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indecisivemuch · 2 months

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Cupids in Converses

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Valentine's was rolling up. You and Luke played Cupid on Percy and Annabeth. But what if playing matchmakers gave both you guys and your unspoken feelings the nudge that you guys have always needed? (Fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Warning: sort of cliché, but it's Valentines so.

Note: Valentines got me in the mood of writing something rom-com-ish. Let's just assume Luke wears red converses that looks like Maia in the show. Also, I've been incredibly busy so I kinda rushed through this one to post it on time for Valentines.

Word count: 4.1k (whoops)

February has always filled the air with some sort of sugary chemical. Everything seemed sweeter like a pink filter had been put over the world. Some may dislike the upcoming February holiday, but it was perhaps one of your favorite times of the year.

Why? You were somehow blessed with the skills of getting people together and nudging them just enough to cross the line they needed to. So far, you have managed to help six couples get together. With Valentine’s right around the corner, the urge to play cupid grew to the point it was itching your hands.

“Well, compared to the Chimera on Monday, Medusa on Sunday, could have been a lot worse,” Percy was quickly interrupted by Annabeth.

“Medusa was Saturday.”

“I thought Sunday?”

“No monsters on Sunday. Monday, you died in a river.” You squint your eyes at the conversation that Percy and Annabeth were having. The familiar bells rang in your head; you could practically hear them roaring at you.

“Right, so Medusa on Saturday…”

“Woah, guys, what’s this?” Luke interrupted. “When did you turn into an old married couple?” Percy and Annabeth both grew slightly flustered at the Hermes counselor’s words. Muttering a few things here and there, the two kids quickly excused themselves and walked off from you and Luke just to avoid the topic in general. You slowly turned towards Luke and peered up at him.

“Surely…” you spoke cryptically.

“Surely what?”

“Them!” you gestured to the direction that Percy and Annabeth had headed off to. You kicked a small rock with your Converse and watched it tumble away. “Surely we can give a little nudge?” you trailed off, bumping into Luke’s shoulder.

“You’re not seriously gonna play Cupid on them, right?”

“No, I’m not…because we are,” Luke let out a loud breath, hands on his hips as he peered down at you. However, you could see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Sweet girl, I adore you, but why not let things run their course?” you hope he did not see the physical reaction over that nickname because, internally, your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh? And you’re telling me those six couples from before would have gotten together without me? You know I’m right about this kind of stuff. I can usually sense it. Besides, it’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Uhm…you get to spend time with me?” you decided to answer, grinning up at Luke when he gave you a feigned unimpressed look. “Please, besides, you and Percy are close, so it would help a lot. I already have a plan and I need your help for it.”

One look into your eyes, and Luke knew he was doomed. For some reason, you just can make him do anything you ask. Luke could feel the hands on his hips slowly slipping as he looked into your eyes.

“Fine.”

Stage 1: Get Percy to realize his feelings cause he’s blind as hell

It was midnight and everybody else was asleep except for you and Luke. The two of you were in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The two of you were making some fortune cookies for your plan. However, there was a tiny twist to the treat you two were making. You had personally printed out a couple of prompts that you wrote yourself in hopes they would nudge Percy into realizing his feelings.

“Really?’“Romance is in the air. What you’re looking for is right in front of you’?” Luke read out the small piece of paper that you printed. You pulled the cookies out of the oven when they were ready.

“It’s cliche and sort of obvious, but hey! It’ll work because it’s Percy I’m working with,” you quickly pulled the paper out of his hand to put it in the fortune cookie before folding it into shape and letting it cool down.

“Mhm. He’s gonna realize you’re trying to play cupid.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I doubt Percy would realize. Annabeth would, hence why I’m not trying this on her.”

Luke helped you out with a couple of other spare fortune cookies that you two intended to keep for yourselves.

“Alright, finally done,” you muttered, washing your hands. However, you were caught off guard when Luke dipped his hand in the bag of flour on the counter and smeared some on your cheek. Your mouth hung slightly at this, and you looked up at him challengingly. You wiped your hands with a hand towel, “Oh? Is that how we’re playing it?”

“...No…” Luke sheepishly replied, a grin growing on his face when he saw the look of mischief creeping on your face.

“Game on, Castellan,” with that, you dipped both of your hands in flour and chased after the tall boy, who was sprinting around the counter. You caught up with Luke and compromised by smearing flour onto the back of his shirt first. At your attack, he turned around and smeared some more across your face from your other cheek to the top of your nose. You immediately did it back to him.

“Ok, ok, I surrender,” he coughed in between quiet waves of laughter after you smeared some from his cheek down his neck, marking your last attack.

For a moment, Luke and you stood in silence, but when you two let the state of one another sink in, laughs echoed throughout the room again. Luke was able to stop his laughter first, though he was still wearing a wide grin. He washed the flour off his face and dried it with kitchen tissues as you muttered: “Oh, I wish I had a camera. I could practically blackmail you with that photo.”

“I have no doubt you would have never let me live that down,” while replying, Luke also approached you and started wiping the flour off your nose before moving to your cheeks. Your laughter slowly faded as your cheeks heated at the feeling of his hand on your skin. He was looking at you so tentatively. Callous hands - a reflection of his remarkable title as best swordsman - delicately holding your face as if you were the rarest diamond to exist.

Something about this moment felt so domestic. Luke allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that this is how it would feel like to be with you and share cute moments like these together. Luke unbeknownstly let out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping in as he made eye contact with you.

However, the moment was interrupted by another camper who yelped upon seeing you two in the kitchen. The presence of another person caused you two to spring apart. “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave,” the camper muttered, clearly abandoning their plan of stealing food and sweets in the middle of the night. Luke coughed to break the silence.

“So what’s the plan after giving it to Percy?” Luke asked, looking down at the fortune cookies before picking one up and munching on it.

“Hopefully, he’ll finally realize his feelings, and when he does…Percy will come to you, for sure.”

Stage 2: Romantic gesture

You were right, Percy came to Luke for dating advice. As you planned, Luke suggested that Percy make a flower crown for Annabeth. Hence, here the Hermes counselor was - with Percy as he picked out flowers for Annabeth.

"I'm gonna need you to guide me on this 'cause I've never made flower crowns before," Percy muttered as he picked out California Poppins, Annabeth's favorite. Luke grinned at this. He found it interesting how the young boy already knew. "Maybe you could make one for someone special too?" Percy said, his voice somewhat unsure.

At the young boy's words, Luke froze. The first person that seemed to pop into his mind when Percy said that was you.

"I mean, might as well, right? It's for Valentine's. Maybe you could give it to someone who means a lot to you and makes you happy?" Percy spoke, though there was something instigative about his tone.

Happy. The word bounced in between the walls of Luke's mind. Once again, the first thing that flashed in his head was you. Then, a surge of images came running from memories of you two. He almost could not remember happiness before you. A warm feeling embedded in his chest as he pictured your smile. Just seeing you happy seemed to do it for him, like you could spread happiness to him by just looking at him. You were like the first glimmer of daylight after a cold night. He subconsciously smiled at that thought.

You have always made him feel loved, even though he knew you were probably doing it platonically. However, he would gladly take any form of love that he could receive from you. Every day, waking up and knowing he had you in his life was good enough for him. Maybe he should try giving you more hints. Maybe you'll finally see it. Perhaps Percy was right with the flower crown idea.

“Uhm, sure,” with that, Luke decided to take some of your favorite flowers into his hand and went to a nearby table, where he started guiding Percy on how to make a flower crown. However, ever so often, his mind would trail to its own thoughts whenever he focused on making this flower crown for you.

Percy watched Luke as the older boy started intensely working on his own flower crown, crafting it with so much care as if it was an artwork intended for a national museum. If Percy didn’t know better, he would think Luke was a perfectionist.

Meanwhile, you were sitting with Annabeth near the ocean where she had previously pushed Percy into the waters, leading to Poseidon claiming him. You asked, “Any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“No, you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh?” she replied, though you tilted your head at the tone of her voice. “I’m just surprised,” Annabeth explained as she looked out at the ocean instead of at you. “I mean…I thought you and Luke…”

“Huh?—”

“Well, I mean, you two are together all the time, and there seems to be something going on —”

“What do you mea—”

“It always seems like you two would gravitate to one another. I just assumed you two were together already—”

“We’re…just friends,” you settled on saying, though you could hear your heart beating loudly, seemingly echoing near your chest and neck. Of course, you knew you had feelings for Luke. However, you have always ruled it as a silly little crush.

“...You sure? You sound really unsure,” Annabeth challenged, making you sigh.

“I mean, he’s really sweet, and nice…”

“Uh-huh”

“And he makes me laugh all the time…”

“That’s good,” Annabeth’s words echoed as you sunk into silence and started reflecting on who Luke was to you. He has always made you feel cared for. Out of everybody at camp, perhaps he was the one you were most comfortable with, never having to be afraid of being yourself. Almost all of your favorite memories at camp included him in them.

You remember the night you told him about your minor fear of the darkness and how he promised to always protect you in it. In a way, since then, he has become your light. You always felt lit up when he made his way to you. Your eyes are always drawn to him like a moth to its flame. Then, it finally dawned on you how serious your feelings were. You realized how most of the time you seemed to be mindless about the existence of your heart until Luke was around because it was only then that your heart would tug or race to run you breathless. You gulped as your eyes darted around slightly.

“I mean…maybe…” you started but snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Luke’s voice. And there it was again, the silly familiar tug your heart was doing just from his voice. “Hey…” you greeted Luke and Percy before noticing Percy with a flower crown in his hand.

“Annabeth, can I speak to you privately?” Annabeth stood up and gestured for Percy to lead the way, presumably somewhere, so the young boy could give her the flower crown and ask her out on Valentine’s Day. You remained seated, still pondering at your feelings and wondering when they had exponentially grown that much.

“I actually have something for you as well,” you finally looked up at Luke when he said this. You noticed he had his hands behind his back. Something about the way he looked now seemed so shy and timid, which was unlike the outgoing and confident boy you always knew.

Your mouth fell agape when he pulled out a flower crown made of your favorite flower. “Luke…” you said his name and stood up when you saw the item.

However, because your eyes were on his gift, you didn’t notice the way Luke’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice calling out his name. He never thought it was anything special until November two years ago when you said his name while laughing at one of his jokes by the campfire. It was probably a moment you did not remember, but ever since then, he felt so sure that he was named so because the name sounded like it was born just for the sole purpose of being sounded from your lips.

“I made this for you,” he muttered, though it sounded almost like a whisper. His eyes shifted to both of your Converses instead of at you. Something about this made him so nervous as if he was handing you his heart instead of a simple gift. He almost scowled at himself for acting like a boy in kindergarten, confessing to his crush.

If only Luke was looking at you because you were looking at him and the item in awe. Your cheeks flushed from his gesture. Though, you were somewhat glad he was not looking at you because you were sure one look at you right now would tell Luke exactly everything about your feelings. You were a blushing mess. “Luke, thank you so much. This is beautiful. I can’t believe you made one for me.”

You touched Luke’s hand that was holding the crown, and he almost grew an even deeper shade of red. “Put it on my head,” you instructed, and he obliged just like everything else you would ask. He was sure he must have caught a sickness or something for wanting to follow you this blindly. But you were perhaps the only one with the power to get him to do absolutely anything. Just as the crown touched your hair, you peered up at him, and the sight alone made Luke swallow nervously.

You looked breathtaking.

And he meant this literally because Luke felt like he stopped breathing for a second. He could not look away. That was until you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him. His arms wrapped around your neck almost immediately to return the hug as if they existed to only hold you.

However, unlike the hundreds of hugs before, this one felt different. It was as if something had shifted and was bound to unfold.

Final Stage: Valentine’s Day

Annabeth had said yes.

You were ecstatic to learn that the young girl had agreed to go on a Valentine’s date with Percy. Even though you didn’t want to intrude, you and Luke decided to just have a peep to see what Percy had planned. You were not planning to stay long. It was just a sort of reward or a way to see your plan grow into fruition. You smiled when you spot the cute picnic date near the shore.

“See, I told you the plan was going to work,” you muttered as you tiptoed up in your converses to peer at the kids through the tall bushes nearby. You almost lost balance and step onto Luke's shoes that were similar to yours, except his was red.

The boy quickly steadied you with his hand on your waist. You muttered a quick thank you before turning back to the kids, trying to ignore the blush that was slowly decorating your cheeks. But you were quickly caught off guard at the sight of Percy and Annabeth pushing a small boat off the shore and hopping on it.

“Uhm…that is not what I expected. Where are they going?” Luke looked over your shoulder when you said that. Your eyes fluttered at his warm breath hitting your neck.

However, you noticed the two kids looking like they were in trouble and panicking as they quickly started rowing away. You turned your head towards Luke, forgetting he was very close to you. Your voice faltered as you were about to utter your next sentence. Noticing this, Luke turned to you, only causing the two of you to come face to face with little distance in between. You gulped and forced yourself not to glance down at his lips, “Do you think they’re okay? Should we follow them? I mean…what if they’re in trouble?”

Seeing the worried look on your face, Luke frowned. He deeply disliked anything that caused that kind of expression on your face. Hence, he decided to go over to the second boat there and started pushing it towards the water. “Come on,” you hopped onto the small boat with him and started rowing after Percy and Annabeth, hoping to help them from whatever trouble they were seeming to have.

After a few minutes of rowing behind them, you saw Percy and Annabeth rowing into a small tunnel. Luke and you quickly followed in, rowing your boat, only to be engulfed by darkness upon entering the tunnel.

The wind blew much harder in there, causing goosebumps on your arm as your hand gripped your oar tightly. To make matters worse, it was your most hated type of darkness - utter pitch black. Even with your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could see nothing, not even Luke.

