “Let’s get you all cleaned up yeah”, he whispers in your ear, goosebumps now decorating your skin from how sinister those words sound with that voice of his. “Okay”, you squeak, mentally slapping yourself for giving in so easy. You’re supposed to be a bit of tease, but here you are, submitting for no reason at all. Cupping your breasts, Sasuke begins tweaking one of your nipples, nibbling your neck as he gently scrubs your torso, pulling back at the sound of a gasp. Gently, he lifts your arm up, washing your armpit and gently placing it down before doing the same on the other side. He so gentle with his touches you slowly grow tired, but the occasional nibble and random dirty talk keep you wide awake.
Forcing his knee between your thighs, you part your legs for him like the obedient little girl you’ve been up until now. “Tch, dirty, dirty girl”, he whispers in your ear at the fell of how goey you already were from your arousal. “Sasuke…”, you gasp as he slowly rubs your clit in circles with the pads of his middle and ring finger, licking a trail up your neck to your ear only to lightly bite your earlobe. “Sasuke!”, you softly moan, surprised with how overwhelmed you already are. Moving his hand away he reaches for the shower head, pulling it off the wall to bring it down between your legs. “Thank you for washing my hair babe, I’ll make sure to leave you extra clean”, he whispers again, spreading your lips apart with one hand to expose your clit to the high pressure, warm water shooting out the shower head.
He will decide when you’re clean enough to relieve you from this torture.
Gaara
SFW
I mean its no surprise to Gaara. He loves you so much and can’t handle being away from you for too long. He also walks in on your showers regularly to join you, and actually prefers taking his showers with you. He never intends to get sexual with you, he just loves being near you, conversing about his plans, or how his day went…not that he wont get sexual hehehe…
Gaara is way too clingy for his own good, not that you mind though, because it does somewhat benefit you. Barging in his shower time might actually make his day, immediately wrapping his arms around you, softly laughing at your sudden intrusion. Never letting go of you, he wants to help you wash your body, he ALWAYS helps you wash and you must say, he does a great job at keeping you clean. He’s so adorable and excited to have you in his company that you can’t help but assist him yourself, although he does have a bit of a routine, which you can handle of course. It really makes him feel extra special when you take care of him just how he prefers it.
He will really talk your ears off in there, so be prepared if you want to invite yourself in. Wrapping his arms around you and snuggling into your neck, occasionally planting kisses there is what’s happening for the remainder if the shower, until the water gets cold, so hopefully you don’t have low iron issues. Sometimes you’ll join him late in the night after a long day just so he can wash you and hold you in his arms like this. He’s happy to have you fall asleep in his arms while you’re standing, since you’re so sweet and calm when he helps you out and into your clothes. Not that he can’t handle the hyper version of his princess who loves jumping on him and playfully wacking him with towels as he hets himself ready. The difference is just nice sometimes.
NSFW
He’s not much a fan of shower sex, if anything, he finds it quite overrated and has already expressed his disdain towards it. He just finds it really unsexy. The shower is for showering…or maybe its being wet while at it that kind of pisses him off. He certainly wont be able to enjoy his nut covered in water. Sometimes the water gets cold too and it throws the whole mood off, but meet him outside the shower hehehehe, that’s something he can work out. He’s quite sensual about how he moisturizes you and loves it when you moisturize him too. Rub your body against his while you’re at it please…and a little oral never hurts anyone right.
Your hands on him put him in such a trans, he can’t help the erection he gets at the feel of your soft hands rubbing him down, the warmth of the cream against his skin adding towards the sensation of it all. Closing his eyes and using his hands to lean against the counter, you tend to use this opportunity to have a little fun yourself, licking your lips and swallowing to the thought of tasting him, softly whispering his name out to ask for permission, “Gaaraaa….”, his eyes opening ever so slowly, a split second of confusion on his face making you softly giggle before he finds you on your knees. “Hmm”, he says, clearing his throat, “Yeah?”, he speaks, intoxicated with the spell of relaxation you have him under. Rubbing his hard tummy to silently communicate your desire he licks his bottom lip, pulling your shower cap off to start playing with your hair, gathering it all in one hand before leaning back again, eager for whatever it was you were trying to do to him and without wasting another second, you impatiently wrap your lips around the tip of him, circling your tongue around him to taste the precum you’d been eyeing for the past minute. “Woah”, he softly chuckles at your eagerness, tugging your hair to pull you off of him, making you pout disappointedly. “Slowly baby, don’t be greedy”, he teases, leaning back again.
