#strained relationships when I was little. and they FUCKED UP when I was little. but I cant say that withour sounding like im
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meet uglys with stray kids (hyung line)
pairing: skz hyung line x reader (no prns used)
genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, humour
cw: language, throwing up/sickness, mentions of alcohol
wc: 1.9k
notes: it's been way too long since i've written stray kids fics... this was originally going to be arguments with skz maknae line but it got too difficult to write so here's a new fic! hopefully i can get maknae line out by 18th! p.s. this wasn't proofread at all so i'm sorry if it's ridden with mistakes...
chan (방찬) – greeting the new neighbour but turns out he slept at 5 last night
you had heard from jeongin, who lives across the street, that you’re getting a new neighbour
he had texted you about it mid conversation when telling you how to handle his house while he’s gone for his week-long vacation
truth was you hadn’t even considered greeting your soon-to-be neighbour
one, what if they hated you and you would have to be stuck with them for ages?
the only reason you’re even friends with jeongin is because he went around the neighbourhood holding up a cat asking if anyone lost it
(turns out it was a flea ridden stray but you both took it to the vet nevertheless)
two, you were quite comfortable laying in your bed
but ten more annoying texts from jeongin saying you should greet them because he did was enough to get you to make your way to their house
knocking on the door, you feel your palms get sweaty
you’re already regretting this
after one or two minutes of standing outside, you internally yell at them for making you look like an idiot
you’re about to leave until the door opens
revealing a man in his mid to late-twenties
wearing nothing but a tank top and sweats
with very prominent biceps
that are being put on display right now
you’ve probably been ogling at the man for a while now
shaking your head a little, you smile warmly at him
“hi, i’m your neighbou-”
“what time is it now?”
you blink a few times
you had just been interrupted by this hot neighbour, and his attitude was a little too sour for your liking
you aren’t sure which to address first
so it ends up with you going–
“huh?”
“what time is it now?”
he enunciates
“uhh…”
you pull out your phone
“9:20am”
“right. 9:20am and you’re already banging on my door”
you’re thrown so off guard
“i’m sorry, what?”
to be honest, you’re getting fed up with his condescending tone
“stores are up and running and kids are playing in the park playgrounds, maybe you’re the problem here”
you cross your arms, cause who does this man think he is?
this time it’s his turn to shake his head
“fuck- i mean- i’m sorry, i just- i slept at like 6 last night- or morning, and i just-”
he rubs his face
“i’m sorry”
you smile, a little strained
“it’s fine. i’ll see you around.”
even after him apologising you’re feeling slightly petty
so you turn around and begin to make your way home
chan feels horrible
except he’s running on like 3 hours on sleep so he honestly can’t process anything
so in his last efforts he grabs your arm gently
“wait, i’m sorry. c-can we- can i make it up to you over lunch tomorrow? you can show me around as well”
you contemplate
he did seem genuine enough
so you nod, smiling
“that sounds nice, what’s your name again?”
“i’m chan, what’s yours?”
and after you give it to him, he repeats it outloud, testing it out
the giddy feeling in your chest rises unwillingly
and maybe that lunch turns into a date, and maybe that date has a follow up, and maybe that follow up turns into a relationship
and maybe jeongin spends the rest of his life saying “i told you so”
but that’s a problem for future you to handle
minho (민호) – vomiting on him while drunk
you were initially against following jisung into the club
but he insisted you need to live life, and that it’s a saturday and you need to, quote unquote
“PARTAYYYYYYY”
to be fair, exams just ended and you have been spending the last couple of months holed in your room studying
so you agreed
he promised you he would look after you
don’t trust a drunk jisung
half an hour in and you’re absolutely wasted
you can’t remember when you stumbled into the toilets
but you’re hitting your fist on the door, yelling for whoever was inside to:
“STOP SHITTING FOR TWO SECONDS I NEED TO PUKE”
probably not the best way to tell someone to hurry up
but fortunately for you, the door opened
but not so fortunately for you, you vomit all over the guy
whose first reaction was
“what the actual fuck?!”
in his defence sober you would probably have reacted the same way
but again
you’re wasted
so you yell back at him
“what the actual fuck back to you!”
you push him aside and continue vomiting into the toilet bowl
minho’s conflicted
does he help you? even though you puked all over him, he still feels bad that you’re clearly trying to vomit but aren’t steady enough to support yourself
so he sighs, cursing under his breath
he hastily wipes clean his shoes and squats down to hold you by your shoulders so you’re facing the toilet bowl and not the floor
you would’ve thanked him if you aren’t hurling your guts out right now
after what feels like hours, you’re finally done
and minho washes his hands quickly, ready to leave
except you tug weakly on his pants
“m’sorr…”
he blinks, squatting down to hear you better
you clear your throat, a bit more sober now that the alcohol is out of your system
“m’sorry. i’ll- i’ll pay for the- the- the cleaning”
minho brushes the sweaty strands of hair from your face
“yeah you better”
his tone is soft, though
like he’s careful not to upset you
cause you look like you’re about to burst into tears
you smile weakly
“you’re soooo hot”
okay maybe you aren’t fully sober yet
he’s thrown off guard
“um… thanks?”
you giggle drunkenly
“you probably get tha’ a loooot”
he tilts his head, not sure how to respond
“i… guess?”
you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts
“ca’ i get your n’mber?”
it takes him a few seconds to understand what you’re trying to say
which is a little awkward because he’s essentially just staring at you
you clear your throat to break the silence
“t’ like… pay for your clean’ng”
he nods, finally understanding
“yeah, sure”
and that’s how you got your future boyfriend’s number
he brings it up every now and then just to see you get embarrassed
which he thinks is absolutely adorable :(
changbin (창빈) – he left the tap on and water leaked into your apartment ceiling
you’re minding your own business
flicking through different films to decide what to watch
well, you were
until a drop of water drips on your tv
at first you thought you were hallucinating
except another water drop falls on it
so you look up at the ceiling
because you’re confused as hell??
you notice a huge splotch of water
and it won’t stop dripping
you’re about to scream
this is a brand new tv and they do not come cheap
so you calculate which apartment was upstairs
and sprint up
you’re surprised the elevator button didn’t break from how hard you’re pressing the button
you run to the perpetrator’s door, knocking on it rapidly
you’re about to yell for them to open their door until you feel a timid tap on your shoulder behind you
swinging around, becoming face to face with a very attractive, very muscular, but very scared looking man
“c-can i help you?”
you normally would’ve been nicer to strangers, except this man is literally breaking your tv
“you have a water leak and it’s breaking my tv!!!!!”
he begins to panic
“i’m so sorry!! i must’ve left the tap on or something i-”
he’s rambling while he unlocks his door
you peek over his shoulder when he opens the door
huh
there’s… no water at all?
he seems confused too
but then he walks over to his bathroom, opening the door
aaaaand there it is
a pool of water immediately spills out, creating a puddle around him
he quickly turns off the overflowing tap, smacking himself in the forehead with his palm
“god… i’m so, so, so sorry… if your tv’s broken i’ll… i’ll pay for a new one”
he rubs his eyes, looking at you apologetically
“i’m really sorry for this whole mess”
you stare at him expressionlessly
“i’ll check to see if it’s broken… uh… i’ll text you if it is, or something”
you’re thinking of what to do
you’re definitely not getting distracted by the sight of this attractive man in a tight-fitting black tee that compliments his torso nicely
he nods, “yeah i’ll uh, i’ll give you my number so you can… yeah, here”
he’s holding out his contact page
you copy down his number on your phone
smiling awkwardly, you turn around and wave goodbye
but of course, your messages with him won’t end with a “tv’s not broken! :)”
hyunjin (현진) – my dog hates you so i hate you too
it’s a regular friday afternoon
you clutch your dog’s leash in your hand, bopping your head to the beat of the music blasting in your earphones
you didn’t even notice her happily running over to another dog
until you take your phone out to switch to another song
you look up momentarily and did a double take
cause why on earth is a tiny chihuahua full on ATTACKING your dog
she never stood a chance
she runs back to you and hide behind your legs
you take out your earphones to tell the chihuahua’s owner off
except he looks even more terrified than you
you stare at him, waiting for him to do something
he seems to snap out of it and pulls his chihuahua away, leaning down to give him a snack for him to calm down
you give your own dog a few pets to soothe her before looking back at the chihuahua’s owner
damn
you didn’t get a proper look at him before
but now that you have
damn
he’s hot
but after seeing how scared your dog is
you can’t help but get a little annoyed at him
you might have been giving him the stink eye subconsciously because he begins to apologise profusely
“i’m sorry, he’s not very fond of people… or other dogs… or me… he’s not very fond of anything in general, if i’m honest”
he’s stumbling over his words
and even though you’re still miffed
you can’t help but feel a little bad for judging him
“yeah, that’s fair enough”
there’s an awkward silence that you’re pretty sure your dog can sense too because she starts whining
so you give him one more smile
“well, see you around”
hyunjin decides he’s not going to fumble the bag
because you’re seriously the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his life
“wait! what’s your name? we could… i don’t know, get some coffee some time?”
he wants kkami to bite his mouth off
he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore
you purse your lips
his dog ≠ him you suppose
so you nod and give him your name
he grins at that
“i’m hyunjin”
networks: @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf @neverendingdreams-net @straykidsland @k-films pirateeznet
#kflixnet#k-labels#neverendingdreams#straykidsland#k films#stray kids#stray kids x reader#skz#skz x reader#bang chan x reader#bang chan#minho x reader#lee minho#lee know x reader#lee know#changbin x reader#seo changbin#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin
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🎉 Congrats on the 1k followers! 🎉
For a possible fic promt:
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A little tied up
Rated: E
Words: 995
Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Awkward sexual situations; Idiots in love; Very slight knife kink
Eddie thought he knew what pain was.
Being chomped on by a flock of feral demon bats while fully conscious is an experience he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. And trust him, he has a lot of enemies, what with half the town still convinced he’s a devil-worshiping, cheerleader-murdering psychopath.
Eddie also thought he knew humiliation.
Hell, he needed help peeing in those first few weeks in the hospital. His dick has been touched by more people than he is comfortable admitting - and isn’t that something for a chronically bitchless, triple-senior D&D nerd?
Point is, if anyone had asked before today, Eddie would’ve boldly claimed there was nothing in the pain and humiliation department strong enough to make him even bat an eyelash.
Turns out he was wrong.
“Fuuuck,” he whines, hands white-knuckling the bedsheets. His head, heavy from craning his neck, thuds back into the pillow. “What the hell is taking so long? Take it off, take it off, take it-”
“I’m trying, okay?” Steve snaps. He has stopped laughing, which … okay, Eddie appreciates he’s taking this seriously, but he absolutely does not like that brow furrow. That's Steve Harrington's trademark ‘we're royally fucked but I'm gonna keep it together to not freak anyone out’ brow furrow. “The damn knot won't come loose.”
He tugs at said knot as if to demonstrate, and Eddie almost jerks off the bed as a jolt of pain zaps from the base of his cock all the way up his spine.
“Jesus fuck, be careful!” he barks, but Steve stays unimpressed.
“Hold still,” he scolds, voice deep and stern. One large hand grips Eddie’s knee and pushes his thighs further apart. It's very close to how Eddie envisioned this going, and his cock gives a treacherous little twitch. “Don't know why you thought this was a good idea.”
“I told you,” Eddie hisses through another bout of pain. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.”
Steve gives him a look.
“So you put a bow around your dick.”
Eddie can practically feel himself blushing, but he’s okay with that. Any blood that’s not in his tortured dick is good blood.
Steve is still staring at him like he’s wondering if the bat rabies did fuck with his head after all. Eddie slaps his hands in front of his face and groans.
“I thought it would be fun,” he whines.