You were fine with darkness in familiar places like your cabin, where you knew at least there were other campers around and you were safe. You were also mostly fine with darkness where you could see as your eyes adjusted to it. But here, you were in a tunnel you’ve never been in, where there were possibly monsters that could attack you at any moment.

You were slightly startled by the hand that softly touched yours that, unbeknownst to you, was crushing the wooden oar. You immediately recognize it was Luke’s hand from the warmth and familiar touch. He soothingly ran his thumb across your hand. His actions were proven effective at calming you down when you could feel your grip loosen around the tool.

“Breathe, sweet girl,” his words somehow made you release the breath you were subconsciously holding.

A few seconds later, the lights were turned on. You were met with one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. Lights were decorating the path throughout the tunnel. There were also plants and trees with extended branches and leaves that softly brushed past the boat Luke and you were on.

Suddenly, you both heard a tune start playing quietly in the background, almost quiet enough to make you two think you were imagining it:

“There you see her, sitting there across the way.

She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her”

His thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing over your knuckles even though the darkness was no longer casting over the both of you. His eyes were absorbing how you looked at that moment, embracing it. You were absolutely stunning and he was hopelessly infatuated with you.

“And you don’t know why, but you’re dying to try

You wanna kiss the girl.”

The lyrics made Luke subconsciously lick his lips as he pictured himself kissing you. Gods, he wondered if his heart would even survive doing so and whether anything would ever surpass getting to kiss you. Your eyes flickered to Luke's lips, and he noticed it. He also noticed how your cheeks flushed as you gulped at his actions.

“Luke.”

“Y/N,” you almost melted at the way Luke was saying your name as if it was an honor or privilege to do so. The tone he used was sweeter than any dessert you have ever had. Gods, it was as if your name was a sacred passage he lived by.

“Yes, you want her

Look at her, you know you do”

Indeed he was looking at you, and it felt almost like he was spellbound because he could not take his eyes off you. Right then, you could see it all - he was utterly smitten. He was giving you a soft smile. The lights decorating the tunnel shimmered in his eyes, illuminating just enough to display his pupils and how they almost completely overtook the usual dark brown color that you love. Before you knew it, he was leaning closer to you on the small boat and you mirrored his action.

“Possible she wants you too, there is one way to ask her…”

Just when Luke was inches from your face, he stopped. His eyes longingly stare at your lips like a long-awaited dream that was within his grasp but not quite within his grip yet. You noticed how he took a deep breath as if mustering all the drops of courage he had. His eyes fluttered shut for a second before he opened them again.

“Can I?” he uttered only two words, but somehow, his voice conveyed enough the yearning coursing through every inch of his body. Luke gulped as he restrained himself from closing the distance and waited for your consent.

You nodded wordlessly.

“It don’t take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl.”

Almost instantly, he caressed both sides of your face and sealed the deal.

All the glory Luke has gained throughout the years seemed trivial compared to kissing you. It almost convinced him that everything he had gone through to get here today was worth it. He hummed against your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Kissing you felt like the best gift he had ever gotten in his entire life. Luke knew he was forever screwed from the way it felt. He could not fathom the idea of his lips ever touching anyone else’s. Maybe they were made for you, but his heart and mind do not seem to oppose that idea.

You slowly slid your arms down, allowing your hands to caress his jawline and the sides of his face. However, your hands slightly jolted at the pace of his heartbeat along the side of his neck. It was as if his heart was trying to break out of his body. Your own heart started replicating the same rhythm. It had you flustered that you had such an effect on him.

Luke broke away from the kiss breathlessly. For a second, he hated the idea of needing air to live because if he could, he would not have stopped showing you how much his lips belonged to you. His forehead leaned against yours while his hands rested on your hips. He looked at you endearingly as if he could not fathom that he just got to kiss you. You smiled at the sight of him.

“I know I’m a tad bit late, but will you be my Valentine?” he sweetly asked.

“Of course, Luke.” Luke grinned at your answer. He drew you in for another kiss as giggles escaped your lips and echoed through the tunnel that now marked an important memory for the two of you.

You truly must be Cupid because your plan not only worked for Percy and Annabeth, but somehow also indirectly gave Luke and you the nudge you both needed.

14th February marked the day when two Cupids wearing Converses got their happy ending.

Bonus:

“I told you that would work,” Annabeth whispered to Percy as the two hopped back onto their boat with a speaker in hand, rowing away hastily to be out of sight from the older couple.

Little did you know, Annabeth had orchestrated the whole thing, including the conversation between her and Percy about their mission in front of Luke and you. Annabeth’s plan of getting Luke and you together through playing cupid together had seemingly worked just like she had planned.

Who said you were the only cupid at Camp Half-Blood?

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fantasylandloser · 3 months

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Not Flirting

Pairing; Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You and Rafe want each other so bad.

Warnings: smut, mdni, Public sex, smoking, shotgunning, two uses of slut and one use of good girl, Rafe calling the reader kiddo in flirty way

******

You’re not flirting with Rafe Cameron. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself anyway. The casual touches, and the constant bickering that presents like foreplay is how the two of you have always been. Right?

The two of you don’t even talk outside of when you’re with your mutual friends. That’s probably why you seem so focused on each other. And the only reason the air around you is so charged with sexual tension is because- well he’s Rafe. He could have chemistry with a doorknob. It is not flirting.

You’ve told nearly every person that’s been in contact with you something similar to those words that you’ve been trying to convince yourself of. Nobody believes you, sadly you’re not even stupid enough to believe it. That doesn’t stop you from trying though.

It helps you feel less guilty about wanting his attention, and having it. He’s a known fuck boy on the island and you’ve been sort of friends since high school, but after graduating your friend group got smaller and it was hard to ignore him.

You tried to sometimes, but it never worked. The pull the two of you had on each other was too damn magnetic. Like at this party you were at. He’d found you accidentally, laughing with some people, your bikini practically melded with your skin after a dip in the water.

You don’t see him when he walks behind you, but the way the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you know it’s him. So, you don’t panic when his arms wrap around your shoulders, or when he takes your cup and drinks out of it, even though he knows you hate that.

“Hey, kid.” You roll your eyes at the nickname he’d given you when he found out about the one year age gap between the two of you. You hate yourself a little for the smile you feel making its way onto your face.

“Don’t start.” Rafe doesn’t acknowledge that, or the people that were around you because he starts pulling you away from them. “Where are you taking me?” You wish you could sound like you actually cared but you’d go with him regardless.

“We’re smoking.” He whispers, his breath fanning the outside of his ear.

You twist your lips in apprehension and Rafe must have a sixth sense for you at this point because he eases your mind immediately.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. It’s more your speed than mine.” Again, you roll your eyes. You don’t stop him from walking you towards wherever he’s going though.

“I don’t even-”

“I know, I know. “ Rafe groans. You reach back to flick him for interrupting you and he finally lets go of you since you’re walking with him willingly. “Just trust me.” You miss his body heat the second that it’s gone but you’re going to blame it on being cold, even though it’s ninety degrees out.

You mock him childishly, to ignore the heat that crawls through your body when you look at him. You remember him saying something about cutting his hair off, and then you teasing him and saying it would look bad. You just thought his long hair added to his cuteness. You were very wrong.

“Oh you did it.” He lets you run your hand over his buzzed head, while you walk beside him.

“Mhm.” He smirks and you already know what’s coming. “Is it as bad as you thought it would be?” But he knows it isn’t because you are not subtle in checking him out and his ego is bigger than the sun.

“It’s somehow worse.”You taunt only to be met with a tug on your hair. It’s childish and violently in character for Rafe. He smiles at the squeak you let out and laughs when you push him back.

“Yeah, whatever you like it.” Your conversation is cut short when your presence is noticed by your other friends.

“Where have you been all night?” Kelce asks from the hammock he’s lying in.

“Up your butt.” You answer obnoxiously, skipping over to your friend Natalie’s lap and giving her a hug. You could tell she was a little high on something you didn’t want.

“I think that is the last place you’d wanna be.” Topper says, patting your head and you can tell he’s been drinking by the way he slurs.

The conversation between you and your friends is mindless while Rafe rolls the blunt on the patio table. You tried not to stare at his fingers as he did so. Or look at him too hard as he licked the paper. You failed.

You try not to think too much of it when he’s finally done and he beckons you over, or when he pulls you in his lap, like that's normal. Once again, you fail. It takes you all over two seconds to get comfortable once he wraps his arm around you though and you’re used to ignoring your friends' looks by now.

You’re a little nervous once he lights it but he brings it to his lips first and you really want your lips to be on that blunt all of a sudden. When he hands it to you, you try to mimic what he had done but you can tell you did it wrong immediately.

“Inhale, kid.” You try again, you kind of feel it this time.

“Lemme see.” He takes it from you and inhales the smoke, which you’re pretty sure is like illegal when it comes to rotation, but you don’t say so. You’re a little surprised when he grips your jaw firm and gentle, before blowing the smoke into your mouth.

“Inhale” You do so, trying your best to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“Good girl.” He says finally releasing your jaw. You choke on the smoke in your lungs as he passes off the joint. Rubbing his hand on your back, immediately reminding you how naked you are in just your bikini.

“I hate you.” You say once you’ve finally gathered yourself, but it holds no weight as you lean back into him.

*****

You’re horny. That’s all you can think about by the time your friends and you stop smoking. Everyone had dispersed by now and it was just you and Rafe with you still sitting sideways across his lap.

“I can feel you.” You squint eyeing your position.

“It would be concerning if you couldn’t.” You're well aware that your skin was touching his. He shakes his head, propping his hand right to the pulse in between your legs that was only covered by the thin layer of your bikini bottoms.

“You’re fucking throbbing.” Your words are caught in your throat at the sensation of him rubbing you. Intensified by your high and how long you’ve been wanting him.

“Someone is gonna see.” You finally get out, trying to shift your legs.

‘Good for them.” When he grabs your jaw this time, it’s to kiss you and you immediately forget whatever it was that you were worried about. He lets you shift around until you’re straddling him, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“So you do like my hair.” He says panting once, you finally give him room to breathe.

“What hair?” You softly scrape your nails down the nape of his neck. He sniggers, when you begin grinding against him. And he’s a little shocked when you pull his hard dick out his shorts.

“And what’re you gonna do with that?”

“Sit on it.” Rafe moans, he’s not sure if it’s at your words or the hickey you’re currently sucking into his neck. Possessive. He finds himself noting. “Unless you don’t want me to.” You add, and he almost laughs at the fact that you’re giving him an out.

“I do.” You’re so excited to fuck him you forget how much of a stretch he would be. But it’s too late to care once you start, you brutally force yourself to take half, ignoring your own pained whimpers at the sound of Rafe gasping into your neck.

Despite himself, Rafe grabs your ass so that you can’t go any further. “Eager little slut.”

“You started it.” You accuse after catching your breath. “You’re the slut.” Your voice is whiny, which is unlike you and Rafe can’t help but wonder if that’s a result of you being out of your mind horny or high.

“You’re the one that’s making a mess all over the both of us.” He says gesturing to the slick skin in between the both of you. While he’s talking you continue to take him deeper, nipping at the skin on his neck. He stops you again from taking more of him.

“Too much for you, kiddo.” You push past his hand in an act of rebellion, your ass meeting the top of his thighs. The stinging pain only makes you regret that action a little, but the look in his eye makes it worth it.

‘Fuck” He lets you continue to bounce on him for a minute, but once you start to finally find your rhythm he starts bucking his hips back into yours. He’s pleased when you can no longer hold back your moans.

“Rafe!” And he knows that warning anywhere, especially mixed in with the way you clench around him.

“Yeah? You like that?” Your answer to him is nearly gibberish as your body begins to convulse. And initially Rafe had every intention of pulling out, but the thought washes from his memory at the feeling of you. He groans as he finishes inside you, not utterly appalled by the idea of getting you pregnant.

Once you catch your breath, you laugh a little to yourself. “I guess I like your haircut.”

#rafe cameron #fantasylandloserfic #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks

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kumawaii · 3 months

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THE LICKBACK | XMH

cw - cheating, toxic behavior, sending post-sex nudes, riding, unprotected sex, creampie

– for my 🍰 anon

∘₊✧─── 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ───✧₊∘

bestie!minghao is the most beautiful person you’ve ever met, both inside and out. he’s so attentive and thoughtful. any time you’re around him you feel that you’re slowly being swept off your feet. his natural charisma and charm are so alluring that you can’t believe anyone could hate him. you can’t believe that your boyfriend does. like a lot.

you’re not sure when this animosity between your two favorite boys manifested, but it’s there and it’s not going away any time soon. bestie!minghao tries to act like he’s above it all, but you know him. there’s no way he can turn the other cheek when your boyfriend is so open about hating him.

the feud isn’t aggressive or blatant — at least not around you. there’s a lot of subtle digs and glares exchanged when you’re not looking, but from what your other friends tells you it’s a lot worse when you’re not there. you’re not even really sure why they don’t like each other. any time you ask either of them, they brush it off or change the subject entirely.

it’s futile, but you try to get them to like each other. forcing them to hang out doesn’t work at all. the two barely even acknowledge each other and somehow become even more distant. your boyfriend isn’t outright rude, but he does act like bestie!minghao doesn’t exist whenever you bring him around. this tiresome routine goes on until you finally get sick and tired of it. when you confront your boyfriend about it, you don’t expect him to snap at you.

“who gives a fuck if i don’t like your little friend?” his tone is mean and aggressive.

you blink slowly, trying not to get emotional at the tone he’s using with you. “i just want you guys to get along…”

your boyfriend lets out a frustrated noise. he’s pinching the bridge of his nose and running a tense hand through his hair. his gaze become accusatory in a way, and you can’t explain why you suddenly feel like you’ve done something wrong.