Letting the greedy little demon inside of you take over, you give his balls a kiss, darting your tongue out flat, to lick a trail up from the base of his cock to the tip, collecting all the precum around his tip and licking his urethra, you were already drooling over how he tasted, withdrawing your tongue to savor as much of it as you could before diving in once again, lapping his urethra to make sure you got it all, swirling your tongue over the tip before wrapping your lips around him, sucking him to your hearts content. You had even forgotten what he had said a minute ago, moaning ever so sweetly as you swallowed more of him, greedily taking more until you felt him touch your uvula, keeping him there for as long as you could, quickly jerking your head back to harshly suck in a breath of air. Your clit throbbed, your knees slightly rising as you squeezed your thighs together,a soft moan escaping your lips before you wrapped them around him again, taking him as deep as you could again, just like he taught you. Taking note of your constant shifting he knew you were enjoying this a little too much, biting his lip to stifle his own noises, wondering if he should take over.
Carefully, he separated you from him, his desire to relieve you of your arousal greater than this. “Gaara?”, you softly whimper, looking up at him in frustration, but he before you could complainhe quickly lifts you up, placing you on the counter and spreading your legs. “Gaaraaa, I wasn’t finished!”, you moan as he immediately gets to stroking your vuvlva with his tongue, softly sucking your clitoris and letting go with a pop, never breaking eye contact. “I promise you’ll have your turn right after me okay babe?”
Shikamaru
SFW
Shikamaru simply does not have the energy to react to these kind of surprises. He’s most comfortable around you than anyone else, so this is the most vulnerable he can be period. “Y/n?”, he nonchalantly acknowledges your presence, dramatically covering his chest with his arms, watching you stand right in front of him to get some of that warm water on you. “Please, babe I’ve already seen those pretty nips Shika! The waters too hot!”, you whine. “Excuse me ma’am?”, he finally speaks, lifting an eyebrow. “Yes my love”, you say, trying to remain casual in hopes that Shika wouldn’t kick you out. You’ve always wanted to shower with him, turning around to look at him, his long, black hair clinging to his face and shoulders. “Babe… what exactly do you think you’re doing?”, “Well what else would I be doing in the shower Shika? Pass me my loofah over there hun”.
Eventually he accepts your presence, simply standing there, observing the way you begin scrubbing yourself. “So babe, what about me then?”, he asks, his first time ever showing with you filled with lots of expectations. “Come here”, you giggle, pulling him closer, your bodies pressing against each other as you begin scrubbing him too. The feeling of your soapy, bare tits rubbing his abdomen is a sensation he’s new to, slightly blushing as you begin rinsing him. He might actually like this…or maybe not, he’s undecided, waiting to see where this goes. Spreading his butt-cheeks apart, you begin washing in between them, trying to hide the smile spreading across your face from how he couldn’t stop blushing. This is intimate. Very intimate. But he kind of likes it, you love him this much? Now he wants to return the favor, to prove that he loves you just as much of course.
He actually doesn’t like being wet for too long, so as soon as the two of you are all cleaned up, he’s turning the water off and reaching for the towels. He’s a little meticulous about how he handles his business during shower time so you follow his lead as you’ve always done to avoid any judgmental stares.
NSFW
After a nice hot shower though, he’s so relaxed, he wants nothing but to lay down with you, reaching his hand up your dress/shirt, cupping your boob in his hand as he casually nibbles on you neck. “Shika! Omg”, you whine, irritated as you try to put on a movie, his large hands groping and grabbing you everywhere, forcing you onto the inside of the couch while lifting up your shirt, too strong for you to stop with merely your hands. “You interrupted my shower…so now I’m gonna interrupt your movie”, and he’s on you, relieved to finally have your nipple in his mouth as he starts sucking, and you just have to lay there, staring at the ceiling, completely annoyed as Shika softly sucks and bites, grazing your nipple with his teeth and sucking. Two minutes into it, you were so sensitive, barely able to control your needy whimpers and moans. You couldn’t handle it any longer, an orgasm not far from happening, but it hurt so much you weren’t sure if you could hold out any longer. And his body squishing yours against the couch meant you couldn’t move much, so you began tugging on his thick hair, Shika getting the message, moving on to terrorize your untouched nipple, that orgasm quickly gaining on you. A minute or so passes and Shika can feel you slightly shiver beneath him, the continuous, uncontrolled moans and whimpers he heard telling him you were really feeling good. Wondering how long you could handle this, he didn’t stop when you started tugging on his hair again, your pussy aching with how good you felt. Every time he nibbled on your poor nip you softly screamed, your hand now pulling on his shirt, the other pushing his forehead back.