It was fun, at first. Steve’s dumb, surprised face when he entered the bedroom to find Eddie clad in nothing but the ribbon adorning his cock in a snug little bow. The way Steve’s pupils blew wide and fuzzy, the punched-out little growl as he crashed their lips together. The way he all but threw Eddie down onto the bed, smothering him with his own body, cock already hard and straining against the confines of his jeans.
It was fun, and fantastic, and so, so, very hot.
Until it wasn’t.
Because, see, Eddie is a moron. A moron who didn’t account for the fact that the male sexual organ tends to swell when aroused, turning a ribbon that sat nice and snug two minutes ago into a hellish torture device - shiny satin clenching like a vice around his sensitive base. He can feel his heartbeat throb in his tip. He thinks there’s some pubes caught under the knot. Jesus.
When he peers out from between his fingers, Steve is still looking at him with that exasperated expression.
“Okay,” Eddie relents. “I admit it wasn’t my best plan. Now … Any ideas on how to get us out of this mess?”
“Us?” The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch. “I’m not the one who’s strangulating their own dick, dude.”
Eddie groans. “Stevie, please! I’m scared it’ll fall off if we wait any longer, I’m not even kidding. You don’t want my dick to fall off, do you?”
Steve actually has the decency to look mildly panicked.
“No! No, of course not. I just dunno what to-”
He trails off and pinches his nose, lips moving in silent thought. Then, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like fuck this and jumps off the bed. Eddie gawks at him as he starts rummaging through his clothes.
“What are you-” he starts to say, but then the light catches on the item Steve has just pulled from his pocket, and the words wheeze to a stop.
Steve flicks open his pocket knife, kneeling back on the bed. His face is stony with determination.
“It's no use,” he says. “I'm gonna cut it off.”
“The fuck?” Eddie squawks, skittering backwards on his ass until the headboard stops him. “You're not cutting off my dick!”
Steve stares at him.
Eddie stares back.
“Oooh,” he breathes. “You mean the bow.”
Steve huffs a laugh. “No shit, genius,” he teases, but his voice is fond. “Why would I cut off your dick? I still need it. Now stop squirming.”
It's weirdly thrilling, the cold bite of the blade sliding between his skin and the ribbon. Eddie swallows past the bundle of nerves in his throat and forces himself to stay very still.
There's a tug, and a sharp flash of pain as the ribbon pulls taut, and then-
“Gotcha,” Steve cheers, dangling the ribbon in the air like some kind of prize.
Eddie sags back into the sheets. “Fuck, finally.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, chucking the bow and the knife aside so that he can bracket Eddie with his arms and lean in for a kiss. “What do we learn from this? No more ribbons.”
One of his hands slips between them, starting to pump Eddie’s still sensitive cock with gentle pressure.
“No more ribbons,” Eddie agrees around a moan. “But we may have to talk about the knife again.”
And if Steve’s grip gets a little more harsh at that, his kisses a little more hungry? Well, it looks like they'll have some fun after all.
More celebration ficlets
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie brainrot#steddie fanfic#fanfiction writer#fanfiction#fanfic#my writing#hype's 1k follower ficlets
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⋆₊˚⊹♡ choso + dealing with your brattiness
character: kamo choso
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is a Brat with a capital b, stepcest, toxic relationship, hair pulling, size difference, fem!reader, one (1) spank
words: 703
do you ever just want to be a mean, bitchy, bratty lil girl—wearing too-short skirts and no panties underneath, purposefully flashing little glimpses that are nothing more than teasing, taunting, titillating; purring out smart-mouthed remarks to every statement vaguely sent your way, sticky sweet like spoiled syrup dripping from your lips—and testing the limits of big step-brother choso and his Nice Guy Nature???
pushing him further and further and further, stretching him thinner and thinner and thinner, until he finally fucking snaps, grabs you so tightly by your lil wrist that he leaves the prettiest bracelet of blue and purple in the mold of his thick fingers stained into your skin and yanks so hard that you stumble over your own ankles, falling naturally into his lap???
those big hands are shoving their way up your skirt, the material bunching around your tailbone, callused palms roaming your supple flesh and kneading, pinching, squeezing, just hard enough to snap tiny networks of capillaries beneath his fingertips, just firm enough to have you squealing and trying to bury your face in his shoulder.
but he isn’t going to allow that, one set of fingers burying themselves in your hair, knuckles rooted flush to your scalp, strands twisted around his digits as he pulls, tugging you from your hiding spot and forcing a sharp yelp from your throat.
“you think you can act so nasty to me and just get away with it?” he’s asking, voice vibrating against your ribs as his hand tightens, jerking your head back further, neck arched and on display. “huh?”
chestnut eyes, dark and gaping and shrouded by dense lashes, search your face, narrowing slightly as he sneers. hot breath wafts across your cheeks, coming out his nose in ragged huffs, his chest heaving against yours as his fury climbs, rises to a boil behind his sternum, melts his heart to something thick and sticky and foul, steadily consuming his rationality.
“wh-why not? what’re you gonna—ow!—do about it?”
and even mangled in such an uncomfortable, compromising position, features fighting the urge to contort in pain, you’re still such a fucking brat, smirk strained but goading, gaze glittering with a daring audacity—do something, onii-chan, do something.
a growl rumbles behind choso’s ribs and he wrenches harder, the base of your skull nearly touching the top of your spine, thorns searing through your scalp.
“you really want to play these games?”
despite the tears shimmering in your eyes—so pretty, so perfect, just barely contained by your lash line as they build, bulge, threaten to spill over—you swallow resolutely, unblinking stare steadily holding his own.
“i really do, onii-chan.”
his cock is already hard, you can feel it, pressed tightly against your thigh, hips shifting a little in a halfhearted attempt to grind against it, edges of your grin growing when it twitches in response.
“and i know you do, too.”
his upper lip curls with vexation—an unusual distortion of his handsome face—the beginnings of a snarl huffed out from between parted lips, half-smothered, the strong hinges of his jaw flexing as his molars grind together.
“alright, let’s play. you wanna know what i’m gonna do about it?”
“uh-huh.”
leaning down, his massive body blankets yours, grip on your strands loosening slightly as his mouth finds your ear, lips caressing the cartilage as his words bead along your skin, low and wet and hot.
“i’m going to show you what happens to little girls who think they can treat their onii-chans with such disrespect.”
a soft whine catches in your throat, pelvis rocking slightly and thighs squeezing his hips as damp, dense heat begins to sprawl in your tummy. your words are breathy, bordering on begging, all previous challenge faded from your tone, replaced with a dreamy sort of desperation.
“what happens?”
a firm palm collides with the bare skin of your ass, stark and sudden, the sharp sound tangling with the pitchy cry knocked from your chest. his hand stays flat and splayed against the burning skin, singeing the tingles into your flesh before his fingers tense, carving violet-tinged crescents into your bum as his grip strengthens.
“they’re unable to sit for a week.”
#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#choso x reader#choso smut#choso x you#kamo choso x reader#kamo choso smut#kamo choso x you
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Lights Out dream team - scribbled Silly Style. low quality, even
#theyre hanging out <3#with the horrors AND each other <3#its taken some deliberation but these are the first four & the ones who spend the longest time in the dark together#frank wakes first. then poppy. then howdy#the rest im still kinda Thinkin on who wakes when#im thinkinggggg eddie-julie-barnaby? or eddie-barnaby-julie... i have several Factors to consider#scribble salad#wh lights out au#but anyhow frank poppy wally howdy quartet lets gooooo#i like making characters that arent typically associated with each other Interact#like its usually frank + eddie or julie / poppy + sally / wally + barns / howdy + barns#so its fun to think about these four only having each other#their Main Besties are all still in dreamland#OH FUCK YEAH PLUS HOME LMFAO#i keep forgetting about home im sorry. lock me up boys#well its not like home can join them on their adventures (horror journeys)#and its kinda. not on good terms with wally. which means its not on good terms with the others.#but anyway at this point in the au wally is very happy to have more friends#so is frank! finally New Conversations!#im thinking that his and wallys relationship was starting to strain a little by the time poppy wakes up#so its good for them to have Other People#big friends! cozy friends!#they are Extra Big bc the illusion of their reality is shattered! they are their base selves!#no more mind reality twisty to ~keep them in frame w/ the smaller puppets~ for the show#so poppy/howdy/barnaby are all nearly 8 ft as canon prescribes#and all of the others are 3-4 ft (also as canon prescribes)#an Adjustment for sure <3
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guy trapped in a hell of his own creation: haha ive never done anything wrong in my entire life. and im always right:] anyway. why did my little brother move out:(
its so funny to me that at first glance tashi seems like hed be the most 'normal' out of all the clones but at least all the others are slowly healing n shit while hes just getting more and more insane each day and one day hell snap and explode and maim someone
#my art#my funky guys#HES SO FUCKING STUPID.#tashi im sorry ily but youre literally the dumbes fucking motherfucker ive ever seen. and a cringe loser. never change king<3#like. this guy realised he was a clone when he was a month old and decided to base his new personality entirely#on the idealised version of the original he made up in his head.#like he did this to himself!!! he chose to revolve his entire personality around being a 'perfect flawless mom friend'!!!!!!!#in his head hes like the most selfless & altruistic person to ever walk the earth but in reality hes a sad selfish mess who just wants to#be loved.#he started out as a pretty nice and level headed guy who wanted to help ppl but then it just spiraled when he made that his entire#personality bc of his inability to move on from a lie he really wanted to be true.#he percieves shiro as this perfect flawless leader figure and he wants DESPERATELY to imitate that. deep down its not enough for him to#simply coparent and share responsibility w the others. no no no he has to be The Leader and do everything himself!#this mindset results in him later on starting to dismiss and undervalue his familys work and commitment to keeping them all alive-#esp soup. like sHE WAS THERE W HIM FROM THE VERY BEGINNING THEY ARE EQUALS THEY ARE BOTH EQUALLY IMPORTRANT#AND HES SO FAR UP HIS ASS HE FORGOT. somewhere along the line he forgot. he missed the point. he spiraled too deep.#and he knows. he knows but hes so terrified of change and growth and admitting he CANT do this alone.#he wants to be a cool epic capable solo leader AND he craves family and connection soooo badly he cant live w/o his loved ones.#so yeah. hes an angry little pathetic freak<3 i love him#despite all that hes not a bad person. just a flawed guy thrown into a situation so stressful and traumatising that he clinged to the only#coping mechanism he had at the time and just sorta. ran with it.#dw he gets better tho! it takes a lot and his and sticks relationship is strained for a LONG time but he slowly gets better. good for him
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specifically looking at the hewitts since granted i know more on the remakes than the others but,
the hewitts only got vague, limited police action looking into them in '03 after erin chops thomas' arm off and gets away. and even though theres' coverage of it and everything, that literally ONLY happens after 4-5 straight years of the hewitts doing what they do, from 69-73 in terms of solely the remake timeline.
that's still a shitton of time to be ACTIVELY killing people to y'know. not fucking die yourselves. then combine that with the sawyers - their additional family members, their own trails of ruthlessness added into the mix, and this entire combined family unit likely has kill counts all around in the hundreds if not even way past that.
but even with the police involvement in the remakes?
its all SO SLOPPY, its hardly conducted with any real CARE about their own well-beings. like??? ya'll went into that house while THOMAS was STILL THERE... didnt even SECURE THE HOUSE.....
and even with the found footage? no arrests, presumably. the remaining hewitts are still at large, thomas is still at large. like... all ya'll did was corral them to their fucking confusing ass tunnel system and made luda (if we count the comics) far more involved and ruthless in the actual killings than she was in the movies lol
and yes technically speaking with charlie's death that could sever the stronghold they've got on the police and sheriffs' around them - but at the same time - how bad would it look of them to SUDDENLY flip a switch and try to unpack the years worth of missing persons, cold cases, murders, kidnappings, break-ins, assaults, etc etc that they swept under the rug? that's WAY too much man power, esp for back then. no one is gonna do that shit.
so. i truly dont think they have much to worry about even in the event of charlie dying - because the fear and influence they've instilled stands for law enforcement to continue to do fuck all - to save and cover their own asses.