“we’re not going to. as long as he wants to fuck you, i can’t be friends with him.”

you’re left speechless. never once had you considered that your best friend would think of you that way. years of platonic friendship has never led you to believe otherwise. apparently, your boyfriend doesn’t like your silence because in the next second he scoffs before he storms out of your apartment.

that night you keep replaying his harsh words until you can’t take it anymore. you rashly go over to bestie!minghao’s house to talk to him about what your boyfriend had said. like always, your friend is happy to see you in spite of you not letting him know you were coming over. he welcomes you into his home with a pretty smile that makes your heart jump.

“i have to ask you something.” you say as you follow minghao to his room. “and i need you to tell me the truth.”

“you know i never lie to you.” he says sincerely as he pulls you down on his bed so you can sit beside him.

those words make an unexpected heat pool in your stomach. they heat up your entire body as you shift nervously. “is it true you want to… have sex with me?”

bestie!minghao’s eyes widen. he clears his throat. “why would you think that?”

“i was with—”

“your boyfriend.” minghao cuts you off through clenched teeth, realizing that jealous asshole is the one who caused this. “he told you that?”

“he said it’s why he doesn’t like you.” you sound deflated.

you can see the clench of his jaw and his gaze sharpen. he’s angry, but unlike your heathen of a boyfriend, your best friend doesn’t take it out on you. instead he remains silent until he can calmly answer you.

“i can’t believe he reduced my feelings for you to just wanting to have sex.”

you’re not sure what consumes you, but the way your heart is bursting with affection can’t be ignored. it’s how you end up on top of bestie!minghao, bouncing on his big cock. his pretty hands are roaming every inch of your body, caressing your soft skin with tenderness that makes your cunt drip with heaps of arousal. you toss your head back with a loud moan as his dick slams deep into you.

“so fucking pretty.” minghao groans as he grabs your hips and starts to thrust up into you. “my pretty little angel.”

you move your hips desperately, grinding your filthy cunt all over his dick. with your head tossed back, you moan his name desperately. pleasure consumes your entire body as his pulsing tip brushes against your cervix. you’ve never been so close to cumming this quickly, and bestie!minghao’s heated gaze is only pushing you closer to that ecstasy.

“god, you’re perfect.” minghao moans as he sits up to mouth and lick at your bouncing tits. “and now you’re all mine.”

he abruptly flips you on your back, holding your legs open as he starts to pound into you. the way his cock drags against your wet walls is dizzying, and you can feel how he stretches you open with every rough snap of his hips. it only takes him pressing a sweet kiss to your lips for you to fall apart.

seeing you cum is the hottest thing bestie!minghao has ever seen. he fucks you through it, whispering endless praises against your skin. his words are sweet, murmuring about how much he loves you. it’s not long before he cums, too. he does it with a loud groan of your name. minghao fucks it deeper into you until you both can’t take anymore.

“your pussy looks so pretty like this.” minghao sighs as he reaches for his phone. “let me take a picture?”

you nod with a blissful sigh, spreading your legs for him. bestieminghao grins like a cheshire cat. he uses his fingers to spread your soiled lips apart as he angles the camera just right. the picture is perfect and filthy.

your boyfriend can only stare with a clenched jaw when he receives the picture. he recognizes the pretty little hand on the smooth thigh. the ring on the index finger is the one bestie!minghao had gotten you for your birthday. you had always preferred that one to the one he got you.

and as he throws his phone against the wall, he realizes that it wasn’t only the ring you preferred. you’ve always preferred your best friend.

#kumawaii.exe #minghao smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #minghao x reader #svt x reader #xu minghao smut #svt fic #minghao fic #xu minghao fanfic #xu minghao x reader #minghao scenarios #svt imagine

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sluttywoozi · 11 days

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Interlude No. 9 | yjh x reader

Interlude No. 9: Jeonghan broke up with you three months ago, so why is he at your door now?

Rating: sfw (minors still shouldn’t be here) | WC: ~3.3k

Pairing: yjh x reader | Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, a lil romance

Warnings: alcohol mention, swearing, breaking up and making up

Reader Notes: drinks wine, owns a blow dryer

You’re halfway into your second glass of wine and fully done with your skincare when a knock sounds on your apartment door.

It sounds familiar for some reason, and though you normally would never entertain the thought of accepting an unexpected caller after 9 PM, your gut is telling you to answer. So onto the side table your glass goes before you stand on tired legs and slowly make your way to the hall. You should grab the bat but that gut feeling is still there, the one that says you have nothing to worry about, so you pass the closet you keep it in and continue on to the door.

Closing one eye, you sweep aside the cover and look through the peephole, gasping at what, or rather, who, you find.

Yoon Jeonghan.

The man you dated for two years, the man who broke up with you three months ago without an explanation.

The man you still love.

You can’t see much, but you can see that he looks awful. His hair is long and sloppily tied back, his glasses are low on his nose, and his eyes are red, glassy. He gnaws at his lip as he waits, his posture growing worse with every minute that ticks by until he’s all but wilted onto the floor.

You don’t know what to do.

You blocked his contact after he left you, swore you wouldn’t speak to him again no matter how many friends you have in common, but here he is at your door, looking, for all intents and purposes, dead inside.

You can’t see him anymore but he didn’t walk away, which means he must have finally sat down in the hall. You’re just glad he’s not making noise, your neighbors have always been nosy and you hate the idea of them knowing about this.

He doesn’t seem like he’s going anywhere anytime soon, so all you can do is unlock your three locks and open the door a crack, just enough to spot him.

His gaze shoots up immediately and he rushes to stand, his limbs clumsy as he picks himself up off the floor.

“Hi,” he breathes, brushing his clothes off and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

You ignore the way your stomach drops at his voice, ignore the way it feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and ask quietly, “What are you doing here?”

He glances away and pushes up his glasses, swiping a hand over his eyes and down his face before saying, “I wanted to talk to you, about us.”

You bristle, unhealed hurt rising up within you at his words.

“Now you want to talk? You didn’t seem to have anything to say three months ago when you left,” you remind him harshly, pretending your heart doesn’t ache at the way he flinches and tries to hide it.

“I- I fucked up, I fucked everything up, I know that. But I’ve been trying to talk to you this whole time, ever since I walked out. Please, just listen to me this once, and I promise, if you never want to hear from me again, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sounds distraught, as close to tears as you’ve ever heard him, and you know you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway.

You open the door and step to the side, ignoring his deep sigh of relief and pushing down the shock when you smell the cologne you bought him last year as he walks past you.

You didn’t live together but he knows where to go, making his way to your living room and settling into his corner of the couch. Maybe you should offer him something to drink, but you don’t feel like playing host right now, not when the wound you thought had scarred over has started bleeding again.

Bypassing your spot on the sofa, you sink into the chair farthest away from him, tugging a blanket over your lap as if it could protect you somehow.

He stares at you, his gaze a deep pool of sorrow and guilt and his fingers fidgeting in his lap.

“Well?” You prompt him when he doesn’t speak, almost wishing you had the forethought to grab your glass of wine. You could use it at a time like this.

“I- I guess I should start off by saying I love you and I’m in love with you and I never stopped being in love with you,” he says it like it’s a vow, like he fears you won’t believe him.

You say nothing, swallowing around the pit of anguish in your throat.

“When I left, it was because of me, not because of anything you did. You’re perfect, you always have been. I just- I couldn’t give you what you deserved. I saw how happy you were when Joshua proposed to his partner, and we both knew I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get married, but I knew that you were sure.”

“I wanted you to be free to find someone who could give you that, and I thought breaking up with you was the right thing to do, but as soon as I left, I knew it was the absolute dumbest and most cowardly thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“I shouldn’t have made that decision for you, I should have told you how I was feeling and let you make the choice yourself, even if the outcome would have been the same.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jeonghan chokes out, his face pinched and his eyes full of saltwater.

Tears are threatening to stream down your face, your heart squeezing in your chest like someone is wringing it out. It’s time for you to respond to him, but you don’t know what to say.

You’ve missed him more than you ever thought possible, and a part of you is comforted by the fact that he never stopped loving you. But another part of you is broken, your trust in him fractured and your faith in him lost.

You feel like he’s misunderstood you on a fundamental level, like the years you spent together were for nothing because he obviously doesn’t know you as well as you thought he did. You feel like your autonomy has been stripped away, like he thinks you’re a child who can’t be trusted to form your own opinions.

Most of all, you feel robbed, of the last three months, of the lifetime you would have spent with him, married or unmarried.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You whisper, needing to know his angle. Is he just looking to absolve himself of guilt? You don’t know if you can do that for him.

“Because I’m dying without you,” he nearly sobs out. “I’ve wanted to come back since I left but my texts and calls wouldn’t go through, and I didn’t want to show up at your job like a creep, and all of our friends hate me except for Seungcheol so there was nobody to carry a message for me. It’s all my own fault, and I know that, I just- I’m selfish, I can’t let you go without knowing you want me to.”

“Jeonghan, I never wanted you to let me go. I never wanted to be free. I only wanted you,” your voice breaks on the last word, and you have to look away as you fight the urge to openly weep.

“Past tense?” He sounds defeated, empty. “You don’t…”

“Yoon Jeonghan, you’re a fucking idiot if you think I don’t love you anymore,” you glare, feeling like you could curse him, hex him and his whole bloodline for his stupidity. “But that doesn’t mean we can pick up where we left off. You broke us, you broke me, and I need time before I can let you in like that again.”

Finally, there’s life in his eyes again, gratitude and love shining on his face, like the fact that you’re even considering it is enough for him.

“I’ll be here, I’ll wait forever if I have to. And I’m not saying this because I think it’ll change anything, but I do want to marry you, only you, so I mean it when I say forever,” he sends you a watery beam, his face shiny with tears.

You can’t stop the corners of your mouth from quirking up in a smile, even if you do want to prod further into how he’s suddenly made up his mind. You fear you don’t have the energy for it tonight, not after all of this.

You also fear you don’t have the heart to send him home alone. He looks a bit better but his cheeks are gaunt, his hair is greasy, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been doing well, and you want to feel vindicated but instead you just feel worried.

“You can sleep here tonight, on the couch. Let me get you some blankets and pillows,” you whisper, rising to your feet and disappearing into your bedroom before he can protest out of some misguided feeling of imposition.

You gather up his favorite blanket, the one that’s been folded on the chair in the corner of your room since he broke up with you, and his preferred pillow. It still smells like him even though you’ve changed the case countless times, and you have to admit that you’ve been thankful for it.

You also get some pajamas he left, having neglected to clear out his drawer because you couldn’t bear to open it.

He’s right where you left him when you return, head tilted back as he dozes, and you set the bedding at the end of the couch before tentatively resting a hand on his shoulder to wake him.

He blinks up at you and smiles his sweetest smile, and you feel your heart start to stitch itself back together. In a whisper, you say, “Jeonghan, why don’t you take a shower while I get the couch ready?”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do all this,” he mumbles, his eyes avoiding yours as he bites at his lip anxiously.

“I know I don’t. Let me do it anyway,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder and reaching down for his hand to pull him up and to the bathroom.

He follows you obediently, taking the pajamas when you hand them over and grinning shyly at you one last time as the bathroom door closes between you.

You don't have a lot of time to think as you set up the couch, knowing he takes around ten minutes to shower. You’ll probably offer to blow dry his hair when he gets out, he hates sleeping with it wet, he always thinks it’ll give him a cold. Even after three months without him, caring for him is still as easy as breathing.

Now that you have some space, you’re not sure how much time you really need to let him back in.

Of course, you’re still wounded and bitter that he left you in the first place, but you can tell he wasn’t lying, that he really thought he was doing the right thing. You think he knows now that he shouldn’t ever do something like that again, and while your trust in him is cracked, it’s not as broken as you worried it was.

Setting everything he should and shouldn’t have done aside, you have to admit that you miss him, desperately, and that you want to be his just as much as you want him to be yours.

But with all of your feelings so fresh, you think you should sleep on it at least one night, just to be sure you have forgiven him, that you can take him back.

You should have a few minutes left before he’s done, so you sneak back into your room and grab your blow dryer and hair brush from your vanity, setting up shop on the chair closest to an outlet.

Soon enough, he wanders out in his baggy shirt and pajama pants, squeezing his dripping hair with a towel and grinning when he sees you.

“Salon time?” He asks with excitement, and you smile indulgently, waving the hair dryer at him and waiting for him to sit cross legged in front of you, his back to your knees and his head at the perfect height for you to take care of his hair.

It’s soothing to you, carrying out this routine and having this kind of intimacy with him after all these weeks apart.

You dry and dry until his silky locks slip through your fingers, and when you finally shut the blow dryer off, the silence in the room is deafening. Jeonghan is leaning back against your legs, his head dipped low and his neck bent at an odd angle, and you realize he’s fallen asleep.

It must have been soothing to him too, you think, gently scratching your nails over his scalp before whispering his name.

He stirs, looking around in confusion and tilting his head all the way back to look at you upside down, a sleepy smile stretching his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice hushed and relaxed.

You fight the urge to lean down and press a kiss to his lips like you used to, smoothing your finger over his eyebrow instead and replying, “You’re welcome.”

He pushes up to his feet, stretching his hands overhead and yawning loudly, before turning and reaching for you only to stop short.

“Goodnight,” he says, holding his hands behind his back like he’ll touch you if he doesn’t.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, trying to ignore how weird it feels not to follow it with an I love you.

You turn and retreat to your room before the words can escape without your permission, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

You’re already all washed up for the night so you just slide into your side of the bed, pulling the duvet tight around you to mimic the feeling of Jeonghan’s arms.