“Shika! Oh my god”, you breathlessly whimper, struggling to gain any control as his hand now slipped down your undies, quickly finding you clit, removing his hand and spitting on his fingers to place them right back between your legs, massaging your clit in sloppy circles. “Shika pleaseee! Fuck!’, you whine, the pain on your nipple now unbearable as tears stung your eyes. “Shika Shikaaaa!”, you scream, your lover finally letting go of your poor nipple, bringing up to quickly cup your breast. “Tch baby, you’re ruining my fun”, he says softly, his warm breath against your face as his fingers continue his work. “Wait, you’re crying, aww baby, I’m sorry don’t cry, hey look at me”, he says, your teary eyes sparkling with the cutest pout on your face. “Shika that really hurt”, you sniff, burying your face in his neck, absolutely refusing to look at him. “Ahhhh!”, you moan aloud, Shika slowly shoving his middle finger inside of you, removing the hand you had on your boob to grab his muscles bicep. Nudging your face with his, he tries to get your attention, “Yeah, maybe I was being a little too mean…please forgive me?”, he asks ever so sweetly, the tone of his voice convincing, and the pleasure of his finger stroking your walls didn’t help the grudge you meant to hold against him for making you cry.
#naruto imagines#naruto smut#naruto headcanons#shikamaru headcanons#shikamaru imagines#shikamaru smut#shikamaru x you#shikamaru x reader#sasuke imagines#sasuke smut#sasuke headcanons#sasuke x y/n#sasuke x reader#gaara imagines#gaara headcanons#gaara smut#gaara x you#gaara x reader
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Dante NSFW Alphabet
Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)
CW: Smut, clothing kink, sexual objectification, restraints, toys, periods, heck a lot of things that come with this sort of post. All I can promise for certain is there isn't any physical abuse.
A/N: Alrighty, the other half of me trying to pin down Dante. I wish I could really pin him down. But enjoy the NSFW version of my Dante headcanon Alphabet.
You can find the SFW one here.
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
After fucking you senseless Dante wants to cuddle for a few moments first, to enjoy the way your blissed out body is curled against his as your chest heaves and your body is boneless from the multiples rounds. Afterwards, he’s happy to do his best to clean you up, holding a water bottle to your lips and whispering how amazing you are with his chin in your hair while his free hand rubs along your sore muscles. Whatever you need he’s more than willing to help with.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Dante is a fan of his thighs and your hands. He loves to have you sitting on his thigh and rolling you back and forth as he has you come just from the thickness of his leg rubbing against you. He knows just how thick they are from years of working out. As for your hands, feeling them roam across his body with the softer skin and just how much smaller they are compared to his. So when both of your hands are wrapped around his cock it feels even bigger seeing your fingers barely able to touch as you pump him. It gets him hard just thinking about your soft hands on him.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Dante likes nothing more than to see you covered in his cum, to see as the streams of opaque fluid trail along your body and pool in the dips of your skin. After blowing a load across your stomach or shapely rear and taking his hand and smearing it around your skin watching it glisten and the soft whines you make while he does so. What really gets him going is after he cums deep inside your cunt and pulls out to watch as it drips out of your flushed folds and onto whatever surface he was fucking you on. It gives him another raging hard on wanting to pump another load in your core so he can watch the same sight again and again.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He’ll never tell you but after the first time he used his devil trigger accidentally while he was balls deep inside of you and the way you reacted? It made something in him snap seeing you pant and squirm even harder under his body as you tried to pull his length deeper inside your core. The way your hands landed on the side of his face as you kissed him like you were possessed while your cunt tried to drain his balls made him even more enamored with you. It was what prompted him to ask if the two of you could have sex like that more often since it was the best sex he’d had in years.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Dante has lots of experience, he’s had more than one one night stand in his life. Someone as good looking as him in his younger years had no problems picking up, even with his bad luck with women. Those magazines of his have also had more than one tip for him to use in the bedroom. Once you came along though all that experience was put to good use, and he always seems to have a new idea for something to leave you screaming his name through the act.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Dante is good with any position but his all time favorite is without a doubt doggy style. Having you on your hands and knees while he plunges into your core watching your back arch as you whine. His hands wrapped around your waist and using it like a handle to thrust into you at a neckbreak pace. Slapping your ass as he fucks you senseless until you can barely keep yourself up. Your favorite position by comparison is deep missionary so your legs are up wrapped around his hips and your bodies closely intertwined, watching his face as he hits deeply inside of you. Your chests writhing against one another as the sweat drips down along your bodies with your faces close together.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
It is Dante. His mood when he’s having sex could go in any direction and it’s not like he sticks to it as he is a more fluid guy when it comes to that. If you make a joke during sex he is running with it to the point where you regret saying anything.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