#[ ♡ ] ── * the hewitt family. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦.#its incredibly tragic because like. its so OBVIOUS something GOD AWFUL happened to this group of kids? theyre literally needing some rough#medical attention yknow. its so fucking clear they went through something BAD. and yet? crickets. theyre shrugged off. dismissed.#given the cold shoulder. told their friend(s) simply ran away. told they mustve been high or on something and cant recall clearly.#even between maria going missing to pre-basement brawl its like. NO ONES taking them seriously. everyone in towns they search in dismiss#them. no ones seen or heard anything. LEO's are just. useless and rude and telling them not to interfere. telling to go home. telling them#to let them handle things when it becomes VERY obvious they just dont give a shit - that theyre avoiding certain locations#like yes i moved maria's timeline of being missing up but like - even while the searches were still considered active? there was barely any#movement or care or concern or manpower that the depts were gathering or investigating. like. how does someone vanish into thin air?#like they tried to imply maria must've - at some point? they were so out of their league so roadblocked so dismissed every step of the way.#maria with the attempt of a search and youre nearly found!!!....and then youre told your friends all left...and they never came remotely#close to where youre kept to find you. lee with sacrificing himself hoping it gives the rest of them a chance to get away - that someone#lives in order to rain down hell on the family in the sense of justice and yet. not a word is said over broadcasts about him - at least#nothing substantial. no search. no missing persons report. nothing. and then danny? my dan the man? the guy with little family ties?#my guy with a strained relationship with his father? whose only friends are again in the situation of 'no one believes us'?#you think theres even a PEEP about him whatsoever? in any capacity? my guy would be lost to the ether - literally. NO ONE but the#friends would ever give a shit if he went missing.
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me crawling out of bed to type this and disappear back to my cocoon right after but-specifically looking at the hewitts since granted i know more on the remakes than the others but,
the hewitts only got vague, limited police action looking into them in '03 after erin chops thomas' arm off and gets away. and even though theres' coverage of it and everything, that literally ONLY happens after 4-5 straight years of the hewitts doing what they do, from 69-73 in terms of solely the remake timeline.
that's still a shitton of time to be ACTIVELY killing people to y'know. not fucking die yourselves. then combine that with the sawyers - their additional family members, their own trails of ruthlessness added into the mix, and this entire combined family unit likely has kill counts all around in the hundreds if not even way past that.
but even with the police involvement in the remakes?
its all SO SLOPPY, its hardly conducted with any real CARE about their own well-beings. like??? ya'll went into that house while THOMAS was STILL THERE... didnt even SECURE THE HOUSE.....
and even with the found footage? no arrests, presumably. the remaining hewitts are still at large, thomas is still at large. like... all ya'll did was corral them to their fucking confusing ass tunnel system and made luda (if we count the comics) far more involved and ruthless in the actual killings than she was in the movies lol
and yes technically speaking with charlie's death that could sever the stronghold they've got on the police and sheriffs' around them - but at the same time - how bad would it look of them to SUDDENLY flip a switch and try to unpack the years worth of missing persons, cold cases, murders, kidnappings, break-ins, assaults, etc etc that they swept under the rug? that's WAY too much man power, esp for back then. no one is gonna do that shit.
so. i truly dont think they have much to worry about even in the event of charlie dying - because the fear and influence they've instilled stands for law enforcement to continue to do fuck all - to save and cover their own asses.
#its incredibly tragic because like. its so OBVIOUS something GOD AWFUL happened to this group of kids? theyre literally needing some rough#medical attention yknow. its so fucking clear they went through something BAD. and yet? crickets. theyre shrugged off. dismissed.#given the cold shoulder. told their friend(s) simply ran away. told they mustve been high or on something and cant recall clearly.#even between maria going missing to pre-basement brawl its like. NO ONES taking them seriously. everyone in towns they search in dismiss#them. no ones seen or heard anything. LEO's are just. useless and rude and telling them not to interfere. telling to go home. telling them#to let them handle things when it becomes VERY obvious they just dont give a shit - that theyre avoiding certain locations#like yes i moved maria's timeline of being missing up but like - even while the searches were still considered active? there was barely any#movement or care or concern or manpower that the depts were gathering or investigating. like. how does someone vanish into thin air?#like they tried to imply maria must've - at some point? they were so out of their league so roadblocked so dismissed every step of the way.#like. maria and lee and danny etc in their dire aus its all just... its so tragic.#maria with the attempt of a search and youre nearly found!!!....and then youre told your friends all left...and they never came remotely#close to where youre kept to find you. lee with sacrificing himself hoping it gives the rest of them a chance to get away - that someone#lives in order to rain down hell on the family in the sense of justice and yet. not a word is said over broadcasts about him - at least pos#nothing substantial. no search. no missing persons report. nothing. and then danny? my dan the man? the guy with little family ties?#my guy with a strained relationship with his father? whose only friends are again in the situation of 'no one believes us'?#you think theres even a PEEP about him whatsoever? in any capacity? my guy would be lost to the ether - literally. NO ONE but the#friends would ever give a shit if he went missing.#does this make any sense idk im half asleep still but yknow-#i see kels' post and my brain short-circuited on this- BFKHD#[ 𝟎𝟎 ] ── * 𝐎𝐎𝐂. { renee. }
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the fact that I now have a voice recording on my phone of me breaking down crying while trying to sing The Best Day… horrendous
#you can literally hear me laughing at how dumb I sound while I’m sniffling my way through the bridge and final verse lol please end me#okay so FIRST OF ALL it is a difficult song to sing without sounding like you are in middle school and straining at your lung capacity#SECOND OF ALL when you are 25 and depressed and trying VERY HARD to have a good relationship with your mother#WHILE YOU ARE BOTH THE EMOTIONAL PUNCHING BAGS OF THE MEN OF THE FAMILY#and then suddenly the end of the song brings in your father and brother and you have to say nice things about them…#difficult!#ANYWHORE I did another recording and I sounded fine and it is now sitting in my mother’s inbox for when she wakes up for work 💅🏻#because she picked this song (and Never Grow Up) as her two favorites and she said a while ago that she misses me singing in the shower#now I go back to flouncing on my bed and dungeon crawling because! fun fact!#I have not had voice lessons in almost ten years and my voice is a little shot from smoking and also Being Loud At Work#so even though I did some warm ups! holy fuck doing an hour straight of recording NGU and TBD until I was pleased with the results… yowch#how the FUCK was I a chorus kid every day for like 8 years#my stuff
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ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you
🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader
🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times
title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.
You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.
You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups.
It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.
You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.
He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.
In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.
But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.
You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you.
Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.
He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now.
But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.
That should be it.
But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.
Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly.
A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.
It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.
You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.
Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.
You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.
Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.
Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.
It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.
Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway.
And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.
You start easy.
Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.
After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.
He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it.
“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”
“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”
You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.
You have tougher targets to tackle.
The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.
You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.
You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.
So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.
You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.
God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head.
Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.
You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.
When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock.
Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.
“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.
You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.
“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.
“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”
Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.
But then–
“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”
For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.
“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.
You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.
Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.
“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”
You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.
“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”
Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”
You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”
“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”
You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.
“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”
“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”
You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.
You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.
“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”
You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you.
But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.
You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.
“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”
You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.
“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”
“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”
That, you think, might just push you over the edge.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”
Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.
“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”
Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”
Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly.
“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”
To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling.
Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.
“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”
“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”
Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.
“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”
“Kid–”
“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”
Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying.
“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving.
You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented.
“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”
“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”
It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.
“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.
“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.
But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.
“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”
“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.
“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."
“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”
You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.
“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”
“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”
Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria.
The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.
“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.
You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”
“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”
Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.
“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve.
There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife.
“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”
God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.
“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”
“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”
“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off.
She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.
Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.
“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”
“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.
“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”
“No!” You blurt.
God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.
“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”
Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.
“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.
“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”
You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.
For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?
For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.
You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.
And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.
But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.
So, you go back to work after your little break away.
You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you.
To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.
You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again.
Well. Okay, then.
You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.
You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.
“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”
It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.
Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”
Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”
“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”
You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”
“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”
You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.
“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”
“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”
Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.
“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”
You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.
“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk.
“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.
You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.
“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”
Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.
“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”
You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.
“What?” You squeak.
“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”
“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”
She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go.
“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”
“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”
After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things.
It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.
You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.
All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.
The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.
Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.
“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.
You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.
Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.
“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.
Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.
Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.
“D’you’ve a moment, love?”
His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.
It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.
“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”
As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.
But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.
“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.
You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.
“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”
Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.
“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”
You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words.
“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.
“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.
You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.
The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.
You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.
You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.
But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.
“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.
You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably.
“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.
“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”
That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.
“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”
You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”
Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.
“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”
You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice.
“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”
The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.
But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused.
“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.
He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”
“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”
Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.
“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”
You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.
“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”
That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.
All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.
“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”
That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”
To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee.
“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."
Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry.
It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.
It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure.
"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.
Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.
“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”
There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.
“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”
The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.
Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.
“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”
“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.
God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.
But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.
A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch.
Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.
“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.
Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing.
“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.
You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.
“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged.
Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.
“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs.
His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return.
“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.
Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.
It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.
The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming.
Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.
You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.
“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”
Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else.
“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”
And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.
“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”
You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.
Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”
You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.
Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”
You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.
But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.
He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.
“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”
He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily –
you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.
He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face.
“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”
When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.
But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.
“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”
“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.
“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”
You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.
He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.
Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.
“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”
“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”
The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.
“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”
His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him.
He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.
You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.
“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”
“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.
All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.
He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.
“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”
Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.
You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.
Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.
Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.
“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”
It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.
The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.
In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.
Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.
You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.
"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs.
It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”
Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.
You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.
You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.
Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.
You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.
You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy.
Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.
Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.
With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.
The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.
“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”
“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”
He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious.
Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.
You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.
“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”
Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.
You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering.
You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.
Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.
Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.
Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.
From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.
“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”
The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy.
“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static.
“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent.
When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.
A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.
But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.
And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.
“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.
You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.
He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”
You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.
But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.
“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”
It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside.
You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.
You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.
His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.
The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt.
“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”
You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.
“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”
You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.
He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.
“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”
You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is.
Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.
“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.
“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”
It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.
“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”
“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”
His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you.
“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”
“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.
Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him.
God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.
When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.
Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.
You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in.
It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much.
The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.
Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.
“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”
Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.
“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”
“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”
The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.
Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.
He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.
“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today.
“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.
But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach.
“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”
“Fuckin’ Christ–”
Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness.
It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.
You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.
“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.
Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.
You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.
The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.
He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.
You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.
“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest.
You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.
“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”
Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.
“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”
A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.
“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”
That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.
“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”
“Sharp as ever, darling.”
Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.
“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”
“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”
Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.
“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him.
“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.
His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.
“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”
You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies.
“Thank you.” You mumble.
You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.
Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.
“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”
“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”
Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.
You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.
“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”
There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”
You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.
“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.
“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.
You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.
“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”
Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind#captain john price#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#price x reader#john price smut#cod smut#cod fic#141 x reader#daddy issues price
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More ex bf!König headcanons bc I love my men pathetic
Ex boyfriend! König who is definitely over you. That’s what he tells himself and his friends, sipping on his beer and pressing his new girl closer to his side. No one says anything but they all share a knowing look - all of his new girls resemble you somehow: their general appearance or some exact features like shape of her lips or eyes, their behaviour or how they handle themselves. But needless to say that none of those ‘relationships’ lasted longer than a few months.
Ex boyfriend! König whom you meet at one of your shared friend’s party, his sharp eyes detecting you the moment you step into the room, his throat growing dry as he watched your every move intently. You seemed relaxed - too normal, not mourning the loss of your relationship as much as he did, seemed like you didn’t spend sleepless nights thinking about him.