It takes you ages to fall asleep with the knowledge that he’s just a few yards away, that you could have him in this bed if only you would ask.

It’s dark when you wake, your heart still racing with the nightmare that roused you though you can’t remember it. You lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to calm yourself, your eyes locking onto the blur of the fan, just barely visible with the moonlight seeping in through the curtains.

You hardly ever got nightmares when Jeonghan slept over, but you’ve had innumerable sleepless nights over the past three months, and you were hoping tonight wouldn’t be one of them with him in your apartment.

Maybe you should check and make sure he’s still here. He could have left, could have changed his mind, could have decided he was right to end it with you and gone home to his own apartment, and you wouldn’t even know until morning.

That anxiety is enough to make you roll out of bed and pad over to the door, your steps quiet and your breath caught in your chest.

You turn the knob as smoothly as you can, pushing the door open and wincing when it creaks. But when you look over to check if you woke Jeonghan, he’s already sitting up, the lamp on the side table on and a book from your shelf in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” He asks with concern, setting the book face down on the table and giving you his full attention.

“I just wanted to… check on you,” you give him a half truth, forgetting that he always could see right through you.

“You were scared I went home, weren't you?” He murmurs, a tinge of sadness to his voice and a remorseful frown on his face.

“Maybe,” you fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt, avoiding his eyes. “I just had a nightmare so…”

“Was it that I left again?” He asks, pulling his legs up and making room on the couch for you before patting the cushion in front of him. You take a few steps forward and he lifts the blanket up, covering your exposed legs with it when you settle onto the sofa.

“No, I don’t remember what happened. I just didn’t get them with you around so I thought you might not be around.”

You have to fight the urge not to crawl into his lap and curl up against him, feeling especially starved for affection after waking so abruptly. You wonder if he feels as far from you as you do from him, stuck in this limbo of being together but not together.

You think he does when you notice the longing in his soft eyes, see the way his brows are gently furrowed and his lip is bitten between his teeth.

“How can I help?” He wonders quietly, and you only give yourself a few seconds to think it over.

Yes, he broke up with you for a reason that he should have talked with you about instead. Yes, you’ve missed him the past three months like you never knew you could. Yes, it’s probably too soon to let him back in like this.

But you find you don’t care about any of that.

You just want him close, need to know he’s here and he’s staying and he’s yours.

So you push aside your bruised feelings and whisper in a fragile voice, “Come to bed with me?”

He looks unsure but rises when you do, his face smoothing out as he offers you his hand and lets you tug him to your bedroom. He hovers when he crosses the threshold and it occurs to you that you might have to guide him. He was so respectful of your boundaries in the beginning of the relationship that you called almost all of the shots, and you wonder if your two years of progress have been undone over the past three months apart.

But maybe this is a good thing, you think as you lead him over to his side of the bed and tuck him in. You’re the one who told him you can’t pick up where you left off, and you like that he’s reset a bit, that he wants to treat this like a fresh start, because it is one.

Before, you would just crawl over him onto your side, but now you walk around the bed, climbing in and tugging the blanket over your body. You pull it up to your chin, still feeling a bit chilled, and it takes you less than sixty seconds to decide cuddling is allowed even if you’re beginning anew.

So you roll onto your side to face him, your eyes just barely able to make him out in the dark of your bedroom. He turns his head to look at you, his hands folded together on his stomach before he reaches one out across the bed. That’s the only signal you need to close the distance and tuck yourself up under his arm, your cheek resting in the hollow of his shoulder and your hand finding his.

He tilts his head up, pressing his lips to your forehead and sneaking a whiff of your hair as he tangles his fingers with yours. You take in a deep breath, what feels like your first since he ended things, and let your eyelids flutter shut, trusting that he’ll be here when you wake.

“I love you,” he whispers, so low you almost don’t hear him.

“I love you, too,” you mumble back. “But if you pull that shit again, it’ll be the last thing you ever do, and I mean that.”

“Please murder me if I do. Obviously I’ve gone fucking crazy if I fuck this up again.”

You fall asleep with a smile on your face.

AN: yayyy i wrote something!! a randomized wheel told me to write jeonghan so i did and it turned into this and then the wheel told me to make it smutty and i was like no that is not correct! so sorry lovelies but no smut today!! it just didn't feel right after them being apart for so long and jeonghan only just starting to make it up to reader and earn her back (even if she is making it easy for him)

thank u for reading, please lmk what you think!!

#k vanity #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic #✨emily writes✨

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hees-mine · 7 months

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟓 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞! - 𝐋.𝐡𝐬

𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 ⚥ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, choking, mirror sex, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, lots of cursing.

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 🎧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

It’s Halloween night, and you’re supposed to be going to a party with your best friend, and he has yet to show up.

You sigh, and you almost cancel your plans with him because he always did this shit only to make it up to you later with all your favorite snacks and trips out to the movies or the mall.

You wonder how the hell a person could always be so late, like all the time, especially during big holidays. It’s like he’d purposefully do it just to piss you off.

Truth is, he did do it on purpose, not to piss you off but just so he could have an excuse to take you out and buy you stuff all the time cause he had the biggest fattest crush on you. Little did he know you’d drop everybody in a heartbeat for him anyway cause you, too, had the biggest, fattest crush on him, but of course, neither of you said anything because you didn’t want to “RuiN tHe fRieNdsHip.”

Just as you were about to go to the party without him, you heard a knock on the door, and since you were standing right in front of it, you immediately answered, making him nearly jump out of his shoes. “Hiya, y/n!” he waved to you with the fake knife he had gotten along with his costume.

Before you could even yell at him for showing up thirty minutes later than he said he would, the breath got knocked straight out of you when you saw his costume choice.

Why on earth, out of everyone and everything he could have chosen to be, he picked fucking ghost face? Maybe you should cancel your plans after all cause that mask was your weakness, and it didn’t help that out of all people, he was wearing it.

“I don’t get a hi?” he pouted, but you couldn’t see because of his mask.

He frowns at your silence, and maybe he took the whole being late thing a little too far, especially cause he knew this was your favorite holiday. “Look, y/n, I’m really sorry.” he drops his head and quickly lifts it back up. “But I’ll make it up to you. I swear I will. You know I always do.”

Coming out of your lust-induced trance, you snatch up the crown from your lampstand, putting on the final touch to your costume before brushing past him at the door. You were fucking furious at him, but surprisingly this time, it wasn’t because he was late. It was because he had managed to make you fucking wet within just a few minutes of seeing him.

Thanks fucking lee heeseung.

“Your princess costume looks great, by the way,” he compliments you, nearly tripping over his own costume on the way to his car.

He goes to grab the door for you, but you brush him off and do it yourself. You weren’t trying to be mean to him, but the farther away you could be from him, the better.

Arriving at the party, you quickly enter without him getting lost in the big crowd and head straight for the kitchen to get yourself a drink or two or maybe even fucking three because of that sexy bastard of a friend of yours.

Heeseung wandered around the party for about half an hour without you, giving you some time to cool off. The party was dead without you, so he went on a very short search, finding you alone in the kitchen and dealing with your inner turmoil and the never-ending dampness in your panties. Thanks to heeseung, your whole night was ruined completely.

He sits down next to you dejectedly and awkwardly taps his foot. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am” You shift away from him, and he just scoots his chair closer and fucking finally, he lifts his mask up, but somehow that just made everything ten times worse cause for a moment, you forgot just how fucking attractive your best friend is, and now the arousal in the pit of your stomach and the constant throbbing between your legs just got increasingly worse.

“Heeseung, it’s fine. I’m not mad,” you say, attempting to get him to go back to the party and leave you to suffer alone.

“You are,” he says matter of factly.

“I’m not,” you say with a tone that definitely tells him you’re angry or at least agitated.

“Y/n,” he whines. “What can I do?” He turns to you, looking at you with all seriousness, yet you can’t focus cause all you want is for him to bend you over the sink in the nearest bathroom and fuck you from behind while you both watch the sinful act you commit.

“Nothing,” you say and get up to leave, but he quickly grabs your wrist softly, pulling you to sit back down next to him.

“Come on, don’t try and play me. There’s definitely something you want, and I promise I’ll do it just so you won’t be mad at me anymore,” he pleads with you desperately. If there’s one thing your best friend hated, it was you being angry or upset with him.

“It’s really okay, hee.” you try to leave, but your feet stay glued to the ground cause his offer would get you exactly what you’ve wanted all night, but you couldn’t do that just to fulfill a fantasy of yours. He was still your friend at the end of the day, and friends don’t do all the things you wanted him to do to you and vice versa.

“You sure?” I’ll really do anything you ask.” he was really making this so hard, but you tried to stay strong for however long that would be.

“Yes, hee, just dance with me.”

So dancing was probably the worst idea mainly because every time he’d ask you something, he’d have to lean in and say it in your ear, and it didn’t help how deep and breathy his voice sounded with that mask on, not to mention he was a little bit more touchy with you tonight or maybe it just felt that way cause how turned on you were that his slightest touch could make you wet.

“Y/n, you’re not okay,” he sighed and dragged you back to the kitchen. You were barely even dancing, and you were completely zoned out. Every single last one of his questions fell on deaf ears.

“You’re right, hee I’m not okay, let’s just go home.” If you didn’t get out of there, you were one thousand percent sure you’d do something you’d regret in the morning, and there was not even close to being enough alcohol in either of your systems to blame your stupidity on.

“No! We can’t leave. You’ve been waiting all year for this. Are you crazy?!” You know, one thing that made you fall for heeseung was his consideration for you, but right now, you despised him for it. “There’s gotta be something I can do” There he goes back to that shit and you know what? That was the last straw you gave in. You couldn’t help it. The way his hand felt in yours, the wetness in your underwear, and the mask was all too much.

“Fine, you wanna know what you can do?” He nodded eagerly, and you could tell that he had that stupid little excited smile that you loved so much on his face from the way he nodded his head so enthusiastically. “You can take me to that empty bathroom over there, bend me over the sink fuck me senseless while you make me watch, all while wearing your costume.”

You hated that he was wearing a mask even more now because you couldn’t see his face, and you couldn’t tell if he was judging you or disgusted by your filthy request but judging by how quickly he gripped your hand and led you to the bathroom you assumed he must have been down with the idea too even though you were expecting him to say no.

As soon as he heard what you said and it registered, his eyes darkened with lust, and truth be fucking told, he can’t say he didn’t fantasize about fucking you like this one too many times during his late-night jerking-off sessions.

What can he say? He was kinky, and to his luck you were, too.

He quickly locked the door, creeping up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder while he caged you between the sink and his firm body.

You were already burning with excitement. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this impatient for anything in your whole entire life. Not even Halloween night made you this excited, and that was saying a lot cause it was your favorite holiday.

He was just as impatient as you, and even though your guy's first time together was gonna be like this in some janky bathroom with a flickering light, neither of you could wait. It’s been years of pent-up longing and desire for each other, and this moment was not going to go to waste.

Pressing down on the small of your back, he bent you over the sink just how you wanted it. Gripping onto the sink to stable yourself, you could already feel his hardened bulge on your ass, making you whine in anticipation.

He placed his hands over yours, rutting his hard-on against your butt teasingly.

“Hee-“ he spanked your ass hard before you could even beg him to do anything to you. He slipped his hands under your dress, yanking down your panties and hiking up your little princess dress revealing the absolute obscene amount of leak dripping from your hole.

“Fuck baby, how long have you been like this? You’re fucking dripping” he gathers the string of wetness from your hole with his index finger, pressing it against your core and pushing it back in with his digit, fucking it into you nice and slowly.

“S-since y-you came over,” you admit shamelessly as you watch him stare at your wet pussy in the mirror while he fingers you.

“Shit, princess, should have told me sooner” Your eyes roll in your head at the sound of his voice filling your ears, and that alone makes you clench around him like a needy whore. “Want another?” He asks, seeing you take his first finger with flying colors which he expected nothing less from how fucking soaked you were for him.

“Mmh, yes, hee.” You were already gone by this point, legs shaking, and he’s barely even touched you. You felt pathetic, but you were living out your wildest fantasy with your best friend, who you also have a crush on, and you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Obliging your request, he took out his first finger and added his two middle digits, pumping you full of his long, thick fingers.

You dropped your head down, looking between your legs and biting on your lip from the feeling. You moaned at the view of his finger fucking your pussy from the back. “Nuh uh, princess eyes up here.” he grips a handful of your hair, forcing you to look at him in the mirror. “There you go,” he says, sickeningly sweet.

With the way your water logging his fingers, he can only assume that you’re ready to take him, but for good measure, he curls his fingers up, hitting your spot over and over again til your hands turn white from gripping the sink so hard. “Hee I’m gonna cum!” You moan lewdly as his finger pads fuck your spongy walls.

“Cum princess, know you been wanting to all night,” he grunts when your walls spasm around him, and he can’t wait to feel you gripping on his dick just like that. “So fucking beautiful,” he says while ruining your glossy cunt until your whole body is shaking in absolute pleasure.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You squeak, eyes rolling into your head as the sight of him behind you makes you lose your fucking mind.

He chuckles darkly, loving the way you’re so turned on that you couldn’t care less about how absolutely fucking shameless you look right now, desperately rocking back on him to feel every inch of his fingers inside you.

He bends down to whisper in your ear, barely even giving you time to finish creaming his fingers. “Want me to fuck you now, my pretty little princess?”

“Yes!” You scream in desperation, walls clenching harshly around his fingers as your first orgasm withers away.

“Fuck” he grits through his teeth, releasing his grip on you and standing upright to pull his jeans down in a needy manner.

He pulls down his underwear clothes pulling around his feet as he slots his cock between your ass cheeks, hissing from the minimal contact.