The carpet definitely matches the drapes. While he doesn’t have much of a happy trail there is a patch of white hair around the base of his dick and dusting his balls. He doesn’t do much grooming, but he doesn’t let it grow too thick since he does find it kind of annoying. He enjoys having just enough so when you’re sucking him off he can hold you against his crotch and see your nose buried in the tangle of hairs.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Well when it comes down to it when it comes down to the intimacy part of it for Dante, the moment he opens his mouth it’s a flop. The man just can’t verbalize it in words as his attempts come off as cheesy or just the wrong thing. Telling someone how much you want to watch them squirm on their cock with intense eye contact comes off as horny not intimate. Now on the more physical side of things? That’s a different story. Even when he’s ramming into you as if he wants to break your hips there’s a soft brush of his lips against your skin or a tender caress of his fingers along your face. Depending on the position, leaning on his forearm to keep his weight off you but still having that close physical contact and that intense eye contact that tells you how much he cares for you. He just can’t open his mouth. Seriously.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Before your relationship got going you were his favorite little daydream, envisioning the way you’d feel wrapped around his cock. Letting the image dominate his head while he jerked himself off, wondering if as his cum left if his nuts if you’d spit or swallow. If he thought once the two of you did start doing it on a regular basis would help his libido, he was wrong. Finding himself using his fist more and more as it took just the thought of your ass in front of him made him rock hard and it was damn hard to slice up demons with a raging boner.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
This man has a clothing kink. Having you wrapped in his red coat and nothing else while he uses his hands, his fingers, a toy or his cock while wearing his signature clothes. It has his inner demon and his human side both humming in pleasure to see you draped in something that is very much his while your eyes roll back in your skull. Almost like a mark of ownership that has him licking his lips.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
As much as Dante doesn’t like people seeing him being soft, tender, or well anything in public his favorite place to fuck you is in the middle of the devil may cry office. His desk in fact. Having you wrapped in his jacket and bouncing you up and down on his cock, or tucked under the desk out of sight on your hands and knees while he’s balls deep in your cunt. He might try and deny that he doesn’t want to get caught and sure as hell doesn’t want anyone but him seeing you naked or cuming, but the idea of someone walking in on him does get him feeling that little bit of an extra adrenaline rush.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
It does not take much to get Dante motivated. Seeing your butt is always a surefire way to get him hard as Dante is without a doubt an ass man. There are other things that get turned on as well, soft little noises you might make while walking around the office or sitting in your bedroom. When he hears those low pants or sighs of yours it sends a signal straight to his dick that it is go time. He’s not immune to any seductive tactics on your part, like leaving a trail of your clothes to the bathroom after he has a mission to make sure he has a shower and a few rounds of sex to help you both relax.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Dante does not like being dominated in the bedroom. He might let you ride him, but even then he’s the one in control. It has nothing to do with trust, he simply doesn’t like being at someone else's mercy. The idea of being tied up, or having to beg for something turns him off faster than being sprayed with a hose of ice cold water.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
When it comes to oral Dante is a fan of both giving and receiving and a fan of 69, knowing that he can try to push you over the edge while you’re choking on his dick is something he enjoys. He likes giving to since it means he can have your legs wrapped around his head and having your thighs right there for him to mark up is hard for him to ignore. It’s one of his favorite forms of foreplay getting you prepped for him, he’s not an idiot either, he likes receiving too. Having you on your knees and drooling all over him? Yeah, he’s a fan. Oddly enough his skills are damn good but… it’s from eating pizza that’s been way too hot and trying to keep from burning his tongue. At least you get to take advantage of how adept he is at moving the thing around.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Dante likes it rough. He likes turning you into a panting screaming mess as he rams into you with enough force to leave bruises. Part of it is he doesn’t always know his own strength and the other part is he likes seeing what you can handle. His intention is never to cause you pain but damn does he love to snap his hips against your body hard enough that you jolt from it. He can be sensual if he wants but it’s hard for him, because feeling your tight walls wrapped around his cock and wanting to feel you squeeze his length when you cum isn’t something he can always hold himself back from. If it’s something you want he will try, try being the operative word.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Dante isn’t the biggest fan of quickies. If he has one it’s more because of a need that neither of you can put off. He’d much rather take his time with you since he knows he can go for multiple rounds and he’d prefer that when the two of you are done he can leave you in a boneless puddle.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Risk themselves aren’t in his forte in the sense of public or semi public sex. Not to say he’d be totally against the idea of banging you against a tree in a city park late at night, but it’s not in the forefront of his mind. Experimenting in the bedroom he is a fan of though, as long as he gets to keep his control. You wanna try temperature play? He’s down, have ice placed on both of your skin. Rutting into you from behind while the two of watch yourself in the mirror and try to get better at dirty talk? Fuck yea. Dante will try anything once and if it doesn’t work out? Move on. If it does and you both really enjoy it, it gets added to the list of likes.