Ex boyfriend! König who after a few drinks has you cornered in small bathroom, on his knees with his face pressed against your thigh, begging for you to take him back. “Please, I need you so much, my life doesn’t have any sense without you. I’ll be better, please baby, I love you so much”. Your heart clenched at the sight before you - always arrogant and complacent he’s now kneeling at your feet, fat tears running down his reddened cheeks as he scatters small kisses all over your knees.
Not so ex boyfriend! König who is too eager to take you to his place once you mumble out small “Okay, fine. But this one is the last chance you get” to prove to you just how good of a boyfriend he may be for you.
Boyfriend! König who eats you out like man starved, your slick smeared all over his chin and cheeks, tongue buried deep inside of your cunny as his ears strain to not miss a single little sound you make, familiar taste of you clouding up his mind and turning König into a perfect whore for you. He spends the rest of the night fucking you oh so good, rubbing and licking all your soft spots - ones he knows by heart, until you cry and beg for him to give you a little breather. But he just can’t - not when you’re finally back, laying all spread out on his bed, hands tangled in his bedsheets, your trembling legs wrapped around his waist.
Those months spent without you were the worst in his entire life and now that König has you back he’s not letting go of you never again.
#ex!boyfriend könig#konig call of duty#konig mw2#konig x you#konig x reader#konig smut#konig modern warfare#könig modern warfare#cod könig#könig x you#könig smut#könig mw2#könig x reader#könig cod#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#call of duty smut#cod x reader#cod x you#cod smut#call of duty fanfiction
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✎. simon will do this, if it makes johnny feel better.
tags. fem!reader, established relationship (simon/reader), threesome, double penetration in one hole, slight size kink, dirty talk [18+ only]
featuring. simon, soap
masterlist
Simon doesn’t share, but he makes an exception this time after his best friend’s date is a no-show, and he isn’t heartless enough to let Johnny hang out at the pub alone. Anybody will tell you: he can be a real nice guy when he wants to be.
And you don’t mind the extra company or another mouth to feed, that the flowers in the vase you put on the counter were meant for someone else, how Johnny gets flirty after his fourth beer, or—
“Fuck, love,” Simon grunts into your shoulder when he finally eases his cock into you beside Johnny’s. “I guess you can take it like a champ, after all.”
But you hardly hear him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and the creaky mattress below your knees.
Johnny thumbs away your tears while you tremble above him, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss so you have something to focus on other than the feeling of being split down the middle—it takes an extra amount of effort not to clench down when you already feel like you’re about to break in two.
“Look at you,” Johnny mumbles against your lips. “Never thought you’d really let me do this.”
Then he pulls out, slick heat gripping him the whole way, and pushes deeper inside, punching a shaky breath out of you.
He and Simon are in perfect sync, keeping you full while the other drags his cock out, only to fill you up again. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are—at how much you like it—a hazy cloud settling over you as they use you for their pleasure.
Because Johnny’s sad, and you have a thing for making people happy.
Simon sucks little possessive marks into your shoulder and across your spine, murmuring filthy praise against your skin that consists of “sweetest and tightest pussy, my perfect little fucktoy” and “so fucking pretty.”
“That’s it.” Johnny’s voice is low and strained, barely heard above the loud squelching between your legs, but he sighs it into your mouth as he slowly comes apart. “Fuck—ah—you feel so good.”
A hand dips between you to press against your belly, where you can feel them, hot and heavy against your walls, making you squeal as a little ball of warmth travels down to your toes and all the way to the tips of your fingers. Simon fists your hair, tugging you away from Johnny so you’re looking up at him upside down.
“So greedy that you needed two cocks to fill this soft little cunt, huh?”
You whine, unable to form an actual response outside of a few jumbled syllables, but a slap against your ass makes you whisper a shuddered yes.
He tells you to open your mouth before he spits onto your awaiting tongue, some of it hitting your cheek. When you swallow obediently, he smears what doesn’t make it across your lips with the thick pad of his thumb.
“Don’t forget who you belong to,” he sneers, at odds with the soft way he kisses your cheek and reverently chokes on your name. Neither of you hear Johnny groaning under you as you clench down hard at the possessiveness in his voice—because at the feel of his wedding band pressing against your throat like a brand, how can you forget?
Simon doesn’t share, but this, he’ll do. Just this once because you’re already his, and he wants Johnny to know what it’s like to have a woman like you.
#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost smut#ghost imagine#cod smut#cod imagine#cod x reader#mw2 x reader#mw2 smut#mw2 imagine#soap x reader#soap smut#john mctavish x reader#.things i write
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LIQUID STARS | jjk
pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)
genre: angst, smut
word count: 11.8k
summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.
playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine
warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting
note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ
side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!
Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.
It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.
Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.
While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?
You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?
He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.
How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—
Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.
You couldn’t.
Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.
His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.
“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”
You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.
“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”
Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.
You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.
“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”
For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.
He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—
“Let me kiss you, please.”
You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.
Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”
You exhaled, he inhaled.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.
He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.
“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”
Your body panics, but you will it to relax.
“Does that come with the premium subscription?”
Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.
“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”
Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.
“I get to take Bam?”
Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”
Probably not. Definitely not.
“But what about Bam?”
He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.
“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”
You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.
Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.
It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—
“Deal.”
Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.
“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.
He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.
You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.
Jungkook groans.
It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.
You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.
He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.
You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.
You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.
And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.
You want him.
It began with a ring and ended right here.
And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.
The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.
Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.
And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.
Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.
“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.
Jungkook grips your waist hard.
“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.
“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.
“Kiss me, then.”
You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—
When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.
The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.
You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.
“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”
He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.
“Bam, house.”
The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.
“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.
He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”
You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.
“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.
He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”
A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”
He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.
You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.
His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.
You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”
A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”
Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.
“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”
You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.
“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”
You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.
“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”
A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”
He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”
You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.
The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.
You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.
No attachment, no liking.
Just sex.
There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.
“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”
You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.
You broke him.
And now you have to face the repercussions.
Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.
You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.
There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”
You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.
Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.
Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.
The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.
He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.
No strings, no pain.
But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.
“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.
You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.
He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.
A lump forms in your throat.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.
You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.
You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.
Flowery or deceitful?
A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”
Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—
“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”
He blames himself, not you.
You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.
“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”
He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”
His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.
Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.
He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.
The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.
“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.
The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.
You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.
“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.
“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”
He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.
“Of course I trust you.”
“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”
Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.
“Are you scared?”
You’re an empty canvas.
“Not anymore.”
Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”
“Okay.”
He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”
The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”
You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.
Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.
The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.
Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.
“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”
Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.
Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”
Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”
You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.
Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.
Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.
Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.
Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.
You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.
“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”
Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”
“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”
You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.
“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.
You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.
“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”
Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.
He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.
There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.
He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”
A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.
Jungkook sees you.
“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.
“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.
“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.
When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—
“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.
“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.
He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.
And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.
He stills the buck of your hips.
You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.
“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”
You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.
“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”
He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.
Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.
Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.
“Feels good, baby?”
His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.
“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”
It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.
You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.
Jungkook stops your movements fully.
“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”
His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.
Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.
“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”
“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”
You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.
Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”
Obeying his desperate order, you do.
A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.
“Did so well for me.”
The whisper takes you back and you awake.
You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.
He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.
You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.
Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.
You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.
“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”
You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.
“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”
For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.
Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.
And then he sinks them into your mouth.
His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.
Happy to be wanted.
Good, because he said you were.
As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.
He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.
Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”
You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.
Musk, vanilla, wood.
The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.
“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.
Overjoyed. Overstimulated.
Heavenly.
“Good.”
A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”
You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.
You open your mouth, but no words come out.
Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.
“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.
You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.
It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.
He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”
You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”
“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”
You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.
He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”
You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”
Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.
He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.
He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”
You nod. “So bad.”
Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.
“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”
You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.
“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”
Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”
Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.
“I watch a lot of porn.”
Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.
You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.
“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.
He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.
Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.
The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.
He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.
Neither, evidently, can he.
“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.
So vulnerable.
You ache.
You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.
When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.
You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.
But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.
He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—
Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.
“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”
Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.
He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.
Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.
And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.
“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”
With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.
Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.
“Talk to me.”
You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.
He stares you down.
No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.
“I won’t play with you, then.”
Panic. “No.”
He cocks a brow at you. “No?”
Silence.
He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.
“Jungkook.”
Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.
“Beg.”
All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.
Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
You groan in frustration.
“Be nice or—”
“Please, lick me.”
That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.
“Where?”
A challenge. Your throat dries up.
“There.”
He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.
“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”
The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.
And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.
“Lick my clit, please.”
A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.
“Like this?”
You choke out a moan.
“Yes, please.”
“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”
He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—
“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”
Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.
“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”
Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.
Your Daddy.
You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.
“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”
The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.
And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.
You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.
Daddy and little girl.
Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.
Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.
And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.
You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.
“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”
He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.
“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”
Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.
“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.
He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.
Your frown deepens.
“But what if it doesn’t fit?”
You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.
“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”
It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.
Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.
He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.
There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.
Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.
“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”
You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.
“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”
You nod, trusting him.
He pecks you. Smiles.
“How many orgasms are we at?”
You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”
Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.
A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“You obliterated my expectations.”
“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”
You blush, eyes twinkling.
“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”
Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.
“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.
But Jungkook grows solemn.
“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.
Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.
“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”
Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.
“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.
“I don’t stop coming.”
Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.
“And you finger yourself?”
You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.
“How many fingers?”
You scoff. “Just one.”
“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”
You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.
He didn’t break his promise.
Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.
And there you feel it.
The sensation unlike any other.
He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”
Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.
You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.
“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”
“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”
He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—
Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.
You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.
“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”
“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.
“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.
Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.
“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”
Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.
“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”
“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.
“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”
White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.
“Please, come for me.”
Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”
The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.
“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”
And it’s the truth.
Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.
Jungkook grunts.
“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”
He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.
And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.
And you swallow it all.
Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.
He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.
“Good girl. Good little princess.”
That you are. A changed person for all eternity.
“Is your tummy full?”
You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.
The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.
And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.
“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”
What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three
#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#bts smut#bts imagine#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook#bts scenarios#jungkook scenarios#jungkook fluff#btscreatorscorner#kpop smut#jungkook one shot
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Show me where it hurts (part 2)
Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader
GIF by aenhanse
(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist
summary: You confront Miguel.
warnings: breeding kink, cum play, animalistic behaviour (not quite ABO), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise and degradation, Miguel eats ass like a fucking champ, general filth etc etc. very very 18+, minors dni (and i will b blocking!)
a/n: thank you for all the support for part 1! I will say, all the comments about relationship building and stuff do make me laugh a little bc this part is literally just p0rn with a teensy tiny bit of feelings.. but if you follow me this should be pretty standard by now.
wc: 4k ish
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You let yourself in again, but not until after pounding on the door.
You think he's home, the scent of something in the air. At first glance, his place is empty, but a mess : cushions ripped off the couch, kitchen ransacked of its contents, floor covered in blankets and clothes. It makes you worry: Miguel is so clean it's scary . He would never leave his place like this. You hear something from his bedroom and rush towards it.
He's there, back turned on the bed. But something's wrong. In sweats and a tank top, he's breathing heavily, clutching at the sheets.
"You shouldn't be here." He strains.
Eyes wide, you step closer. Is he in pain? Is he hurt? "Miguel. I just want to help. Did something happen?"
All he does is shake his head, unable to make eye contact with you. "I c-can't let you… please, bichita. It's not safe for you."
Your heart breaks at his helplessness, you get closer, and perch on the bed next to him. He jumps at the hand you place in his shoulder. Fuck. He's drenched in sweat.
"Miguel, please. Let me in… I'd do anything. Just let me help."
He groans with his head in his hands. "I know, bichita. That's the problem. I can't let you…"
You look at him properly now. He's writhing on the sheets, tense and unable to sit still. Guiltily, all you can think is how good he looks; pretty even when his hair sticks to the nape of his neck, when he groans lowly at your presence. Your eyes rake down his body, looking for a secret wound, or something he's hiding. When you spot it, you gasp.