You nearly choked on your spit when you felt his hot length on your ass, and you already knew he was huge. It was shameless of you, but you looked at your friend's dick print one too many times. “Put it in, hee, please fuck me!”

“As you wish,” he grabs the base of his girth, his thick cock head splitting you right in two as his precum stains your entrance and your tight walls. “Fuck princess, so fucking needy and wet for my cock” he grunts, setting a rough pace from the start, his hips smacking against yours every time he brims you over.

“Fuck yes,” you sigh in pleasure as his shaft relieves that aching tension in your walls that you felt for the last hour.

“Feels good?” You try to answer him, but you can’t stop moaning, and you’re thankful the music outside was so loud. Otherwise, the whole party would know that you’re getting railed in the bathroom by your best friend in a ghost face costume. “Look at you,” he looms over you, cheek pressed against yours as he pants over and over again fucking into your tight wet cunt. “So needy for my fucking cock” he groaned, moving his hand from your hip to press you into his body, sneaking his other hand up to your throat, adding slight pressure.

You choked slightly, eyes going crossed as your mouth hung open, drool spilling past your swollen, bitten lips as he drilled you from the back, his thick tip hitting you in all the right spots. “Fuck hee, love your cock so much. Feels so fucking good” You gasp for air as you continue to babble out downright filthy sentences that make his cock twitch.

“Like my cock fucking you deep, your little cunt has been craving it, yeah? Just been hungry for me all night” he pulled back a bit to give you one hard thrust sending you forward on the sink, your princess crown hanging on for dear life as he fucked you completely senseless.

“Y-yes hee s-seung fuck!” His hold is the only thing that kept you upright cause your legs had turned to mush the moment he started fucking you.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” He whimpers beside your head. “W-where do you want it?”

“Inside!” You beg.

You didn’t even have to tell him twice. “Fuck y/n, please cum on my cock fuck!” he reached around, rubbing your swollen clit tipping you over the edge nearly right away. “That’s it, cream on this fucking dick.”

“Oh, heeseung fuck!” You lose all your strength In your body as he holds you up fucking you like a rag doll beating your cunt with his cock til you’re screaming his name so loud that someone’s almost bound to hear.

“Want my cum, y/n?” He asks, snapping his hips against your ass roughly.

“Yes,” you cry out, eyes trained on him in the mirror as he tightens the hold around your neck, nearly making you pass out from the many different sensations you were feeling.

“Yeah? Princess, take my cum” he moans, pressing you against the counter as his hips stutter, and he sloppily gives you the best back shots you’ve ever taken as he fills up your spent cunt with his cream pumping you full of thick hot spurts, of cum. “Fuck!” He curses as he gets another orgasm from you, and you lock his cock in your tight clenching pussy, taking every last drop of his leak.

“Fuck yes, heeseung! Yes, yes, yes,” you chant over and over again, his cock still restlessly destroying your walls until the end of your orgasms.

He leans down over you, panting breathlessly, trying not to pass out from the pleasure and lack of oxygen due to the mask he was wearing. “Hmm,” he gulps and gives your hips a little squeeze before propping himself up.

He pulls out and makes a mess everywhere, and by the look of your worn-out state, he takes it upon himself to turn you around and lift you up on the counter to clean you up.

“You feeling ok? That was really something.” he chuckles and finally takes off his mask, face flushed , hair messy, and neck covered in large amounts of sweat.

You smile at him in satisfaction, nodding your head despite feeling like you were going to pass out and your legs feeling like jelly. You were doing good. “Yeah, I’m good you?”

“So good.” he smiles at you and gives you a wink.

After you both were all cleaned up, neither of you really knew what to do now that you weren’t driven by a little thing called lust.

You were going to just leave, but he spoke up first. “So,” he chewed on his lip nervously. “Uhh,” he cleared his dry throat. “Would you have still.. you know, umm, done it without the mask?” He blushed. “Like just with me?”

If this was his way of trying to ask if you liked him back, it was absolutely adorable. “Hmm, sure!” You answer enthusiastically.

“Really?!” His head jolts up, and you swear you see little stars in his eyes. “I- I mean,” he clears his throat yet again. “That’s cool,” he says awkwardly. “Maybe sometime in the future, we could do it again?” His eyes go wide when he realizes how wrong that came out. “Like not just like this, but maybe if you let me, we could go on a few dates, and then we could see where that takes us.”

“Heeseung?” You ask with a smile.

“Yes?” He visibly gulps.

“Are you asking me on a date?” You tease.

“Maybe” his lips curve up into a small smile.

“So if I said yes, would it be a date then or just maybe a date?” You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“A date! Yeah, definitely a date,” he chuckles.

“Well then, Ghostface,” you say and pull his mask back down over his face. “Yes, you can take me on a date and we’ll see where it takes us.” you take his hand, leading him outside the bathroom, maybe when the party’s over, and he drops you back at home, you’ll go for a round two, but this time without the mask.

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen hyung line #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen scenarios #heeseung fluff

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hungharrington · 1 year

Text

☁ — sweet talk !

summary: you're interested in your boyfriend's history- well, more like what he used to do that made the stories about king steve in bed spread like wildfire during school. you find out for yourself. fem!reader. 2k. minors DNI

Look, you love your regular ol’ Steve. Stevie. Steeb. He’s a sweetheart through and through — holds the door for you, holds your hand, gives kisses on your cheek, in your hair.

He’s a generous lover. Knows each little thing that makes you tick and just gives and gives to you. Answers your whimpers for more with a deeper grind of his hips, holds your hand as he buries his face between your thighs. He’s a giver.

But a small part of you, just a small part, has always wondered about King Steve.

You don’t want his sneering jabs and aloof disinterest — no, that’s all very much better off left in the past.

But the stories, the stories of how he left girls’ heads spinning, of the filthy fucks at bathrooms, all teasing and cocky King Steve, panty dropper.

You’re just a little bit— alright, marginally interested. Maybe decently interested.

So, you ask. It’s one of those games Steve likes to play sometimes at parties, the two of you begin as though you’re strangers. You’ll act coy, leaned against a wall with a low-cut shirt and a tight skirt and Steve puts on the moves.

It’s always the same stuff and it always makes you nervously giggle. A hand rested above your head against the wall so he can lean in low, whisper in your ear, something cheesy like, “I saw you from across the room and thought you looked so sexy,” that never fails to make you both break, spilling into laughter.

It’s one of the song and dances you two do, flirting like it’s your first time time meeting to keep things fresh. But tonight, when he cages you against the kitchen counter, hands planted on either side and he’s leaning in close, showering you compliments— you ask.

Your fingers tuck into his collar, keep him close, keep his lips ghosting the shell of your ear and whisper to him. “And what would King Steve say?”

You turn, just enough to see his face. The flush that climbs his cheeks as he considers it is glorious to see, but too his credit, he remains cool.

Steve’s eyes darken, rake over your expression and finds what he’s searching for. One of the hands on the counter shifts to cup your waist, dragging his thumb over the exposed skin tantalisingly.

“He would ask what colour your panties are,” Steve murmurs in your ear, voice somehow lower than before. The gravel in his tone shoots straight to your core. “And then ask you to prove it, in the bathroom.”

Before you even get a moment, his thumb dips into the waistband of your skirt, just an inch — and you suck in a breath instinctively. Steve chuckles and it has a condescending lilt to it. You’re nearly ashamed of how much it turns you on.

“So,” you reply, more breathy than intended. “Are you gonna take me to the bathroom then?”

Steve’s eyes light up and a pleased smirk plays on his lips — his hands wandering further from your waist, over your ass, toying with the edge of your skirt.

“Pretty girl like you?” He hums, the air of cockiness you know is King Steve beginning to take over. “No way, baby. I’d have you in the car.”

The way he says it, like he knows he’s already got you wrapped around his finger has heat crawling in your tummy, thighs squirming just a bit. The party is all but abandoned and you have to try your best to not look too eager on your way out. Steve’s wandering hand, which follows a line straight from your tummy down your thigh, doesn’t help in the least.

His hand is glued to your thigh, the entire drive home, the sweet caress of his thumb driving you crazy. Worse, Steve knows it — he takes his eyes off the empty road to watch your expression when he grazes closer to your hot cunt. Laughs a bit at the flutter of your lashes, the shuddering breath you take.

“Y’gonna let me fuck you properly when we back?” He asks, all smug, rolling his head in your direction. He doesn’t even give you time to respond, not that you can think of words at the moment.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” He hums, his other hand draped lazily over the wheel. He squeezes your thigh, some murmur of ‘being good’ you can’t quite catch.

Despite his cool composure, you can the effect this whole act is having on him. His hips shift upwards for a moment, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. It thrills you more to know you’re both getting off on it.

You don’t make it inside once Steve kills the car’s ignition, parked in the shadow of his house. It’s dark out, a few streetlights here and there, but just light enough to see Steve. He smiles at the way you turn to him, looking for what’s happening next.

He puts his seat back just a bit, backing away from the wheel, and beckons you over. It’s an awkward clamber and when your knee knocks the gear stick and you whisper an “Ow”, only then does Steve break character for a moment.

“Shit, honey, y’alright?” He asks, pulling you into his lap, one hand travelling to your knee instantly. He gives a comforting rub. Concern knits his brows together. It hurts, but barely. You smirk and wind you arms around his neck.

“Wow, who knew King Steve was such a sweetheart.” You tease. You sink down, settling atop his thighs, and move to grind down against him but Steve’s hands are faster. His hands grip your hips, holding them tight in place, and you whine in retaliation before you think.

Steve huffs that cocky laugh, squeezes the flesh of your thighs, pawing back to grab at your ass. “Too needy, aren’t you? You’ll just have to wait, mhm.”

Then his lips are on your skin, on your neck, sucking and scraping. Steve knows all your sensitive spots, the way to play with your lobe to make you slick and whimper aloud. He’s merciless, nibbles and licks that make your tummy burn tighter and hotter — your hips move against his hold automatically, beginning to get desperate for friction.

“Stevie…” You rasp after a couple minutes. The air is just your heavy pants, Steve’s fervent motions, the sound of his hands scraping across the fabric of your clothes. His hands cup your ass, move to under your thighs, and he curls his fingers around the edge of your skirt and tugs it up just a bit.

“I know, baby.” He coos against your skin. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You groan aloud softly, all his words travelling right to your cunt with a throb. You nod instantly, hoping, praying he’ll give you more. That he’ll let you kiss him.

“Let me have a kiss,” You pout, fingers curling into his hair, ready to tug his face up. Steve smiles at your words, despite his act, but he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t even move his face out. Just mumbles, “Nuh uh, baby. Not yet.” against your neck, breath hot, just to draw it all out.

While you still have a single coherent thought, you consider this the main difference between your Steve and this King Steve. King Steve is a fucking tease.

Your hips shift again, feeling his hardness beneath you. The desperation for some relief is building but Steve’s hands are already firm, holding you in place. He pulls back this time and fuck, if it isn’t a beautiful sight.

Lips pink and sheened with spit, cheeks a tad pink, eyes half-lidded in his lazy motions.

“Baby,” he begins, an annoyed drawl to his voice. “I’m taking care of you, yeah? Wait your turn.”

And before there room for protest, he’s back on you, lips pulling out every single sound from you he can. His hands move up to grope at your boobs, his fingers pinching at your nipples to make you whimper, then massaging it into pleasure to make you sigh. Your neck must be littered in hickies by this point.

It’s heaven. It’s torture. You grip his hair tighter as he works at a spot below your ear that forces little mewls out your throat and you try to contain your hips.

As Steve’s hands work downward, tracing the crease of your thighs inwards, you shudder and lean forward into him. Your forehead presses against his shoulder, still exposing your neck, and you can’t help how good it feels, you go a bit slack. Steve notices in a moment.

“Mmm, there you go.” He hums, voice low and still coated in smugness. “That’s it, just like that, huh?”

The dirty talk is making your head spin, making your cunt throb in want, your nipples tighten. You know the moment Steve’s fingers delve under your skirt, he’ll find a wet patch of slick.

His hands, however teasing, don’t venture under your skirt — and instead, he grips your hips again. This time, he pulls you closer and down, grinding up against at the same time. The pleasure burns hot and you moan lightly, fingers clenching in Steve’s hair and you find yourself chasing another grind instantly.

Steve doesn’t let you, hips still holding you in place. He sets the pace, a slow back and forth grind that pulls filthy noises from you. “That’s it, huh baby? That’s what you need, isn’t it? Taking what I give you, so good.”

His low voice, dripping in smugness, makes it hotter. Just a little mean. You force yourself to tug your head up, wanting more friction against him.

Despite the hardness in his jeans giving him away, he’s the most collected you’ve ever seen him for the situation. Eyes half-lidded, pink lips curled into a smirk, like he’s just observing you, not even partaking.

It’s all apart of King Steve; he gets you all hot and bothered, chest heaving and nails digging into his skin, while he looks cool as a cucumber. You let out a pathetic sounding noise, hips bucking against his hold.

“Oh, baby,” he crows, all faux-sympathetic, like he’s not grinding back up at you in that moment to make you mewl. Finally, one of his hands shift, pushing the fabric of your skirt up you thighs. Steve’s eyes gleam at the sight- sticky panties that are every bit of evidence of your arousal.

“Look at you,” He murmurs. You fight back every noise building in your throat, but they melt out when his thumb comes down to rub you through your panties. It’s a soft touch, a gentle stroke that’s nowhere near enough for you. Definitely on purpose.

You whine, arching against him and try to press forward, asking silently for more, more more. To your surprise, Steve doesn’t tease you, doesn’t draw this part out. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing firm circles that he knows makes you fall apart — and your resounding moan is much louder than you’re expecting, barely managing to muffle it into his shoulder.