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Sorry hips, Dante can go, and go, and go. I mean all that muscle and demonic strength does dip into his stamina in every sense of the word. If he could have a marathon session of sex with you, you’d need to have your body in a cast because Dante would break you before he was out of steam. As for how long he can last? It all depends on what he’s doing. If it is the rare quickie it’s still ten minutes or so before he’s blowing load and from the start he’s trying to cum. He has to put effort into cuming quickly, which he does find annoying since seeing you covered in his cum is one of his favorite things.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He didn’t own toys before you. What was the point of a pocket pussy when he’d break them after using them once before of how rough he was with the plastic? After you though? He likes bullet vibrators that can be placed between the two of you, or ones he can hold after you cum to drag out your orgasm until you’re screaming for him to stop. He also didn’t realize how he could use them to help speed up his own orgasms when pressing them to the underside of his balls. Suffice to say, he becomes a fan of them real quick.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Dante is the king of teasing and he is well aware of it. Dragging his mouth, his fingers anywhere but where you want him to be as he riles you up. Or times when he tells you he wants you a panting mess before he even touches you and you agree he can do whatever he wants and takes full advantage. Tying you up so you can’t move and he’s got your spread open for him, tracing one finger along your ribs and watching your chest heave trying to get more of his skin touching yours. It also isn’t beneath him to tie you to one of his devil arms and watch as you’re held there in place with something he uses to protect you also being used to keep you in place until you’re screaming for him to fuck you.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
This man can HOWL when he wants to. He can be loud enough that any traffic down the street from the devil may cry office could hear him. His grunts and groans ring in the air of whatever space the two of you are having sex in, though he does try to keep the volume down by biting into his lip. He doesn’t need to draw more attention to the two of you or bellow your name loud enough for any of his enemies to hear as he empties himself in your tight body.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Dante is way more into period sex than he thought he would be. For a man that sees as much blood as he does, he never thought he’d like seeing his dick covered in it, and he doesn’t like the visual. What has him into it is the added sensation from your body trying to expel the lining, the way you react even more to him as you’re more sensitive with the extra blood flow to the area. Yea, he likes the way you arch your back as if you were snapped in half while your cunt tries to drain his balls.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Dante is about average in length, but he is girthy and covered in veins so he is very fun to trace with your tongue. He also knows how to make great use of his dick to make sure you have a good time regardless as to what the two of you are doing.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
High. This man might be able to put on a face of nonchalant but he is horny all the time and ready to fuck. It sort of surprises you as your relationship with the man gets going and you realize just how high it actually is. The two of you also make a discovery that neither of you is sure how you feel about it. For a while Dante gets to a point where he starts wanting to fucking you harder and harder, bending you like a pretzel to reach as deep inside your slick walls as he can. Turns out his demonic senses can tell when you’re ovulating and it sets off the need in him to breed. Lucky you and good thing you have a damn good birth control.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Sex isn’t the deciding factor in how quickly he falls asleep after, its how his day has been. With his stamina, he’s never as tired as you are afterward. Which works out great for him, because after it’s all said and done if you had been planning to stay the night with him after your both cleaned up (no matter how much be grumbles about it) it means he can watch you fall asleep. He might be a bed hog but he’d rather watch you drift off into slumber before letting himself follow behind you.
nsfw alphabet template
Hope you all had fun reading this.
#dante devil may cry#dmc5#dante x reader#dante x you#dmc 4#devil may cry#dante#dante sparda#x reader#twink writes#dante dmc#dante smut#dante x reader smut#devil may cry 5
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joel figures out how to make you squirt. he exploits this discovery brutally
hhhhhhhh im in the fucking twilight zone from this
warning(s): explicit 18+, daddy kink, dirty talk, light domsub undertones-ish
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joel always said he preferred getting his hands dirty, putting them to work. that same logic bled nicely into his sex life.
he never gave you any half measures when he took you in, shoved you face first in his bed. looked right down his nose at you, holding you in your place and began explaining. now the rules were, either you wet his bed with your cum or you won’t get to cum the next night at all.
first night he’d discovered your particularly messy hidden talent, three of those vicious fingers were curled up in you. pounding and prodding every spongey sweet spot he could find. he was grinning like a sadist down at your scrunched up helpless face.
“you look so fucking perfect riding on the edge, baby. just keep holding it. don’t wanna spoil the ending so soon.” his other hand crept down to spread your opening further apart to feast his eyes. listens to the wet squelch when he perks his fingers in a certain way. he tisks at your begs and pleads to give in and finish you off, even after he’s spent a good hour toying with you.