Miguel is rock hard under his sweats. And he is massive.
It clicks. Ashamed, he makes hesitant eye contact with you. "It's not usually this bad. And it gets worse if I'm near someone I'm…" He breathes. "Someone I'm attracted to."
You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement; of the situation. "I think that's just what erections do, Miggy."
He rolls his eyes, too annoyed to be as uneasy for a moment. " No , God, I meant my DNA. There's something wrong with me, something animalistic , that makes it ten times worse. I'm going crazy. Smell, taste, touch… and it doesn't just go away. "
You hum. "And what's your hypothesis?"
He looks at you, a little crazed, but he gets it. If you talk to him like it's one of your status reports, like it's another mission, maybe he can stop thinking about pounding you into the sheets and filling you up with his cum.
He clears his throat. " You . Gets worse when I t-think about you, or you're near."
You've got a hand on his thigh, rubbing circles that go straight to his head.
"What makes it feel better?"
Deep breath. "Touching myself. But I haven't… and I won't-"
"Why?" You smile like a Cheshire cat. Are you… enjoying this?
"I can't. You're a friend and it's a violation of your trust."
"It hurts. You're in pain. I give you full permission to give yourself some relief. You can touch yourself, for me. I want you to feel good."
His hips buck up involuntarily. Just thinking about it is driving him crazy. " Mierda. Stop talking like that-"
"Like what?" You bat your eyelashes.
"Like that ." He hisses. "Like you want to get fucked."
He squeezes his eyes shut, even more guilty. "I'm sorry. That's not appropriate at all. I shouldn't have… snapped like that."
You rub your legs together: you're fucking soaked. Like this, with his senses going crazy, you don't know if he can smell it, taste it in the air. The thought makes you even wetter.
You mumble. "Meant it, Miguel. I just want to watch."
Agonisingly slow, you sink to your knees in front of him. He watches, eyes wide, trying not to lean into it.
"Do you want me to beg? Because I will, if it makes you feel better."
He grabs his crotch, rocking into his palm. You're breaking him down, bit by bit.
"I think you like punishing yourself, Miggy. You think you deserve it. How long have you been like this? Weeks, I bet. When all you needed to do was ask me. I would've helped you over the phone if you wanted it. Told you how to stroke your cock, where to put pressure, asked you if it felt good. Think about how good it would feel. The relief. "
You rock on your heel and it doesn't go unnoticed. You light him on fire, and the thought of you getting off only pushes him closer to the edge. "Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper. He nods fervently. "I've always wanted you in my mouth. Just wanted to know what it would feel like; how pretty you'd look when you cum."
It's too much. His back arches, and he groans, spilling into his sweats. Astounded, you look up. So. Much. Cum. You didn't think a person could physically produce so much, but here he is, coating the inside of his boxers with it. Miguel, however, looks embarrassed: his first orgasm in a week and it's spilling into his trousers in front of a pretty girl like a teenager. He groans, covering his flushed face.
"Can I…?" Your eyes are wide in amazement. Shakily, he nods.
Is it bad for you to say he looks just like you imagined? Tan, long and with a bit of girth, and under all the cum he seems well-groomed. He's still half hard, which is impressive considering the sheer amount of cum splattered everywhere. Probably, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. As you pull down his boxers, your very obvious glee makes him pause.
"...you like this?" He seems genuinely confused, and it makes you giggle. You've flustered him, yet again.
Resting a head on his thigh, you look up at him through innocent lashes. Your other hand swipes cum off his tip, making his cock jump. "Could ask you the same. You're still hard."
"I can't believe…" He mutters. "You're gonna kill me."
"What do you want, Miguel?" You put a hand on his length, rubbing up and down ever so slightly. "You want to get off?"
"I want…" It makes him grunt all the same. He goes from wayward glances to looking you straight in the eyes. " You . I want you."
"How do you want me?" Deceptively innocent, you coax his length back to full mast with your hand.
How do you want me? There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, and his brows tense with the weight of them. Head back, he leans into your touch. He doesn't want to scare you, with the way he's been thinking about that question long before you asked: weeks, months, years before now. You see him hesitate, and bite his lip.
Your hands still and he cries out, cursing the loss of warmth. "M'not asking again." A little softer now. "No judgement, Miggy. I just want to help."
Deep breath. "Anyway I can. Wanna fill you up with my cum. On top. U-Underneath. Mierda. I want your mouth. I want your sweet cunt. I-"
You silence him with a moan when you envelope his cock with your mouth. You close your eyes in bliss as you bob up and down. Just the tip, teasing , and he's already addicted. With a pop, you separate, pressing sticky kisses and kitten-licks to his shaft and torso. He can't take his eyes off of you: peeking up at him through wispy lashes, licking up his cum.
Pretty, plump lips smack at his tip obscenely. He can't help but think about how well it suits you; mouth around his cock like something holy. Precum pours from his slit and you lap it up, chasing his moans. Your own moans vibrate deliciously around him and he wraps a hand in your hair. Finally. You want him to enjoy this, to lean into your head-bobbing, and force your head down onto his dick. You want to feel him in the back of your throat, bullying into the warmth of your mouth and moulding you into the shape of him.
It starts with a little pressure at the back of your neck, deceptively subtle as he rocks his hips into your face. Making eye contact, you look up and feel your pussy clench around nothing. His eyes are lidded, gorgeous, mouth slightly parted and tongue darting out to wet rosy lips.
"You want it, hermosa ?" His voice has a different texture to it: deep and wanting and needy.
As best you can, you nod, humming affirmations around his cock. Oh God, of course you do. You want him; anyway you can, anyway he'll let you, more than he'll ever know.
He pushes you down, hard, cock hitting the back of your throat like a piston. You gurgle and choke around him, throat tightening in a way that makes him melt. You force yourself deeper, hot tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. Your hands claw at his thighs, nails digging so tight into the fabric you think he might bleed. Winding a hand down to your heat, you press your palm into that sweet spot at your clit and Miguel watches, hungry.
"Oh fuck , you feel so good. I'm gonna– m-mierda – m'gonna cum."
With a final tug, he pushes you down so your nose brushes at the curly hairs leading down to his cock, spilling into you with vigour. It pours down your throat and you drink it up with pleasure.
"All gone?" He asks, panting with exertion. In response, you open up your mouth, sticking out your pink tongue so he can inspect it. He stirs when he realises just how cock drunk you are: nary a trace of him left on your tongue.
Slowly, he brings a thumb to your mouth, and watches intently as you swirl it around, and suck on it keenly. The pressure makes him light headed, other hand reaching for your waist to pull you up. And pull you up he does, turning you around so he can take off your suit and have you seated on his lap, where you belong.
You let him, shrugging off the top half of the suit as he pulls down your zipper. Surprisingly gentle, he traces the slope of your shoulders, and down to your bare ass. He groans. No underwear, because of course , you want to kill him. You want him to die, pussy-whipped and half-hard. He pushes you towards the wall, back pressed flush against him. He drags his fangs across your neck and whispers into the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver.
"Once I start," He kneads your ass, grinding his cock against you. You gasp. He's still hard. "M'not gonna be able to stop. And it's not going to be sweet, bichita . You leave now and I won't be angry . I–I'll give you space, whatever you want."
" Miguel," Head back, you moan into his touch, dragging his hand towards your slit, hoping he’ll relieve the pressure at your pussy. "I want it to hurt. I want to feel it tomorrow– fuck– f-feel it when I walk and know it was you . Need it. Need you , please-"
He bites into your shoulder, and you moan wantonly, back arching into his length. He places your hand on the wall, palms flat. Like the chaser after a burning shot, he soothes haphazard squeezes down your back with his mouth. Hot, messy kisses, as he sinks to his knees. He forces you to hinge at the hip. Breasts pushed against the cool wall, you gasp when you feel him spread the globes of your ass as he presses his tongue to your hole. He licks the length of your slit, and like a slut, you lean into it.
"Prettiest cunt I've ever seen, hermosa." He brings his hand to your clit, giving you a wet slap as he watches you shudder. Again, and again, until you cry out.
" Miguel, fuuuck."
How has he gone his whole life without hearing you say his name like that? Yet again, he almost cums in his pants, loosely shoved over his aching length. All he can do is watch as your holes flutter and clench around nothing, mesmerised.
"You'd look even prettier filled with my cum, hmm?" He presses a sticky kiss to your puckered asshole, before easing his tongue inside. One hand holding you open, the other comes to play with your pussy, swirling your wetness around your throbbing clit.
He tongue-fucks you with fervour, like a man starved: only coming up for air to babble obscenities.
"Tan bonita, bichita." Slowly, he eases his fingers into your cunt, scissoring them open and shut. He wants to break you apart with only his hands, if you'd let him. "So pretty– fuck. So soft, baby. Beautiful."
You're close and he knows it, fucking yourself on his fingers and face like a bitch in heat. Undeterred, he brings a thumb to your clit pressing down with juust the right amount of pressure.
"Wanna feel it, hermosa . Can you cum for me? All over my fingers like a good girl, just like that, así de simple."
With the way he paws at your pussy, all you can do is clench around his fingers. He guides you through a shaking, biting orgasm, licking up your cum with a flourish. Even with shaky legs you manage to turn around and pull Miguel up, and he follows eagerly. He looks fucked out already, eyes low and lips swollen with your slick. He motions to strip, stretching his tank top across the expanse of his chest and letting his cock spring free from his sweats. When you move to help him, he stops you, moving your hand from his tank to his solid torso beneath. He wants you to touch him; to feel your soft palm run across his skin, and sink into the warmth of your body.
One hand at your waist, he presses you against the wall, grinding his cock to your clit. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and they fit like they belong there. Close, impossibly close, and his pupils are blown, wide. It's like he can't decide what he wants to do to you, sharp red eyes darting over your lips, your neck, down to the juncture where you both meet. A paralysis of choice, and all he can do is drink you up in the low light.
And so, you make a choice for him, lips crashing against his, hand snaking around to guide his cock into your hole. He sinks into you - finally - and you swallow his moans in the aftermath. He's slow to start, eyes screwed shut as he gets used to how tight you are around him. Slowly, he rocks into you, the heat of his palm steady at the crook of your back.
Miguel opens his eyes, caging you in with his other arm. He's testing the waters, angling his hips to find the spot that makes you tick.
"I didn't-" He breathes. "Didn't think it would be like this."
You look at him in your haze, brows knitted.
"I thought that when I finally fucked you, it would be more romantic." He gives you a strained chuckle and warm smile. "This is better in some ways, though."
"Better , Miggy?"
"Real." Your cunt flutters around him, and his pace stutters. Not once does he break eye contact, something swirling beneath the surface. "Not in my head. God , that sounds pathetic."
You giggle into the crook of his shoulder. It shouldn't be possible, but his eyes soften even more. And then, his expression changes into something dangerous.
"I can't do this just once, bichita. You can't give me a taste and then take it away. Es cruel, mi vida."
As if to punctuate his point, you feel his tip slam into that spongy spot in your walls. His strokes become more calculated, punishing and exact, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body.
"Miguel – fuck– that's not fair- "
"Can't keep humping my hand como un perro , like a dumb dog, anymore." He brings both his palms to your ass, spreading you apart, and pulling you up onto his dick so your toes barely touch the floor. The slap of your ass against his thighs and heavy balls fill the room, pornographic in nature.
"Let-" Smack. " Me-" Smack. " Fill-" Smack. " This-" Smack. " Cunt. " Smack.
You babble into his ears, affirmations and praise that makes his heart and cock swell.
'So pretty, Miguel. Yours. All yours." You rake your hands through his hair, harshly tugging him closer in a way that makes him burn up. Clenching around his length, you wrap your legs around his waist. He barely falters, pulling away from the wall and slamming into you regardless. You've seen him like this before; fiery determination that flares up on a tough mission. Tunnel vision: a razor-sharp resolve that has manifested itself in a man hellbent on your pleasure.