Steve chuckles at it, doesn’t let up his pace, adoring how your hips twitch against his touch — you want more and yet, this feels like so much. You feel delirious, feel flushed in every part of your body, feel your hole clench around nothing and whine aloud because of it.

“Too much f’you?” He asks cockily. “We haven’t even made it inside yet, baby. How are you gonna handle it then, hmm?”

How indeed.

now with a part two here.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader smut #steve x reader #smut #stranger things smut #stranger things #howdy! <3 first post tehe #jay writes

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cupcakeinat0r · 29 days

Text

A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

pt. 4

After seeing you flirt with that other student, Miguel went back home to his penthouse with a mixture of emotions.

First, he felt angry, and on multiple occasions. For starters, he was upset to see you smile for someone else. He wanted to make you smile like that.

Then he got even more mad that he's mad about that. It was so childish. There shouldn’t be anything between you guys anyway. Buying you things and hugging you and giving you pet names and head messages was already pushing it to the very edge.

Then he was confused. Miguel was starting to think maybe you liked him in that way, too. Was it all just platonic to you? Was it the way he looked? Did he do something wrong?

His heart drops at the thought that maybe he made you feel uncomfortable, or worse, unsafe. Feelings of concern cloud his mind making him toss and turn in bed.

This thought alone was more than enough proof to him that he needs to start treating you like what you are: his student.

That next morning, y’all had class. You scurried in at your usual 2-5 min late mark, Miguel’s eyes reluctantly following you. You sat down and smiled at him, but you weren’t met with your usual sweet, adorable professor's smile. Instead, you just get a surly glare before he starts the lesson.

The whole lecture, Miguel is using every fiber of his being to not look over at you, because he knows that if he does, he’ll fall for you all over again.

When you ask him for help, he doesn’t get as close as he used to, keeping his manly musk away from you.

When you raise your hand to answer a question, you’re not his first pick.

When you leave little treats for him on his desk, he doesn't even touch them or acknowledge them.

And when you leave class and say “Bye, Professor O’Hara! Thank you for class today!”, there’s no more “ Thank you, Mama.” No “Sweetheart”. Not even “hun”. Just “bye”.

It would be like this for about a week, treating you the way he treats the rest of his students. Miguel’s heart was breaking, but this was for the best. For the both of you. You could get anyone you wanted, and he shouldn’t put his job on the line. Besides, you seemed to be very happy with this new guy. Miguel truly believed that he didn’t deserve you anyway.

You were so confused. It was like two different people. Like night and day. You wanted answers. Luckily, y’alls tutoring session was coming up.

You knocked on his office door to be met with an indifferent man. He opens the door with no greeting, completely dismissing you as he lets you in. No gift in sight, though you were expecting that given his drastic change in behavior.

You set your bag down and sit at your seat, Miguel giving you a paper filled with practice formulas for the final. Without even looking at you, he sits at his desk and does something he never did: tend to his own work.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise, finish those formulas and you’re good for the day.” He doesn’t even look at you when saying this, his words slightly muffled as he spoke into his hand.

Everything felt so off, it was making you want to cry.

“Professor O’Hara… are you okay?” There’s genuine concern in your voice, but his gaze doesn’t leave his paper.

“I’m fine. The formulas, please.” This is the driest you’ve ever seen him.

“You-you sure?” All you get is a tired sigh from him before he, without lifting his gaze still, uses his pointer finger to tap on the paper before you.

Not wanting to anger him, you start the practice. It’s dead silent in the office. The air feels stale. Did the lights in here always feel this clinical?

“There. I’m Finished. May you check them, please?” You ask softly, still hopeful that he’ll somehow be normal again, only to be disappointed again.

He finally peels his eyes from his own work and onto yours, his eyes quickly skimming through your paper.

“Good. You can go now.” He mutters in a monotone voice, and back to his papers he goes.

“Professor O’Hara… are you sure you’re okay, you seem… off.” You ask one last time.

“Like I said, I’m fine. It’s none of your concern, anyway. See you tomorrow for class, and don’t be late.” The venom in his voice makes you wince. You could cry right here right now.

“Did… I do something wrong?” You feel a ball form in your throat. It's when he hears your voice crack when he finally lifts his head and looks at you for the first time in a while.

Sitting in front of him just across the desk is his one weakness. He sees worry, sadness, and confusion on your face, immediately wanting to get up from his seat to take you in his arms and tell you that you can do no wrong and that you’re perfect. All he wants to do is comfort you in this moment, but he can’t do it in the way he wants to. He promised himself he'd distance himself. Partially to save his job but more so that he would prevent heartbreak.

The welling in your eyes only makes it 10x harder.

“Mama-“ the pet name slips and he instantly catches himself. He takes it back by substituting it for something more professional: your first name.

“… of course you didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is fine.” Miguel struggles to maintain his stoic front, but nonetheless still manages to keep it up, making sure you don’t know his true desire.

“Things are not fine.” You snap back. This makes Miguel look up at you from the papers in his hands.

“You don’t say hi to me when I come to class, you don’t look at me during lectures, in fact, you never look at me even when I’m talking to you, and now you’ve started calling me by my actual name… something’s wrong, so please, tell me.” You plead, inching closer to his desk.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m your professor. Besides,” he looks down at his paper again since looking at your pout was becoming unbearable, “I’m sure you’d prefer attention from someone else.” He adds, but this time, there’s actual emotion behind those words. Up until now, he has been incredibly bland, but that last statement was lined with something… like jealousy.

You started thinking. You began to connect the dots.

The only thing that had changed in the past few days was the new transfer in the class.

You had gotten along with him very well, even sitting next to each other every class and leaving together.

It clicked.

“Professor O’Hara… I’d say you’re jealous.” Your pout grew into a cheeky smile, seeing right through Miguel now.

His eyes widen, shooting you an appalled look.

“Well, I’d say you’re sadly mistaken. That’s a ridiculous accusation.” You knew you won when he got defensive. He tries to play it off by retreating to his paper again, but it’s pretty evident you stroke a nerve. His fist clenched around the poor ink pen in his hand.

“Oh my God… you’re totally jealous.” You’re completely smiling now, holding back a giggle since you didn’t want to ridicule Miguel to his face. But you had to admit, it was cute.

“And who could I possibly be jealous of, hm? Enlighten me.” He looks up at you through his glasses, the fine line along his brow creasing as he raises it.

“Well, the transfer, of course! How did I not realize!” You allow a chuckle to slip as you confront Miguel.

Miguel responds with silence, cowering back to ungraded papers.

“Awwwww, Professor O’Hara… he’s gay.”

You laugh as you say this. Miguel stops writing to look at you again, his gaze finally softening with small glints of hope.

“… he is?” He asks softly, his hard facade thrown away at last. There he is. There’s that big, soft, kind loser you knew.

“Yes! He’s as straight as a circle!” You chuckle some more. Miguel furrows his brows as he tries to make sense of the situation.

“But you two are always so… touchy. I just assumed that… ” You roll your eyes at Miguel’s oblivion. He’s so cute.

“Oh my goodness, that’s normal! He’s like one of the girls! We're just best friends.” Miguel’s shoulders seem to relax as he sits in relief. His lips begin to curl. He’s not sure if he’s smiling because now he knows you aren’t interested in that guy or because he’s making you smile and laugh.

“Well then, that’s- that’s good to know, mama… because, you know,” he clears his throat, “I wouldn’t want anyone to bother you, is all.” He lies. He looks back down at his paper to hide his growing smile. He shouldn’t be this happy about a student’s lack of a romantic interest.

You break into a fit of giggles at it all, shaking your head as you make your way around his desk, “oh, Professor O’Hara, you’re honestly too cute…” Miguel sees you coming in the corner of his eye, assuming you’re going in for a hug, but instead, you bend down to press a tender kiss on his sculpted cheekbone, pulling back with a soft mmmmmmmmmwah!, The small smack! Of your glossy lips making him look up at you with hooded eyes.

Miguel can feel his face warm up, a tingly sensation taking root at his cheek and spreading to the rest of his body. Miguel is in the clouds, looking up at you as if you were an angel that descended from the heavens (to him, you are). It took every bit of restraint to not pounce and absolutely smother you in sloppy kisses. Not yet.

You reveled in your successful advance, smiling down at him as you twirled one of his small curls at the back of his head. He looked absolutely adorable like this. The lipstick stain on his cheek makes you chuckle. It was a little funny; you had this man, twice your size who wore a scowl the majority of the time, absolutely hypnotized. You lean against his leather chair, your elbow resting on its shoulder. You speak sweetly, cocking your head to the side.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?” He slowly nods, still in a daze with the lipstick stain on his cheek. You go to fix his glasses, pushing them back up to their respective spot on the bridge of his nose.

“Mkay, good. Have a nice evening then, Professor, and get some well-deserved sleep, kay? Thank you for helping me. You’re the best, as always.” You trail back to your bag and start to leave, practically skipping.

He can feel his dick twitch under the tight fabric of his pants with each praise and sway of your hips. It’s like you've put him in a trance. He's completely forgotten why he was mad or sad in the first place.

Of course, you wanted to kiss him on the lips, but you don’t wanna go too fast, either. You didn’t want to seem easy, but it was so damn difficult not to with those plump lips of his. Then your eyes went to other places, like his meaty thighs and the way his stomach spilled out of his khakis, his hard cock print just below his pudge leaving very little to imagination.

“Oh, and please,” Miguel shakes out of the fog, “It’s ‘Miguel’, mamita.” He smiles at you.

You smile back at him and wave goodbye, “See you later, Miguel.” His name in your mouth sounds like a siren song. You strut out of his office with the new knowledge of your professor’s infatuation with you. This whole time, you assumed he was just a really nice teacher. You didn’t think your feelings would actually be requited.

So that’s why he bought you all those clothes and gave you head messages!

And he definitely is fucking his hand in his office after that kiss! Isn't he just dreamy ?!?!?!?

< 3

The next morning, after class, you helped Professor Miguel clean up by wiping the boards for him. He was at the desk, piles upon piles of ungraded and unread papers awaiting his review.

You watched him, hunched over his desk, brows knitted, and looking stressed out of his mind.

"Miguel," he immediately perks up at your sweet voice.

"You aren't gonna do all that by yourself, are you?" You get closer to his desk.

Miguel chuckles and sighs as he looks at the comically tall pile he has to work on, "Have been for 5 years, mama. Now, you're not gonna volunteer yourself, are you?" He playfully mocks you, but he isn't really joking.

"Of course I am! There's no need to do all this by yourself. You work yourself too hard, Miguel." you start sectioning off a thick bundle of papers, but Miguel waves his hand in refusal before placing it on yours, "No, mama, thank you, but I can manage on my own-" you lightly slap off his hand.

"I am not asking. I will help you. I want to." You divide the pile into two, then pull up a chair next to him.

"Mamita, porfa, va ja. It's getting late and this takes hours. no quiero que tu camine a ete hora." He persuades softly as he lays his beefy arm across the back of your chair, making circles on your shoulder with his thumb.

"Well then, we better get started." You say with a pen already in hand and your first research paper in front of you.

Miguel responds with a deep chuckle in his throat, starting on his own pile seeing that he doesn't have a choice. He softly smiles, stealing a glance at you from time to time. He's just happy to be with his favorite person. His girl.

A/N: Yippie! A kiss! It's on the cheek, but still, it’s a step forward!! Finally! I hope you all enjoyed it!!! n tysm for all the love on this series < 3 I didn't think I'd stretch this out as much as I am pero liiiiiike he's all I think abt ur honor!!!

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae !!

Tags < 3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @pomakori @rxckstarss @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @kaidxra @farrowroyale @pigeonmama @exactlyyoungchaos @fayeofthenightingale @s4dow @hartsucks @amberbalcom14 @ce3stvu @helen-j-magnus @tatooieve @wait2nourh @angzlo @stargirrls @hyjionie @stargirrls @walmaerts @bammzyboomy

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hoseoksluna · 30 days

Text

MIST | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.3k

summary: one encounter with jungkook makes you forget about your boyfriend.

playlist: mist / pinterest board: mist

warnings: the unfolding of polyamory, provocation, cuckold kink, cum eating, oc and yoongi fight, use of vulgar names, mentions of female masturbation, punishment, spanking, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, nipple play, disobedience, use of a sex toy, multiple orgasms, yoongi isn't comfortable with a certain sexual practice at first, spit kink, oc feels pain and likes it

note: it's here, you guys oh my god. this is part two of STEAM. i thought this would have only two parts, but when i got to the end, it was evident that it needs another one. i worked hard on this, guys. if you haven't read my little updates, i was literally sick today and threw up my breakfast, but i still somehow managed to get this writing done, so make sure you let me know how much you love this, hate this, what you expect and what you're feeling. pls!!! my inbox is open for you always x enjoy reading, love you all. ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

side note: HOBI'S NEW ALBUM IS OUT SLDKFJSDLFJSFJSLDF.

The night is feverish.

So much that small pearls of its perspiration settle over the arc of your hand, between your thumb and your index, peeking from beneath the enfolding of your crossed legs. It’s as if the darkened heavens were hot and bothered while eavesdropping on the conversation you’re having with the two males sitting by the table, one right next to you and the other across from you. Even the clouds have halted their drift and the stars… they haven’t dared to blink, focused entirely on the question slipping from the mouth of the male you’ve known the least amount of time.

Is this gonna be a one time thing?

You will your mind to be empty, for if you allow yourself to think about it, your answer is as clear as the flare of those lights above. And you don’t want to voice out how much you like the idea of the sex being continual in fear of being turned down, in fear of Jungkook wanting this to be a one night only matter. What’s worse, you’re terrified of awakening Yoongi’s wrath. You believe the wine in your hand is the only bitterness you can manage to swallow.