“how’s it feel to fuck on daddy’s fingers like this? bet it feels so good, shit, you’re taking them all up the way up to the knuckle. bet’chu like that, mmm that’s so perfect, lemme hear it.”
your nails latch onto his shoulder, squeezing with irreparable need. the throaty whimpers cry out of you one by one. mixing his names, joel or daddy or fuck keep going keep going please. he eggs you on to scream for him some more, stroking his ego with your unhinged volume when he starts to pick up speed. scissors his runny digits back and forth, feeling your noisy walls closing up on him.
he ducks his head back down to smack his lips with yours. lovingly digs his nose into your cheek while he curls all three of his fingers at once. his happy trail ground down onto you in harsh circles, giving you the perfect friction, fuelling the growing mess of his fingers between your legs. breathless, you pull away from his mouth with quick motion to get a hold of yourself as the pressure became more and more unbearable.
he knows you’re mere seconds away from imploding, the micro movements and noises he’s memorized and replayed over and over in his head happening right under him. he playfully nipped at the side of your ear, sucking the spot with his tongue before whispering:
“you wanna cum on these fingers for me, angel? give me something to taste?”
he can’t help the pitiful laugh at your blatant desperation. “yes yes please, please will you let me—“
joel gears up to hear your pretty sounds when you cry for him again, his half lidded eyes swimming with want when you clench around his fingers once, twice.
you squirmed and twitched as if he fed you back to god himself with an exorcism.
he snaps his head down to stare in awe when he feels your cum drenching his fingers. a warm splash gushed from your legs as he rips his fingers out, admiring the work he’s done on your weeping pussy.
“atta girl, baby. made a nice big puddle, all for me. so fucking sexy.” he dips his face down and inspects the mess, nuzzling in it shamelessly. any energy you’d normally have to overthink or feel embarrassed got fucked out of you a long time ago.
your fingers drifted down to grip a selfish handful of joel’s hair, feeling him start his journey kissing up towards your belly button.
“sorry, tonight I know I gotta wash the sheets—“
“’sorry?’” he snorts, eyes widening with an almost humorous disbelief. crawling up to lay at the head of the bed, he tangles your legs together and brushed a strand of hair stuck to your face. “you did perfect for me, angel. next time I’ll fucking drink it outta you, if you’ll let me.”
from then on, he’ll insist it’s only a coincidence that he goes out of his way to refill your glass of water a lot more frequently. claims it’s because he wants to make sure his baby girl is full and hydrated, healthy. safe. not as if he was plotting for something he’ll be doing to you later.
after all, he loved putting use to his hands, and wasn’t ever afraid of getting them dirty.
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still working on my inbox everybodyyyy I think about the ideas in my inbox everyday I promise I’ll get to finishing up more. thank you for reading and for patience and for telling me any thots
masterlist + buy me a ko-fi
#joel miller smut#joel miller/reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfic#the last of us#pedro pascal#joel miller/you#joel miller x reader#joel miller hbo#joel miller x f!reader#anon#ask
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Soap on the escort mission with Cypher to her temporary base: they're both given rooms, but he tricks her into thinking they were only given one so they only have one shower and bed. He gets her into sleeping in the same bed, copping a feel and cuddling her so tight it feels like he's suffocating her
Oh my god yes but also this sent me off the deep end, sorry.
18+ mdni / soap x cypher (fem reader) / dark and twisty themes
First of all, the entire trip is nauseating. You weren’t given much notice. You’ve never ridden in a helicopter before, and Sergeant MacTavish has to show you how to buckle the straps, knuckles brushing along the tops of your thighs as he clips you in. You’re way outside of your comfort zone. You’re so off kilter, more changes, adjustments to your routines, more strangers. When you get to the outpost, it’s even worse. The systems are rudimentary. You can work with anything, because you’re good, but harvesting the data that Laswell has tasked you with is going to take longer than you’d like. The group you’re with is… small, as well, just you, Sergeant MacTavish, and Sergeant Garrick, who confidently ignores you unless you speak directly to him.
All of this piles and piles on top of you until you’re practically having a nervous breakdown on the first day. Nothing goes right, no one at the outpost is kind, and they all stare at you as you work, like you’re some kind of freak. You’re pretty sure you even hear someone make a joke about you under their breath, something cruel, something that sounds like the things kids used to call you in school. Awful, isolating things, things that always made you feel more alone than you already did. It picks at you, picking and picking, and then you break.
You run into Sergeant MacTavish in the hall, who stops you, alarmed. You try to tell him you need to go to your room, that you need some time to decompress and sit in the dark, but you can't get the words right, they come out messy and mixed up, and you get stuck on a few, repeating them more than once, embarrassment simultaneously trying to melt you into the floor. You’re ripping at the skin on your fingers, digging into the cuticles, trying to keep a lid on yourself when he informs you that the outpost is over occupied, and you’ll be bunking with him.