"Miguel. Miguel, I-" I love you, I love you, I love you, I- " -wan' you to cum with me. Deep, please."
Now, his pace gets sloppy, hips stilling to drive himself as deep as you asked; so you can feel him long after you separate. Hot, sticky cum pumps into you and his balls strain with the effort of it. You claw your hand against his back, trailing delicious marks with your nails. When you clamp around him, you swear you see his eyes roll back - lost in the bliss of your cunt. Together, you come down from the high, bare chests panting against one another.
"Don't look at me like that." His lips graze yours, soft and plush. You stretch your chin upwards, chasing the trace of a kiss he refuses to give to you. Eventually he relents, leaning into a sweet kiss, arm wrapped around your waist.
He pulls himself off of you with a wet smack, gently carrying you to his bed. He places you in his sheets and you look beautiful, blissful, and fucked out. Cum drips onto your thighs and he feels a pang of possessiveness. His cum. His baby.
Clambering in to spoon you, he can't help but paw at your pussy, using his fingers to stuff his cum back into you, tracing lazy circles on your thigh with his other hand.
"I'm on birth control, Miggy. So no need to worry." You snuggle into his touch, bare skin against one another.
"Wasn't worried." He grunts, sounding almost disappointed. You catch his tone, intrigued.
"No harm in trying," You lilt, turning around to place your palms flat on the wide span of his chest. "You wanna fuck a baby into me?"
Nodding, he groans, head back into the pillow, and you push him onto his back. Pussy throbbing, you straddle his hips; thighs tight around his middle. You can feel him growing harder in the slick of your slit.
You arch into him, tender hand around his throat. It's a sight he won't forget easily: you on top of him, the gloom of the night tracing the swell of your tits. An angel, all the same. You whisper something into his ear that gives him goosebumps; a full body chill that goes straight to his cock. "My turn, bichito."
~~~
"You never called." Miguel says, laying his head next to yours, after wiping you down with a clean towel. He hands you a spare shirt of his, and you put it on, self-conscious.
The two of you had fucked well into the night, making good on your promises. His stamina was relentless, pumping load after load into you, pussy-drunk and babbling. There was an intensity there that couldn't be explained: one that made both of you crazy for one another, burning you out between the silky sheets of his bed. Something you had initially attributed to his rut, whatever he had called it, but desperately hoped it was something more. How could this be just sex? After everything you had said and done, it would crush you: to taste the forbidden fruit and have it snatched away just as easily.
You had both laid there for a bit, afterwards, cock softening in you. Plugging up his cum, he had said, but it felt more intimate in the quiet calm of his bedroom.
"You didn't either." You throw back at him.
"That's not th-"
"I know, I know. It just felt weird, s'all." You turn from him, looking up at the ceiling. Counting the mottles and marks in your head, suddenly shy. After all the filthy things you've said and done to him, he still makes you shy. "I thought I did something wrong."
His heart breaks. "No, no , it wasn't-"
"Not just today. Last time…a-and the time before that, honestly. We see each other less. You're always busy with something. Felt like you were avoiding me." Rubbing your temples, you sigh. "S'why I cut some corners on the mission. Made mistakes. I thought if I did well, and we had something to talk about…"
"Mierda." You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see the disappointment in his scarlet eyes. But it isn't disappointment, and it’s not directed at you.
"I wanted to call, but I didn't. Because I didn't think you would answer." Finally, you turn to see his brows knitted: swirling with shame, guilt, sadness. Quickly you add, "I mean, I know why now. I think. And it's really on me, I should've said something or-"
"I just… I didn't know what to do with it." He takes your hand in his, squeezing tight.
"...I don't understand."
"All this love I have for you." He says, impossibly soft. "I didn't know what to do with it."
You know him like the back of your hand and you've heard it all: angry, snarky, giddy, beautiful Miguel O'Hara. But this? Confirmation of the feelings you've held for years at this point, dismissed during late nights and pored over during lonely ones - this?
"And I didn't think you felt the same way, how could you? You're beautiful, and smart, and you have this… way of making people burn as bright as you. So I poured myself into work. That's all I know how to do, bichita. Work. Suffocate under everything. You don't deserve it."
With the way he says it; resigned, matter-of-fact; you want to cry. Still, he hangs on to the notion that he must earn it : that his claws are too sharp and fangs too bloody for redemption. For love, for life, for good things. Miguel O'Hara; doing what needs to be done. Alone, always.
You come closer to cup his chin, to make sure he's looking at you. There can be no ambiguity, no gray area when you say what you want to say.
"You don't tell me what to do, O'Hara . " You press a kiss to his cheek, and another to trembling lips. "I decide what I deserve. No-one else does, not even you."
"It's not like you listen to me, anyway." He says with a shaky smile.
Sitting up slightly on your forearms, you place your head up on his chest. Listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. You don't need your super senses to know that he's alive, that he's here. The look in his eyes; you couldn't explain it if you wanted to.
"Bichita." You say, out of the blue. No doubt due to your poor pronunciation, he winces. "What does it mean?"
Clicking his tongue, he waves it off. " Very vulgar, you don't want to know. I mean, I shouldn't really-"
"Hmm." Shaking your head, you feign ignorance. "It's just that Lyla said it meant sweetheart, or little bug... terms of endearment, I think was the phrase."
"She said that?" He frowns. "Lyla's filling your head with nonsense, m'afraid. It's sarcastic. Post-ironic, metatextual… it comes across completely different in Spanish, mi vida."
"Post-ironic? That's not even the second most pretentious thing you've said today…" Giggling, you bury your head into his chest.
"Of course not. I reserve my best stuff for you."
"Real classy, O'Hara. Bet you say that to all the poor women that end up in your bed."
"Nope." He hums. "Just the ones I've been in love with for the past two years."
He pulls you closer, smiling into light kisses on your shoulder, the fat of your stomach, your thighs, on your cheek. Kisses everywhere, anywhere he can reach.
"Just you, bichita." He breathes into your skin. "Only you ."
_
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taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @ebrysteria
#i lied lmao#lots of feelings#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderman 2099 masterlist#spiderman 2099 x reader
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miguel o'hara breeding kink smut cause i'm ovulating rn
pairing: miguel o'hara x female reader
tags: established relationship, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, little bit of dumbification, little bit of orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex, female reader, afab anatomy, dom!miguel, oneshot
SO NSFW. minors dni!
spanish to english translations are at the bottom :)
word count: 992
he has you lying down with your ass up, pillow under your hips, and a firm grip on your hips. he whispers sweet nothings into your ear and about how much he wants to fuck you.
miguel slides his thick, hard cock in between your folds, soaking in your wetness, before lining himself up at your entrance. he slowly pushes into your tight cunt.
"fuuuck, i missed this," miguel groans, holding back the urge to plunge deep inside you. you bury your face into the sheets as you feel the mild ache of being stretched out. he continues to slide in until he reaches the hilt, his tip pushing against your cervix.
he pauses to give you a moment to adjust to his girth. you feel so full, you can barely breathe. "go slow miguel, you're too big," you whine.
he chuckles, "lo estás haciendo muy bien, cariño." he starts to pump into you, straining to keep a slow pace. your heavy breaths and soft moans fill the room.
as he slowly thrusts his dick into your tight cunt, the previous sting of being stretched transforms into a throbbing pleasure.
you feel a coil start to form in your lower abdomen and your moans start to get louder, his gentle pace no longer being enough for you. "mm, fuck me harder, miguel," you plead.
"anything for you, my princesa." he tightens his grip on your hips as he drags his dick out until his tip is just slightly kissing your entrance. he then slams his hips against you, driving his cock so deep inside you, you swore you felt it in your stomach.
you weren't prepared for the sheer power that this man is fucking you with. he thrusts into you at a dizzying pace and you can barely choke out his name.
"te sientes tan bien." he slaps your ass, delivering a sharp sting that makes you inhale sharply, "fuck you're so tight." he grabs your asscheek, groaning at the site of himself sliding in and out of you.
you moan in response, barely comprehending what he was saying. you were so fucked out of your mind and could only focus on the orgasm that you were so close to having.
just as you feel yourself almost reach your peak, miguel pulls out, leaving you empty. your poor walls clench around nothing. "miguel!" you whine in protest, "put it back in!"
he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back, settling himself in between your legs. "i want to see your pretty face when you cum." he separates your folds with his cock, rubbing against your sensitive clit. you wrap your arms and legs around him and he buries his head into the crook of your neck, before plugging you back up again.
all you can do is mumble his name over and over again as he continuously rams into you. every pump delivering mind-numbing pleasure. the orgasm you were robbed of had crept back, and once again you felt a tightness in your stomach.
"i'm gonna fill you up, fuck a baby into you," he groaned in between the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your soft flesh.
his words drive you crazy. the thought of being stuffed full of miguel's hot, thick cum brought you closer to the edge. he knows you're close, so he pounds into you faster and harder, chasing your release.
pressure builds until you feel the tension wound in your stomach burst. you cry out his name as your walls contract and you cream around his cock. he groans at the feeling of the added slick and your pussy squeezing around his dick.
he doesn't stop after you come down from your high. "you did so good, mami," he whispers in your ear, "ahora es mi turno." he holds you in place by your hips and fucks his dick into you, driven by a primal desire to fill you with his seed.
you're overstimulated and fucked out, your body limp and your eyes rolled back. all you could think about was how badly you wanted to be bred by miguel. "m-miguel," you stutter, "breed me. p-please."
"te voy a llenar con mi semen, te voy a follar hasta que estés embarazada. you're gonna make such a pretty mommy. f-fuck—" his thrusts get more erratic as he inches closer to his peak. he groans out your name before slamming your hips down onto his dick. he shutters as he releases thick ropes of cum into your desperate cunt, flooding your velvety walls. all you manage to do is let out some strained moans. nothing mattered more in that moment than you taking his seed. he makes sure to stuff his cum deep inside you, his tip jamming the entrance to your fertile womb. he pauses for second to catch his breath, before slowly rolling his hips, just to make sure he gave you every last drop.
he stops thrusting and collapses on top of you, but keeps you plugged up with his dick. his excess seed starts to dribble out of you. you're both panting, sweaty, and exhausted. he moves the hair out of your face and meets your lips with his for a gentle kiss. "look what you do to me. me vuelves loco, cariño,"
you let out a weak giggle, "you want my babies?" you ask playfully. you tangle your fingers in his hair, lazily combing through his messy locks.
"yeah," he returns a chuckle, "you're too pretty to not breed." he starts peppering your face and neck with pecks. "eres mi bonita esposa."
"i think you'd make a great father," you smile warmly and interlock your fingers with his. "you know...usually it takes a few tries before it takes."
"oh?" he asks amusingly, "well, i guess i'll have to fill you up again."
you feel his dick start to harden again inside of you. you brace yourself for another round.
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translations: ("lo estás haciendo muy bien, cariño" -> "you're doing so good, sweetheart") ("te sientes tan bien" -> "you feel so good") ("ahora es mi turno" -> "it's my turn now") ("te voy a llenar con mi semen, te voy a follar hasta que estés embarazada" -> "i'm gonna fill you up with my cum, fuck you till you're pregnant") ("me vuelves loco, cariño" -> "you drive me crazy, sweetheart") ("eres mi bonita esposa" -> you're my pretty wife")
hope you enjoy!!! >:0 btw this is my first time writing a fic that included dialogue in spanish, so idk if things are all well-written or gramatically correct. i tried to take some tips from spanish-speaking miguel o'hara enjoyers, but if anyone wants to correct anything or give me tips, i'm super super open to it!