Oh.

You chuckle.

A mist blankets your shoulders, the softest of summer drizzles. A briskness that steals your attention from the double meaning swarming in your brain. But when you lift your eyes to welcome in the small rain, it’s Jungkook’s gaze that you meet. Dark eyelashes, heavied down by the weight of the half-drunk bottle of red that you and him have been drinking. An ivory swirl of brightness glossing over dilated pupils, fixated on you. On your own blurry left eye, the sheen of your mouth, past your neck to the shimmery glow of your collarbones and your right eye. The coldness of the mist thickens, yet it’s not the reason behind your gooseflesh. No, it’s quite far from it.

What roughens your skin is that very intentional stare. The slight narrowness to his once perpetually round eyes as he, for a mere second, shifts his gaze from your boyfriend back to you, adamantly expecting a response, one you refuse to have. It’s such a stark change to his countenance that, besides being stirred by it, you’re completely in awe of it. The smooth forehead, the slightly raised brow and smug mouth, now adorned with a lip ring that wasn’t there before. You don’t find the good man with purity in his eyes that, days ago, made a ruckus out of your life sitting before you, but someone else entirely.

A man, whose arousal emanates out of him like fragrance, seeping into your fresh mango scent scattered along the perimeters of your skin.

A man, like Yoongi had predicted, came to you like a puppy through him, asking you out for dinner.

Horny puppy. You squeeze your legs, hiding your faint smile behind the rim of your wine glass, tilting the carmine nectar into your mouth. Jungkook examines the bobble of your throat, the dart of your tongue as the muscle drifts across the rosy brownness of your bottom lip and you’re heedful of it—a moonlight personified, the mist around you like the clouds clinging to that planetary body.

Jungkook calls you by your name. “What’s funny?”

A momentary stillness. You thought your soft laughter was unheard. Your brain goes empty, mouth parts, the entirety of your vocabulary vanishes—

“I think that’s something we decide after the night is over,” Yoongi answers Jungkook’s question lowly, propping a strong palm on the cloth of the table. The wet breeze dampens his hair, leaves a glow to his pale face. You wonder how he feels—if he’s still as okay with it as he was while fucking the life out of you—if he’s now, perhaps, facing some internal doubts that you know nothing of, that he hides beneath his words. “A collective decision.”

He looks at you and beams at you with a tight-lipped smile. An expression that conveys that he wants this for you. You let out a sigh of relief, placing your hand on top of his and Yoongi makes a space for your fingers to fold in between his. Like he always does when he’s giving you backshots.

A gooseflesh changed for hot flashes. You become the night, its fever thudding inside your lit skin. A familiar ache begins to grow in between your legs, demanding it. As if Jungkook’s lustful expression and energy wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to remind you of something so intimate.

You want both of them—right now.

Jungkook’s gape falls on your intertwined hands. Lover’s grasp. You note recognition, and perhaps a flashback, pulses with a dimmed light for a mere heartbeat in his eyes. It worsens your ache and, like Yoongi’s hair, you feel your panties dampen under your dress. You squeeze your thighs one more time before you untangle your legs, your heels clanging on the concrete, your knee bumping into Jungkook’s.

So close to him, yet so far away.

You let yourself dream about how he fucks. Rough strokes, those muscled thighs straddling you—

“You agree with this?”

A question from him directed towards you. Your throat dries up, dizzy from being pulled back to Earth. You take a long sip of your wine, but it doesn’t help your state. On the contrary, the buzz of the alcohol makes you tremble all over, intensifying your lightheadedness. You want to be fucked. Multiple times. Until you can’t walk.

You wet your lips. “Of course,” you say, squeezing Yoongi’s fingers once, twice, letting him know through your own version of Morse code how horny you’re becoming, hoping he gets the memo. “It’s smart. If we made the decision now, who’s to say you won’t get sick of me?”

Your response hurt you and you cringe, regretting your words. Your knuckles turn white, the breeze brushes through your hair and you relax your hold. Let out a hard breath.

If he got sick of you after fucking you, you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life. Move out to a cave, far from civilization, so no one would see you ever again.

Jungkook raises his brows, shaking his head. The smug smile on his lips remains, as if sewn into his skin. You wish you could wipe it away and straddle him right here in front of everyone—

“Sweetheart, don’t think that. I won’t get sick of you.” He toys with the foot of his wine glass, fingers moving it in slow circles as though he was—

Such a fucking tease.

Your clit throbs. You won’t think that, all right. You’ll keep your mind empty and stupid just for him.

You watch the movement of his digits, smiling slyly. The night rushes within you and, mentally, you wrap a collar around your neck in order to stop yourself from crawling across the table and taking a seat on his lap. A yearning forms. A yearning to feel the semi you know full well he’s sporting in his pants. You bite your lip, squeezing Yoongi’s hand again. He merely chuckles, aware of what the pair of you is doing and it’s too much for you.

You need a dick rearranging your guts. Right now.

Perhaps, two.

You stifle a groan.

“Tell you what. I have a cabin out in the mountains. With toys,” Jungkook says and you widen your eyes, his deep voice fraternizing with the night in you. Toys as in…? “An hour away from here. I can show you there how much I’m willing to not get sick of you.”

Yoongi’s chuckle amplifies and you’re struck. Fucked up. Your cunt drools, ruining your panties. Your cheeks flush. Feverish, beyond feverish—you’re on fire. Your breathing gains speed and fuck. Toys?

You have no thoughts. All that your brain is filled with is dick. Two dicks.

Yoongi lifts his hand, unsnarling your intertwinement, and he sneaks it beneath your dress. His fingers feel up the drenched material of your underwear and hums. You reckon he already expected to find you wet and his sound of approval coaxes more of your dewiness to try and come into contact with him, but to your dismay and his, the fabric stands in the way.

For two beats of time, Yoongi puts pressure on your clit as he feels up more of you and, faintly, so no one hears, you mewl, hiding your face beneath your palm. You swallow your whine for more, instead you sigh, camouflaging your moment of weakness. Bury your gaze into Yoongi’s, silently pleading him to take you home.

Yoongi only smirks down at you before he faces Jungkook. “She’s wet. I think it’s safe to say she’d like that.”

You slap his arm and Yoongi takes his hand away. The men laugh and you feel terrible, but not for long. You decide to take charge of the energy.

“What kind of toys?” You will your voice to be confident and it’s only a split of it that comes out. You don’t mind—it’s enough because it silences their laughter, seriousness taking place instead.

Jungkook licks his lips, adjusting in his seat—like Yoongi during that video call—and you sense it moving through you. You also feel the need to adjust, to peel your panties away from your cunt, discomfort seizing you a little. “I’ll show you tomorrow. Or the weekend after that?” Your eyes widen in panic. No—no, you can’t wait that long. He smiles fondly at you, sensing your emotions. “Tomorrow, then.”

You sigh in relief, downing your wine, but Jungkook isn’t done with you.

“Will you pack your little red robe?”

You choke.

Amidst the chaos of the situation, you didn’t even realize he saw you. You didn’t even detect his eyes drifting that low. Thought Yoongi’s body colliding into you prevented him from seeing your intimate nighttime attire, but then you grasp that due to your shock, you might have missed that.

Jungkook’s smirk widens.

Oh, you want to say you’ll pack your little lace number that Yoongi particularly likes, along with your garters and stockings, though you opt to say something else entirely. You decide you want to steam him a tiny bit. Dominate the energy. Make him uneasy. For ulterior motives.

“Will you brush off the cobwebs on your condoms when packing or should I buy you new ones?” You quirk your brow, finger wiping away the drop of red that slipped out of the corner of your mouth. It’s all just talk—you want him to fuck you raw—a straight allusion to his loneliness that Yoongi told you about. Amused, Jungkook’s darkened eyes follow your movement.

“Will you lick that finger?”

You’re convinced your bloodstream came to a standstill. You don’t breathe, you don’t hear anything—your entire being becomes him, melding with the night, the moonlight. It’s him who now erases your brain. Yoongi touches your thigh, his fingers skimming the bare skin, but you don’t feel them. No, you pierce your gaze through Jungkook’s, penetrating right into his soul. And you simply decide that you want to own it.

So much for steaming.

“Do you want me to?” you retort, fluttering your lashes, the smile you give him as seductive as moonlight fluttering in you. You tap your finger on your bottom lip. Watch as his hand drifts somewhere beneath the table.

He taps your knee in the same, identical beat. And, instinctively, you widen your legs. Your other knee bumps into Yoongi’s thigh.

His first touch on your skin. You burn. Thank the heavens for slipping the idea inside your mind to wear a short dress. You inhale a breath in. Bite your lip, impatient for his answer. Tense your body so your trembles aren’t evident. You want to be strong, confident, despite the fact your body longs to submit to Jungkook—to be at his complete disposal, to be his, his to smooth down those quivers.

Jungkook spreads his fingers along the roundness of your knee. Caresses you once. Then, nods. “Lick it for me.”

Your heart jumps out of your chest. Right into his glass of wine. A flashback fills your brain—Yoongi saying familiar words to you on the night that perpetually changed your life. Stick it in your mouth for me. It must have rustled through his being just like it has in you. Has caused enough mayhem in him that he used those words. For me. He wants you to be naughty, be a little slut that listens to his commands—for him.

Oh, and you shall do as he asks.

Yoongi spreads an arm on the back of your chair, fingers sinking into your hair. The attention of both men, the lewdness, your wetness coating your panties, the warmth of the wine in your stomach, the night and the soft rain—you brim with life. You’re so elated that you’re sure you’re luminous.

You plunge your red-tinged finger into your mouth. Keep it open for both men to see how you swirl your tongue around the digit before you close it. You make exaggerated sucking noises, your instincts and habits telling you to roll your eyes, but you decide against them. You’re in public after all—and you don’t really want to give Jungkook the full experience. Not yet.

But then Yoongi pulls your hair and unwittingly, in a second, you moan. You shoot him a look, withdrawing your finger. He only chuckles, loosening his hold on your hair, the love in his eyes growing, mingling with joy and excitement. The sight of it calms you like still, deep waters and suddenly, you’re suffused with the desire to kiss him.

Jungkook steals your attention, however. In typical fashion.

He squeezes your knee between his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. He’s propped his elbows on his thighs and the position broadens his shoulders more, the fabric of his black linen shirt taut around his muscles. The breeze quivers his lashes, strengthening the dimness and the lustfulness in his eyes. No glint of light to be found—just an abyss, bottomless eternity, enlivened by the scent of chocolate, the color of his eyes. It doesn’t unnerve you, on the contrary it boundlessly stimulates you.

“You listen well,” he drawls, skimming his first knuckle down the smoothness of your shin before trailing back up. Gooseflesh—hard, thrilling gooseflesh. Your breath comes out choppy and you’re too transfixed by his feisty, lascivious aura to do something, anything about it. “But can you misbehave?”

Your jaw falls open. At a loss for words. Brain muddy, cunt dripping. Your vocabulary long gone, your decision to be the one who takes charge of the situation long forgotten, long erased—more like—by someone who’s proved himself to be more dominant than your own boyfriend. Your boyfriend who has made you cry multiple times during sex.

You let your trembles show. Bare, vulnerable.

Yoongi strokes your hair, nuzzling his face behind your ear, placing a singular kiss there and it grounds you. Envelops a shield of safety around you. The breeze nourishes it.

Jungkook slaps the side of your thigh softly. You gasp almost breathlessly, the impact vibrating through your body, the pulse on your clit a full drum.

“Tomorrow then. At my cabin. Bring your robe,” he mutters, hypnotizing you with his gaze and you submit to it, unreservedly. This time, he drags his palm down your shin and his warmth guides you as you extend your leg for him, propping it between his outstretched legs, on the edge of his chair. He straightens, welcoming your gesture. “No condoms, no panties. Pussy dripping, preferably.” He halts the venture of his hand at your ankle, long fingers stretching to grab a hold of the heel of your stiletto. Flicks his eyes to Yoongi. “You can either make sure she’s wet or,” he pauses, whisking his gaze back to you. “You can touch your pussy for me? How’s that?”

A carousel of dreams floods your mind and, fighting against the lodge in your throat, you voice out the one you like the most. You don’t want Yoongi to decide for you—you desire the decision to be yours, yours only. “Can I call you then?”

Jungkook quickly raises his brows, stupefied by your answer. He didn’t expect that from you, and that fact makes you giddy. Night flowers begin to bloom in you, evening primrose and chocolate daisy—his flowers. They spread their petals when he says, “of course you can. Call me from his phone.”

Ever so persistent in the game of the roleplay. You could have exchanged numbers, but no. He wants it to be from the cuck’s phone.

Yoongi grips your thigh, hard enough to make you wince. Even through your hypnosis, tipsiness and arousal, you sense that something is wrong. You turn your head to look at him and you discover that the love in his eyes, joy and excitement has gone out. Solemness has replaced it and into it, little by little, like the bottle of red Jungkook now tilts to your glass, overflows his wine of wrath.

The threat you feared the most.

You drop your leg to the ground and Jungkook lets you. Yoongi slackens his hold and you wonder what it was exactly that Yoongi didn’t like. The fact that Jungkook touched your leg or the plan between the pair of you—you touching yourself for him—that never had his approval? You release a breath, aware that you’ve done something very bad and your hypnosis and your smile declines with it. You even push your glass away, sobering up. The night flowers in you wilt.

Yoongi relaxes beside you and you slip your fingers between his.

You must have overdone it and the perception of that causes guilt to pool in your core. You should’ve at least looked at Yoongi to make sure he’s okay with it before jumping head-first. Nerves rise within you and you reach for your pack of cigarettes, hoping to chase your negative feelings away. Both men watch you, but the energy has already shifted. Arousal has evaporated and now, like the mist, seriousness settles in its place. Jungkook gives you a soft smile and you realize that your guilt is written all over your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Not to you; not to Yoongi.