After the initial shock, he herds you with efficiency to the room, firm hand on your shoulder blade, and you’re surprised at how well the touch grounds you, closing your eyes, sinking into it, listening to the sounds around you, his breathing, the scratch of a door handle, a lock clicking closed.
"Keep 'em closed." He coos, and the command relaxes you. You like the dark, it comforts you, and you think he knows, because the lights never flick on, even though the room is nearly pitch, only one little window in a concrete box, the standard issue. When you don't respond, he hums, pulling you back into the warmth of his body. "Do ye need a lay down?" He murmurs into your hair, petting over your skin, under the neck of your shirt-jacket combo, and you nod, fingers still picking at your skin until his hands overtake them, separating them by force. "Words, sweet Cy."
"Yes, sir." You croak, and he rewards you, in a way, with his arm across your chest, pressing you harder against his front, his chest, stomach and waist, the pressure working like a tea kettle that's boiling, letting off steam.
"Good. That's good, bonnie. Let's get ye comfortable then." He works your clothes, unbuttoning your jacket, your pants. He lays you on your back, eyes still closed, pulling your boots off, divesting you of everything but your underwear, folding your feet onto the mattress together so your knees are bent, and then laid to the side, outwards. You let him move you, shift you around like a doll, unable to protest. The words just won't come out, half afraid you'll earn yourself a punishment, and half afraid he'll stop whatever he's doing right now. You don't want this, do you? Don't you? A hot mouth washes over the inside of your thigh, thumb pulling your panties to the side to expose your cunt, and he clucks his tongue. "Ye need a shave, wee sweet." Oh my god. Oh my god? Your cheeks burn, entire body doused in gasoline and then lit on fire with shame. "Dinnae worry, we wonae be doin' it tonight." His mouth is closer now, you can feel it, the thorned silk of his stubbled cheek against your leg, nose nudging into the curls between your legs. Your heart thumps inside your chest at the first contact of his tongue to your clit, and even with your eyes closed, you think you can see the moon, the sun, the fucking stars.
"Fffuuck." You moan, unable to keep yourself quiet, and he brushes his calculated touch back and forth at the perfect rate and speed, pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles into the flesh of your thighs at the same time, pressing them wider and wider, giving him more and more access to your weeping pussy.
"My sweet Cy." He breathes into your body, flicking around your clit, across it, electrical pulses spreading up through your belly. "Ye jus' need someone to help ye. Take care of ye and this bonnie pussy, aye? Treat it nice." He's working you over so well, like an expert on your body, pushing and pulling you towards the cliff, and you writhe on the bed, the burn spreading, shoving your too busy brain and too busy thoughts slowing slipping away with every second.
"Yeah." You pant, dumb. What? What are you saying?
"Want ye to come for me, baby." His voice goes serious, mouth pulling away a fraction, and you whine a little, confused. "But ye need to be good, and ask. Ask yer Sergeant for permission."
"S-s-sir. Can- Can I-" You struggle with it, brain overloaded, floating away on a cloud, and he smacks his palm against the flesh of your ass, from the side.
"Try again."
"Sir. Please. Pleeease. Can I- I come?"
"Aye, wee genius. Come for me, let me see it." It only takes a few more seconds, long strokes of mouth and tongue against you and then you're bursting into stardust, wild and fast orgasm slamming into you, as he coos to you about how good ye are, how ye wonae need anyone else now, he'll take care of everything, anything, how sweet, and your brain glitches trying to piece together his meaning until you're turning to putty, sinking deeper into the mattress under the aftershocks.
Later, not long after, he folds you into bed fully, nestled under the covers in the dark. He slides in behind you, blazing heat of his body against yours, hard cock against your ass in his boxers, and you gasp, squirming, trying to shift away until he tightens his grip, smothering you still, arms locking around you too tightly, and soothing you with calm touch in all the right spots until you're drifting off into sleep.
#peaches asks#peaches writes#soap x cypher#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish#john mactavish x reader
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i apologise if you feel something
ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader
cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in
a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name
word count: 1.8k words
Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.
You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.
You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.
But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.
He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.
He wasn't going to lose you, too.
You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.
You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.
You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.
“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.
“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.
Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.
Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.
“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”
“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.
His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.
“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.
“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”
"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.
"I'll show you crazy."
Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.
“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.
“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”
He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.
“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”
“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”
He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.
“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.
“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.
“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.
You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.
Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.
His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.
“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.
“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”
His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.
He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.
"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?
"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”
You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.
He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.
He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.
He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…
You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…
#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy#dark content
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Some sick!reader + Ellie headcanons I've been thinking about for you Ani <3
• You aren't too sure if it's a coincidence or Ellie is really just That girlfriend, but when you're feeling unwell, all her plans get cancelled out of the blue for her to lay on the bed next to you on her phone quietly glancing towards you from time to time to make sure you're happily enjoying the drink she fixed for you.