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara oneshot#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099#atsv miguel#atsv fanfiction#spider man 2099#miguel atsv#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#female reader#divider by @gigittamic
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Playing with Toji's nipples
cont: fem reader, established relationship, nipple play, edging, a wink of Sub!Toji, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cumming inside, teasing, rough sex
MDNI
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ
Even now, after Toji had already accepted his fate, he was pouting. His massive back was pressed to your chest as you sat against the headboard behind him, your feet hooked over then under his thighs, keeping them spread slightly. Toji stared at the wall, his bottom lip slightly pouted out as he waited for you to make your move so this would all be over.
"Tojiiiii, what's the matter?" You ask teasingly, a big smile across your face as you grab his chin from behind and turn his head to look at you, tilting your head around his body to get a better look at him. Toji doesn't speak, just keeps the 'fate accepted' expression on his face. Your smile grows as you lean in and press your lips against his, making him release an annoyed grunt at the action. He knows you know how much he loves kissing, but he wants to keep his defiant facade up.
"Toji if you really hate the idea that much... we don't have to do it." You say, a bit dejectedly as your hand leaves his face to reach around his body and caress the skin of his abs, your fingers tracing the indents of the strong muscles. Toji shut his eyes and sighed, relishing the feeling of your warm hands on him. "It's your birthday princess. Said I would do what you wanted." He says, his expression softening.
Despite the act he was putting on, he didn't hate the idea of you playing with his nipples all that much, he just hated looking weak in front of anyone, and he knew better than anyone how weak his nipples made him. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder as Toji turned his head back around to watch your hands caress his abdomen. His cock was already half hard, and it was slowly getting harder the more you touched him.
You were sitting on some pillows to make yourself a little taller, that way you could actually see what you were doing over his bulky shoulders, but even then your view was a little obstructed. You had tried to introduce the idea of a mirror, but Toji had shut it down faster than you could even fully finish your proposal. The possibility of you seeing his debauched expressions during this sent shivers down his spine.
"You're so good to me Toji." You giggled, continuing to press little kisses on the expanse of his shoulders. "Oh trust me, I know." He responded cockily, shaking his head. Toji sucked a breath in through his teeth when your lips made contact with the nape of his neck. He sighed loudly, trying to keep his breathing steady when you focused your attention there, the kisses becoming harder, traveling higher up his nape, the short hairs on the back of his neck tickling your lips.
"Do you like it when I kiss you here?" You asked him quietly. Toji grimaced, "Don't use my words agaisnt me." He said, his eyes darting around the room. You smiled to yourself, knowing this was getting him worked up. You trailed your fingers down to the hem of his boxers, where his cock was now fully hard and straining agaisnt the fabric. Toji pressed his lips together, swallowing hard as he waited for you to breach the waistline of his boxers and pull his cock out, even though he knew you wouldn't.
"Don't tease me like that if you aren't gonna touch my cock." Toji said, feeling himself throb at the neglect. "Sorry Toji, if you cum without it I'll let you fuck my throat as a reward, kay?" You said, instantly making him feel better.
Tonight's proposition went like this. Toji promised you could do anything with him for your birthday, and of course, you chose to play with the one thing that was usually off-limits- his nipples. You told him you wanted to make him cum from nipple play alone. You knew he could do it, he was just too defiant to let you go anywhere near them. Only one time had you barely grazed your fingers across his nipples and he released the cutest sound, a sound too cute to come from such a big and scary man like Toji Fushiguro.
You so desperately wanted to hear it again. The desperate sound replayed over and over in your head almost every night as you went to bed. Toji reluctantly agreed after tons and tons of negotiation. Toji tried to steer you away from the idea and instead offered Shibari or blindfolded him, but you knew what you wanted and weren't going to give in for anything.
"Fuck..." Toji groaned, his cock twitching at the thought of getting to shove it down your throat when this was all over. If you had mentioned that compromise when you had first brought this proposal to light, maybe he would've been a little more receptive to the idea. "Whatever just... just do your shit," Toji said, his back muscles flexing against your chest as he leaned against you, getting comfortable. You tightened your legs over his thighs, your ankles pressed just under where his boxers ended, too close to his cock. The pressure from your ankles on his thigh alone was driving him crazy.
"Don't worry, I don't think this will take very long." You reassured teasingly, poking a jab at just how sensitive his chest really was. Toji watched with bated breath as your hands slowly started traveling up his body, away from his cock. A small patch of wetness had started to form where Toji's tip sat behind his boxers, his pre wetting the fabric all wet.
You felt his breath rise and fall quicker when you reached his chest. Toji was internally battling with himself. He couldn't decide if he wanted to watch your hands play with him, or if he needed to look away. Your hands groped the sides of his heavy chest and squished it inward, making it look like he had cleavage. The sight made you smile as you rested your chin on his shoulder, your head tipping against his. "So big..." you said, repressing a giggle.
"You think you're so funny, huh?" Toji said, licking his teeth. Though he sounded ticked off, he was grateful for the playfulness. He would never admit it out loud, but he was nervous. His skin was practically buzzing with it, so your actions now were helping him calm down. "I do actually." You replied, rubbing your head affectionately against his as you continued to massage his massive chest together, making sure to stay away from his nipples for the time being.
You kept massaging him for long enough until all the humor had died down and you just rested on his chest with a focused face, watching the way his chest moved under your ministrations. Toji was getting fidgety at this point, he would rather you touch his nipples already and make him cum than teasing him like this. Your fingers would get so close, but never close enough. He hated to admit it but he had started to crave feeling you there.
Toji tipped his head back against your shoulder, pushing his hips upwards against your legs hooked over his as he got more comfortable. "You okay?" You asked, gazing at the side of his handsome face. His eyes were focused on the ceiling as you spoke. "Just wondering when 'ur gonna do something," Toji said in a bored tone. If it wasn't for his massive boner creating such a large wet patch in his boxers, you would've really believed he was bored.
You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his face. "Can I take that as you want me to touch your nipples?" You said, gauging his response. You watched Toji's Adam's apple bob hard as he swallowed whatever saliva was left in his mouth. You hit the nail right on the head, but it was going to take a little more coaxing to get it out of Toji. "No." He said flatly, his eyes fluttering slightly.
You pouted and looked down to his chest before you released the fat of them and started slowly tracing your nails around his areolas, still not touching them, but a hair's length away from doing so. "No?" You repeated, looking back up at him. Toji was adamant about staring at the ceiling, not wanting you to see his expression falter.
Toji pressed his lips together again, his eyes falling shut for half a second longer than normal. If you weren't paying attention, you would've missed it. You kept up that motion, slowly circling his nipples before changing the direction, circling them the other way. Now, his breathing had picked up significantly and was much more noticeable and less suppressed than before.
"Toji..." You said softly, making a choked moan cut off in his throat. "You're dripping." You said, exposing the obvious. Toji dropped his head down from staring at the ceiling and found his cock with his eyes. His mouth dropped open ever so slightly, his arousal almost getting to the point of being too much to bear.
Your eyes never once left his face. You felt yourself throb between the legs watching how effective this type of teasing was at getting him so worked up. You'd never seen his face so flushed before, it was almost the color of his blushing chest. "Fuck..." Toji groaned, licking his teeth in annoyance. On one hand, he, really, reallllllyyy wanted you to touch his chest, but on the other hand, if he begged, you would never let him live it down.
Your words interrupted his internal dilemma. "Toji, just tell me you want it. I'm not asking you to be specific how you ask me to. Just tell me you need it... please." You begged, tipping your head against his again, trying to comfort him. Toji shut his eyes, his breath coming out stuttered and shaky each time you switched the direction of your fingers around his nipples.
With one last heavy sigh, he spoke. "N...need it." He said quietly, his entire face flushing a deep red as a look of displeasure spread across his features. A smile of satisfaction spread across your face, and you squeezed your thighs around his solid body a little harder, forcing his lower back to press against your cunt a little, giving you some relief.
"Good boy Toji," you said. You would absolutely be paying for talking to him like that later, but right now it didn't matter. Giving him no time to rebut, you finally dragged your fingertips to his nipples, raking them up and down, keeping the pressure light at first. Toji jolted forward hard, a sharp breath could be heard getting inhaled from the man in front of you. "Relax." You said, pressing against his abdomen and pulling him back against you before you brought your attention to his nipples again.
Toji's thighs flexed agaisnt your ankles, his cock twitching hard behind his briefs. You started up the circle motion again this time touching his actual nipples each time you went around. Toji's abs clenched each time you made a full circle, followed by loud gasps and choked groans. He was fighting it. "Toji you can let your voice out. It's hot." You told him before flicking his nipples up and down a little faster, increasing the pressure.
Toji shook his head, his teeth baring the open air as his face was screwed in what would appear to be a pained expression, only he was feeling far from pain right now. "I won't tease you Toji, promise." You said, increasing the pressure once more, virtually giving him no room to fight against it. Toji's hair tickled your skin as his head jerked back and forth against you, his body trying to deal with experiencing such pleasure.
You wet so wet, you didn't know how much more of this you could take. His foreign expressions and reactions were turning you on more than you thought they would. When Toji's teeth separated and his jaw fell open, the first noise that fell out of his mouth was just like the same one you heard all those months ago. "F-fuck!!" Toji groaned, his moans and whines falling freely from his lips now.
Your eyebrows were furrowed in pleasure as you watched him, he looked so hot. "God, it feels good huh?" You asked, not being able to contain your own little noises, only spurring him on. Toji felt mortified, but the pleasure he was feeling helped negate some of that embarrassment. He nodded, before his face scrunched in pleasure, his teeth occasionally baring into the room when you touched his nipples particularly harshly.
"Goddd.... C-cum, g-gonna cum." Toji groaned, doing his best to keep the whines and whimpers down. You stopped when you heard him say that, a lightbulb going off in your head. Toji breathed heavily into the air, his body relaxing against you now that you'd stopped, save for his cock which was twitching with the need for release. "What the fuck... is your problem?" Toji complained, anger seeping into his brain now that you had taken his orgasm away from him.
"Just hold on, think you'll like this a lot better," you said ambiguously, patting your palms over his pecs before you slid out from behind him. Toji looked at you with furrowed brows as you slung your legs over his lap, just under his cock, and pulled down his boxers. His eyes fluttered as his cock was released from the confines of the annoying fabric.
It slapped loudly against his abdomen, his length completely wet with his pre-cum and still dribbling agaisnt his skin. "Though you weren't touchin' my cock?" Toji asked, his voice coming out more desperate and airy than he would've liked. Stradling his cock, you grabbed it with one hand, making him wince, before you reached down and pulled your panties to the side, looking back up at him. "I changed my mind."
Toji watched with wide eyes as you lined his cock up with your entrance. His hands shot out to grab your waist for stability, his hands shaky as they touched you. Toji released a long groan when you slid down on his cock, the stretch made easier thanks to how wet the both of you were. "Holy fuuuuuck, ohmygod you're so fucking warm." Toji groaned, his head tipping back against the headboard now that you weren't behind him.
You released some of your own noises as he split you open, his cock filling you so nicely, just how you wanted. Toji knew he wasn't going to last long like this, but little did he know that's why you did this. Before you were even halfway down on his cock, you reached out for his chest and pinched his nipples harshly, rubbing them between your fingers.
Toji's eyes shot open, his legs curling in on himself as his body jerked, forcing his cock fully inside of you. "F-fuck fuck, w-what are you doing?" Toji asked, panic in his tone as he looked down at you tweaking his nipples. You felt his cock kick against your walls, already ready to spill his seed again. "Though you would like it if I milked your orgasm out of you while I play with your chest." You said smiling, doing your best to keep your words coherent, and even despite how badly you wanted to whine and cry like you normally did on his cock.
Toji groaned at your words as you started bouncing up and down, his cock jamming against your g-spot with every thrust. "F-u-uu-uuck-" He groaned, his body falling limply agaisnt the sheets as you rode him. His jaw went slack and his eyes rolled back repeatedly in his head each time you jumped up and down on him. "G-onna cumm, gonna cum, g-gonna cum-" Toji repeated, his hips weakly fucking up into yours as your fingers raked up and down on his nipples, your nails catching them and making his abs clench each time.