• She also goes above and beyond to distract you from the pain,- physical or mental; and probably talks to you to a point where you have to attack her with kisses all over her face for her to stop infodumping for a second and just enjoy the show y'all are watching
• Back rubs.. belly rubs.. arm caresses.. temple kisses.. small pecks.. knuckle kisses.. and boob holding for comfort??? Ellie-
• If you start to feel better by the evening, she tells you not to frown about the missed date and hand crafts a blanket fort "Girls night" as she likes to ironically call it and laugh about it(I'm a sucker for Ellie being traditionally girly dont look at me) She basically makes you watch old movies, does your hair and lets you paint her nails.
you don’t understand how happy this ask made me like omg. 18+ only due to suggestive content under the cut! expansion below (also featuring a couple of sneaky ai audios right at the end…) cw for vomit.
this is so cute i’m gonna cry you just understand all my daydreams!!! she’s so gf i love her… btw it’s canon that cups of watery, kind of awful tea ABOUND in your household when you’re sick and you don’t have the heart to tell ellie they’re bad. she’s looking at you and prompting you with her eyes to take a sip and you have to conceal your wince as you do it. “it’s good tea, right? dunno if i left the teabag in for long enough… google said two minutes. was that right? it’s good, right???” you wait for her to stop but she just keeps rambling and you feel so bad for her that you just have to nod along and swallow down the tea 😭😭
the infodumping… god, the infodumping. you’re just trying to focus on a show through your thumping headache as ellie drones “honestly, i think taissa did do it to allie on purpose, even if she doesn’t realise it-” until it gets to the point where you thwack her with a pillow and she pouts at you before pecking your forehead with her lips and snuggling down next to you.
also i see your boob holding and raise you tit sucking… because yes you’re sick but, well, ellie’s still ellie, and so of course she still wants to do horny things. she’d spring it on you right as you’re waking up from your mid morning nap, eyes all soft as she looks down at you all curled up in the little cosy nest of blankets she meticulously arranged for you.
“hey baby. you just wake up? i can make you another cup of tea if you want,” ellie offers happily. she must see the slightly apprehensive look on your face because her eyebrow crooks up as she continues: “or, well… i was thinking… what if i, like, sucked your tits? just a little? think it might help ease some of the aching… after all, my mouth is kinda magical, if i do say so myself.” you’re unable to contain your splutter at the terrible joke. ellie grins and keeps pushing it. “in fact, this might be a miracle cure!” she says with all the drama of someone announcing they discovered a new planet in the solar system. “you might never get sick again!” comes her next line, hands gesticulating wildly in the air as your chest begins shaking with unbridled giggles.
a fake depressive look turns your girlfriend’s lips down as she dramatically sweeps a hand across her forehead. “okay, maybe that’s a bit far… stop laughing at me. you’re gonna make yourself throw up again,” she teases, except you both seem to realise at the same moment that her last statement was probably true. your eyes lock as ellie dives for the sick bucket and you do in fact puke, her calloused hands holding back your hair from your face <3
as for girl’s night- i feel like she would probably make you a little mocktail because even though you’re not well enough to be drinking, cranberry juice is really good for you and lemonade is almost one of your five a day if you really think about it… and “mint’s basically a vegetable. like, it’s green enough, right?” when you’re forced to take the opposing side on the is-mint-really-a-vegetable debate she acts like you’ve just hit her with a hammer and insists on calling jesse to settle the matter.
“ok, i need your help with a super important decision,” ellie says, a stern expression on her face. the way her eyebrows are wrinkled in the middle looks extra cute, you think, and lean forward to kiss her. instead you’re met with a hand to the sternum and an angry glare. “damn. okay, important decision,” you agree, eyes lifting to hers in curiosity. your girlfriend sucks in a deep breath and you brace yourself… “should i paint my toenails green or pink?” ellie asks innocently. you feel like thumping her- why do i ever take her seriously?? you think, heart slowing back to its normal pace as you throw her a dirty side eye.
“wait, actually… that yellow looks kind of cool-” you cut her off with a thump to the head with your pillow. “OW!” comes her pained response, your lips tilting up into a smug smile as ellie shoots you a look of pure betrayal. “ok… OK!” THUMP! “i get it! no yellow…” the pillow lifts again as if to drive your point home for a final time and… THUMP! “ow! fuck! wait, why is your pillow so fucking solid?”
+ as promised, the ai audios… as i mentioned on my blog before, my bot isn’t anywhere near perfect yet so please excuse if these happen to sound a little funky!
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