"I know baby I know, can feel you twitchin'. Cum inside me Toji, let it out I got you." You sounded like him when you were cumming, it would've made you giggle if you weren't so enthralled with Toji's actions right now. Usually, when he came, his teeth were pressed firmly together and he let out loud, deep grunts. Now though, his mouth was open, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes fluttered in his head as he was worked up to his orgasm.
Toji was gripping you so hard, you knew instantly you were going to have dark bruises there in the morning. Toji's legs started to spread, and his back arched ever so slightly as you went back to pinching his nipples, rocking back and forth on his cock as you bounced up and down, trying to give him as much stimulation as possible.
"A-ahhh a-ah fuuuuuck- f-ah-" Toji came with a high-pitched whine before his noises turned into groans and grunts as his cock twitched and sprayed his thick cum out inside you. "Keep fillin' me up Toji, feels so g-good fuck." You whined, feeling hot all over as you worked him through his orgasm, your tight walls milking his cock.
His balls throbbed with his release, his seed getting fucked so deep inside you thanks to the angle. His orgasm seemed to last longer than normal, probably thanks to your fingers on his chest. His abs spasmed and jerked inward with his high, his head shaking back and forth against the sheets. "St-hahhh." Toji tried to tell you to stop when he felt you fucking him into overstimulation, but his words failed to find him.
Immediately you stopped, keeping his cock snug inside your walls as you finally ceased your attack on his chest. Leaning forward you grabbed his face with your hands, cradling him as you started pressing kisses all over his cheeks, eyelids, forehead, anywhere your lips could reach.
"Toji, thank you Toji, thank you thank you thank youuuu." You repeated softly between kisses. Toji was still basking in the aftershocks of his orgasm, his arms leaving your hips to wrap tightly around your body, keeping you flush against him. "Are you okay? Wasn't too much right?" You asked, pulling back to look at his face. Toji's eyes were glossy and all out of focus, and his face was flushed red and dripping with sweat, and still, he had the audacity to look at you and say, "I'm fine. I'm not a baby like you."
You jerked your head back in surprise, your jaw falling open at his words. You just fucked him dumb and he still had the energy to be a bitch? Tsking at him you gripped his cheeks, making his lips pursed together like a fish as you shook his head back and forth. "You sure sounded like one a minute ago." You spat back, squinting your eyes at him.
You swear you saw Toji's eye twitch before your head was pressed harshly into the crook of his neck, his large hand firmly on the back of your head. "Bitch. Said you wouldn't bring that shit up." Toji pouted, feeling his face heat up at your words. You snorted before biting his neck teasingly, feeling his body harden underneath you at the action.
"You lie all the time, I can do it too." You said, wrapping your arms around his neck. Toji shook his head, feeling himself soften inside your walls. He knew you said you would let him throatfuck you after this, but honestly, Toji didn't know if he had anything left to give you. He was sure you had taken every last drop of his cum from his balls just moments ago.
"Brat. Happy birthday, hope you enjoyed yourself." Toji said, closing his eyes as he released his hand from your head, wrapping his arms around you once more. "I did, I did very much." You answered, feeling extremely satisfied and content when Toji sighed loudly at your words, his breath tickling the back of your neck.
#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji x you#toji smut#jujutsu toji#jjk toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji zenin#toji fushiguro#fushiguro toji#toji x reader#toji x y/n#dilf toji#zenin toji x reader#zenin toji#jjk x reader smut#jjk x you#jjk#sub toji
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Pairing: Nanami x f!reader
Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Word Count: ~1.5k
cw: established relationship, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), rough sex, blow job, cunnilingus, bondage, blindfold, use of safe word, slight degradation (use of the word slut), explicit language, safe word, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, princess, honey), aftercare
Summary: You send your husband an eggplant emoji as a joke, but he doesn't find it amusing one bit.
Author’s Notes: Barely proofread, hardly edited, all horny. Just my little contribution to the plethora of delicious fics that came out after this latest episode. Tagging @lovekento because this was inspired by your recent ask about the safeword audio we love so much. Also tagging @darkstarlight82 because of your recent ask to be tagged in JJK fics! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading! MDNI and support dividers credit to @/cafekitsune (as always).
Nanami does not take kindly to jokes. Years of being together and he’s uptight as always. That doesn’t mean you stop trying, especially when you love how mad he gets at you.
It’s innocent, silly, completely unserious. I’m really craving something tonight, followed by suggestive emojis, including the winky face and a particularly phallic vegetable. You grin at your screen when you notice the three dots blinking, indicating that he’s read it and is currently typing a reply. Probably growing hard in his pants just thinking about it, knowing him. Before he can say anything, you send him a selfie of you at the grocery store, holding up two large eggplants, smiling wide at the camera. Eggplant parmesan! The dots flash once more, then disappear immediately, and you crack up in the middle of the produce section when he ends up not responding at all.
Back home, it’s eerily dark inside with all the lights off. You carefully set your groceries on the counter, clicking the switch to illuminate the kitchen. You’re startled when you notice Nanami’s burly silhouette in the living room, back turned towards you, sitting upright on the couch, motionless. He does nothing to acknowledge your presence, worrying you even further. “Honey?” you call out, slowly making your way towards him. His arms are crossed over his chest, bulging out of his sleeves, staring straight ahead with a menacing look on his face. He remains silent, ignoring you.
“Kento,” you say, swallowing hard, nervous at this unusually sinister behavior.
“Thought you were craving something.” His voice is low and husky in his throat. Almost threatening.
You kneel in front of him, leaning on his thighs. “It was a joke, honey.”
Finally, he looks at you, gaze intense from behind his glasses, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep inhale through his nose, exhale out his mouth. “So, you riled me up for no fucking reason then?”
You gulp loudly again, taken aback by his sudden vulgarity, simultaneously aroused. “I’m sorry, Kento.”
“Do you think I’m going to let you get away with this?” He grips your chin, focusing your attention on his lap. “Look how hard I am. Look at what your stupid joke did to me.” His massive erection is strained in his pants. Your pussy throbs, mouth salivating at the sight of it.
He unbuckles his belt and splits his zipper open. “You know what you have to do, don’t you sweetheart?” He shrugs his pants down enough to free his cock, veins protruding on the thick shaft. You nod silently, peering up at him with wide eyes, parting your lips, hungry for him.
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, stroking himself in his fist, precum oozing from the tip. “Stick out your tongue.” You do, letting it hang from your bottom lip, mouth open.
“Good girl,” he purrs. “So obedient for me.” He swipes his thumb over his cockhead, collecting the precum to smear it onto your tongue. “Swallow. Get a taste of it before you take me.”
You obey, relishing the salty, luscious flavor down your throat, your eyes never leaving his. He smirks, tracing your lips with his thumb, the first hint of softness since you this all started. “I’m going to ruin this mouth. Understand?”
You nod again, panties wet with your arousal. Hoping he doesn’t notice, you reach between your legs, desperate to touch yourself. He catches you, using his foot to swat your arm away. “Ah, ah, ah. You’ll have your turn later.” He loosens the spotted tie on his neck to cover your eyes with it, knotting it tight. “There. Nothing except my cock to occupy this little head of yours.” He guides his cock into your mouth, sliding it along your tongue until he bottoms out. “Now, suck,” he demands, your face pressed to his groin, bottom lip grazing his heavy balls. You bob your head back and forth on him, drool leaking from the sides of your lips, teasing your gag reflex with every solid thrust, swallowing it down every time he hits the back of your throat.
“Fuck, that’s it,��� he whispers, cradling your face. “Such a good fucking slut for me.”
After several more strokes, he pulls out of you, cock wet with your saliva, squelching between his fist as he continues to jerk himself off. “On my lap. Come on.” He lends his hand, helping you up while the blindfold remains. You bend over his thighs, in position for a spanking, just as he expects.
He chuckles. “Good girl. You already know that you need to be punished, huh? Always playing these ridiculous pranks on me. I hope you learn your lesson after this.” He slides the belt off his waist, binding your wrists behind your back, shoulders in an uncomfortable stretch as the leather digs into your skin. The need to be touched by him overwhelms you, body tingling with anticipation, pussy aching to be filled.
He pulls your pants down, leaving you only in your panties from the waist down. The first spank sends shivers down your spine, the loud smack bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, flesh prickling from the contact. The second comes almost immediately, surprising you. You whimper, shutting your eyes, clenching your legs together. “Kento.”
A third is delivered, your ass throbbing and swelling against his calloused hand. “What?” he growls, palm ready for a fourth.
“Fuck me,” you whine, jittering on his lap. You can’t take it anymore. You want him. You need him.
“Oh, so you’re giving orders now?” He rolls you on your back, tugging your panties off, exposing your glistening cunt. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You know that. I can’t just give you what you want after what you did to me.” He spreads your legs apart, teasing your slit with his fingers, spreading your slick across your swollen clit. “Look how fucking juicy you are. All that because I fucked your throat. Nasty slut.”
You hear him spit, then feel the trickle of his saliva coat your aching bud. He repeats, soaking you in his spittle. He readjusts himself on the couch so that he’s between your legs, licking and slurping your cunt until his chin and nose are glossy. You squirm, knees shaky, already pushed to your limits. His lips surround your clit, sucking on it until it’s puffy in his mouth, tongue flicking it aggressively, pussy fluttering with arousal. You’re overstimulated, core incredibly tight, ready to fucking burst.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he muffles, still slobbering. “Come on my face. Squirt all over this couch. I’m going to fucking embarrass you like you did me, you stupid slut.” You whine his name, gushing for him, rutting your hips against his face, writhing on the cushions damp with your juices.
He rolls you over again, dragging your body until you’re up on your knees, ass up. “I’m going to wreck this pussy. Pound it until you learn your lesson. Got it?”
You nod erratically, ready to be fucked hard and fast. He enters you smoothly, stretching you out until you’re completely full of him, everything so wet and messy between you. He pumps his cock in and out of you, pace increasing the more and more your body yields to him. He fucks you like an animal in heat, railing your cunt like it’s his own personal cock sleeve for him to use and tear apart.
Blindfolded and still bound by the wrists, you begin to grow scared of his carnal behavior. His nails imprint your skin, grip so strong it hurts with every brutal thrust. The guttural growls he emits sound nothing like the Nanami you know. The way he bullies his cock into your tight pussy, so deep and so rough that a cramp develops in your abdomen makes you think that the person fucking you is a complete stranger now. You want your husband back. It takes you a few tries to get it out, but eventually, you do, whimpering, “Makgeolli.”
He doesn’t hear you, so you say it once more, louder this time. “Makgeolli.”
Immediately, it’s as if a switched is flipped. He pulls out, quickly removing the belt and blindfold off you, his tie saturated in tears and sweat. “Hey, hey, hey. Sweetie, I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay.” He pulls you up on his lap, cradling you in his arms, kissing your sticky forehead, brushing away any of the remaining tears from your eyes.
You relax into his hold, nestling your face into his shoulder, steadying your breathing. He massages your back, pressing soft kisses on your cheek. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so sorry. I got carried away, I admit it.” His voice is soothing now, familiar and comforting in your ear.
Sniffling, you ask, “Are you mad at me?”
He smiles, nuzzling his nose to yours. “I was never mad to begin with. I just wanted to tease you, but I took it too far. I’m sorry.” He kisses you on the lips, cupping your check in his palm. “Your joke was actually quite funny.”
You giggle softly, running your fingers through his hair, damp with his own perspiration. “At least I got you to finally admit it.”
He gives you another smooch on the forehead, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ll run us a bath, okay? And then after, we can order pizza and watch a movie. Sound good?”
“Yes. And I’ll help you with this while we’re soaking in the tub. Does that sound good?” You palm his cock, still stiff and wet against his abs.
“Whatever you want, princess.”
#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento smut#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#cw degradation
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