The man before you returns to the good man you know, although his smug pride doesn’t let him become the healer that you know him to be.

The ride home is silent.

Jungkook texted Yoongi the address to his cabin as soon as you said your goodbyes. Your boyfriend scowled at the message before he pocketed his phone, taking your hand and walking a little faster to his car, as if to run away from the mess you’ve created. You felt so bad that you let him trail you behind him like a child, chin tilted to your chest, the heft of your guilt pressing down at you like a murky cloud.

The rain is thickening by the time Yoongi drives down the familiar road to his apartment. He keeps his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel and the gear stick, knuckles white like the moonlight that left you and fled back to the dark heavens. He doesn’t reach for the radio or his phone to play some music. Lets the rain sing instead; lets the rain mend the tension between you. You overfill, uncomfortably, with so many beginnings to your sentences, but none of them fit right—none of them really portray what you think you should say to him, so it all falls into the abyss of the night that still lingers within you.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first when he kills the engine, as if he needed the fifteen minute long car drive to think about what just happened, but it’s not the words that you want to hear. He stares ahead at the line of cars parked before him, at the canopy of trees bending to their roofs. The pitter-patter sounds of the raindrops worsen the guilt eating at your insides, especially when Yoongi remains seated with his hands in his lap.

“You’re not calling him tomorrow.”

Your deduction was right. He didn’t like the idea of you calling Jungkook while you’d be touching yourself. You get that he has the right to not feel comfortable letting his friend in on a particular sexual practice, but you want to know why. If you’re not getting your own way and he gets to decide everything, you at least want to know the reason.

“Why?” you ask, calmly. I want to, you don’t add. You fold your hands on your lap similarly to him, mirroring his body language. Feel the bubble of your disappointment sizzling in you.

“You’re fucking him tomorrow and that’s the end of it,” he mutters, waving a hand through the air sharply to emphasize his words. Doesn’t look at you. Not once. “No collective fucking decision. One time and that’s it.”

You will your calmness to stay, even when a foam of your own wrath pours into your disappointment. Do your own wishes and desires not matter at all in this situation? Or does the unfolding of it only belong to Yoongi and you have no say in it? Are you to shut your mouth or speak up?

He was the one who made a comment about your self-pleasure to Jungkook when he was fucking the shit out of you and picked up his phone to call him. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. Why did he say it if the thought of you pleasuring yourself on the phone with his friend makes him jealous? Did he really think Jungkook wouldn’t latch onto it, not want it to play out in real life?

The uncertainty, the questions devour your gut, but you go back to the start.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yoongi sighs. Hangs his head and rakes his hands through his hair. “I said—”

You suck in a breath. “That’s not what I asked,” you spit out with a venom that you didn’t mean and Yoongi finally looks at you—catches you closing your eyes at the rush of your emotions and turning your head away from him. “I want to know why.”

Yoongi scoffs. “How come you don’t know, huh?” His voice raises in volume and it paralyzes you with fear—he’s never yelled at you before. The question itself strikes you cold and you don’t like the feeling of it crawling up your legs. “How come I have to fucking remind you?”

You’re embarrassed that you don’t know what he’s talking about, caught in the middle. You want to get out of this car and walk home, afraid—so terribly afraid of what might come next. Fuck the rain, you don’t care.

Silence, intertwined with the long breaths that he’s trying to calm himself with, floods the car. You don’t know what to say and Yoongi keeps it at that. You consider the conversation finished.

Your hand reaches for the handle.

“Stay in the car.”

Your back faces him. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Then get drenched in the fucking rain.”

In disbelief, you turn around to look at him. Yoongi boils with anger, elbow propped on the door, index finger outstretched along his cupid’s bow, staring down the myriads of cars before him, setting them on fire with his gaze.

“And I will,” you bark, frowning at him, needing to have the last word. “Don’t come running after me.”

Your hand reaches the handle again and pops it open, your foot swinging over to the wet ground, but Yoongi grabs your leg and hauls you back inside, closing the door shut.

You open your mouth to yell at him. “What is your—”

Yoongi takes your face in his hand, puckers your lips and kisses you harshly. You groan, but you don’t fight it. In fact, you kiss him back, needing him—needing him warm and not cold to you. He stays nose-to-nose once he withdraws, watching as your irises dilate. The sadness that you catch whirling past his eyes punches you in the gut, hard enough that you regret the fight you’ve caused, regret every word you said and every action that can never be erased. You hate yourself for your desires, for your ugly soul and your abhorrence becomes an anchor wrapped around your heart, dragging it down.

You whimper, but no tears come out. Yoongi pulls you onto his lap and cradles you, folding you into his chest. He rubs you back in circles, sweeps your hair to one side and you cling to his heat, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You and him never had an argument before, never met each other halfway through the decaying meadow of negative feelings while being two opposite forces. You both were always there for the other person, absorbing their feelings, on their side through and through. Until now, you’ve truly never been two separate people with separate emotions and it’s a reality check. A breath of fresh air—the sudden, brisk disentanglement of an unhealthy attachment.

Jungkook didn’t just make a ruckus out of your life, but out of your relationship, too. And by that ruckus, he healed it.

And right then and there, you find the beginning to your sentence that you were searching for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his polo shirt and your apology stops Yoongi’s motions. You lift your head to look into his eyes. “I should’ve checked in with you—I admit that. It was wrong of me. You’re allowed to not be okay with something and I should respect it, act accordingly, even when I might have a different opinion.”

And your opinion shouldn’t change to be identical to his. Your thinking is your thinking. You’re your own person.

The anchor loosens and falls from your heart when that understanding takes form within you. You feel much lighter.

Yoongi frowns, but it doesn’t perturb you. Not anymore. “I will say this once so listen to me carefully,” he says, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not letting him see you touch yourself because that belongs to me—that’s what we do. Remember that.”

So that’s what he meant. Guilt clenches your heart in a deathly grip for not knowing, for not realizing it.

“If you so much as touch your clit tomorrow when he fucks you, I won’t think twice to carry you away and leave him with blue balls,” he continues, keeping his hand on your cheek. “You’re still mine, even when I’m letting him have you. You’re mine. You got that?”

You place your hands on his shoulders and nod.

“Are you still okay with it, though?” you ask, not expecting him to go along with it after this and you wouldn’t be disappointed, not anymore. The healing that took place is bigger than your desire. The freedom that you feel is better than anything your intimate parts ask for. Your relationship at this very state, at this very moment, has grown past the sexual part. Before it was just lustful love. “We don’t have to do it. Jungkook would understand, wouldn’t he?”

Yoongi sighs and presses a kiss on your cheek. You feel all of his stress and wrath dispersing into your skin. “I want this for you, honey. You were so excited about it, so into it. I’ve never seen you filled with so much light before.”

You do the same for him—you press the same kiss, on the same right side of his cheek. “So just tomorrow then?”

A tight-lipped smile, like the one at the beginning of the night. Yoongi nods. “Just tomorrow.”

You disobeyed in every way you could. Brought panties and condoms. Left your red little robe at home. Didn’t look once at the lace little number you planned to pack. Decided you wanted to keep that for Yoongi’s eyes only.

Decided you were going to paint your encounter with Jungkook with different colors, one that differs from the stained ones on your palette that you use with Yoongi.

He wants you to be bad. Yoongi wants you to be good.

It’s all your mind is suffused with as Yoongi drives into the woods and the sunlight spilling through the windshield, cutting through the trees, tempers it. No music, no conversation.

You’re empty. You think the brown barks of the passing trees have more life in them than you do and along with that difference rise questions. Questions of what you’re allowed to do and what you’re not. Questions that you’re wary to ask.

Not because there’s a lingering tension between you and Yoongi after the fight. As a matter of fact, he made love to you after you both ran for the door. Licked you clean of the rain while breathing in the heady scent of petrichor on your skin. All that had been broken was mended, beautifully. The reason why you’re nervous to ask is that you don’t want to venture back to that place of wrath. Where you are right now is a place of brisk freedom, one that you don’t want to leave, but to have a clear state of mind, you reckon you have to risk it.

You place your hand on top of Yoongi’s on the gear stick, breaking the silence with your body language. You turn your torso halfway to face him. Meet his angelic early-afternoon-kissed countenance, hidden by his black shades and the long wisps of hair falling to each side of his face.

Murmuring his name, Yoongi only hums at your call.

“I have some questions,” you say slowly, carefully making your way to the place you’re timid to go to.

“Ask away, honey.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I know I’m not allowed to touch myself and I won’t, I promise. But is there anything else that’s off limits?”

Yoongi also swallows sorely, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He takes a moment to think about it and because you’ve already brainstormed what he might not like, you make it easy for him.

“Is he allowed to kiss me?” you try, fingers grasping your dainty necklace to play with, to distract your nerves.

“Kissing is a part of sex, but if you’re not comfortable with kissing him, you don’t have to. Please,” Yoongi says your name with a sigh. “Don’t force yourself to do anything that doesn’t feel good. I beg you.”

A hit of your liquid emotions. A little vein of life springing in your body. You blink the sudden tears away, dipping your fingers into the space between his. You’re so grateful to have such a thoughtful, intelligent man like him.

“Okay, what about blowjobs?”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Ponders it. “Well, that’s an important part of the kink, isn’t it?” He looks at you momentarily before bringing his eyes back to the road. “Watching your girlfriend suck someone else’s dick. That’s the appeal.”

“Besides watching her get fucked.”

He chuckles shortly. “That’s what I’m most excited about.”

A soft smile. “You’re excited about watching me get fucked?” Yoongi nods, but you didn’t get the answer you wanted. You go back. “So you’re not comfortable with me sucking his—”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his forehead before slapping his hand back down on the steering wheel. “I don’t know yet, honey. We’ll see when we get there.” He squeezes it, the white of his knuckle appears and you take a mental note of that. No blowjobs, or no overindulging in the act, more like. Not knowing is an answer, too.

“And he’s allowed to eat me out?”

He doesn’t smile as he says, “he’s skilled with his tongue. You’ll lose your mind. It’s all I could ever want for you.”

You raise your brows in doubt. “No one is as skilled as you.” At that, his coy smile finally rises and you brush your thumb across the side of his hand. “Will you join in or are you just gonna watch?”

Yoongi shifts the gear and speeds down the road. “I was planning to watch only, but I guess it depends on the situation. I’m willing to join if I feel like it.” He lifts your hand and kisses the soft skin. “You nervous, honey?”

You still feel slightly empty, no nerves to be found. You shake your head ‘no’.

“You’re gonna like it there. It’s a nice cabin.”

What Yoongi said was an understatement.

When you witness the greenery enveloping the mountains, you stand gaping with your mouth half open. A warm summer wind billows in and out of the balcony, ushering in such liveliness and joy of life that you feel it slinking into each and every pore of your body, filling you up with all that you’ve been lacking. Giddiness clutches you and lingers, the flimsy curtains quivering against your thigh with each movement to and fro. You willingly become the nature—the sunlight and the slowly diffusing mist wrapped around the grays, blues and greens. The trees curtsy at your presence and a fond smile blossoms on your face.

Now, at last, you can’t wait to get fucked. You’re glad it’s going to happen at such a lovely place like this.

Jungkook, dressed in a white oversized T-shirt and a pair of cargos, takes your travel bag from Yoongi’s hand. He looks so soft that it’s hard to believe you’re staring at the same man from yesterday—he changes drastically when he’s aroused, like you takes on the likeness of the dark whenever he hears its call. It’s fascinating to you.

“Come see the room upstairs.”

Quietly, you and Yoongi follow him, your feet thudding along the wood of the stairs. And there, there your breath gets snatched altogether.

A white, heavenly canopy above the king sized bed, white furniture—void of any dust—adorned with nourished plants that sway and rustle in the wind. The summer breathes through the open wide windows and in the corner, next to a dresser, a mirror stands, a mirror with a rocking chair right beside it that causes gooseflesh to prick at your skin.

If this is where you’re getting fucked, Yoongi will have first row view of it. It’s as if Jungkook planned it all along and that speculation causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Jungkook sets your bag and Yoongi’s on the mattress. Skims his surroundings in case there’s any untidiness that he hasn’t touched and one glance at Yoongi tells you that he spent the first half of the day cleaning up the place.

Cute puppy. You and Yoongi share a smile.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Jungkook says, straightening his spine.

“We’ll be sleeping?” you joke and the men shoot you a look, which makes you burst out into laughter. The sound blends into the song of the birds and the sway of the trees. You feel a spark of joy perk up in your chest.

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

Oh.

He said it so casually that you feel hot all over. You glimpse at Yoongi, though his face utters no words of emotion. Eyes fixed at a point on the hardwood floors, hands in his pockets, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Did he not say he was excited to watch you get fucked? Have you made a mistake?

You rake a hand through your hair, exhausted of your questions and doubt.

Jungkook leads you back down to the main floor, but Yoongi stays behind. Wants to take a shower before lunch. Nervousness nips at your fingertips at the thought of being alone with his friend, but you nod anyways, having no other choice.

You watch the swing of his body as he goes down the stairs, little wisps of hair bouncing on the back of his head that you find immensely endearing. They’re like some floppy ears of a puppy to you. Your breasts bounce as well with each skip down and you become aware of how full they are in your low neckline as with each movement your bare, pebbled nipples graze against its fabric, stimulating you, sending a familiar ache down to your intimate parts beneath the ruffles of your skirt.

You need to be very careful from this moment on upon this dangerous territory.

“I want to show you something,” Jungkook says, walking towards the balcony. He doesn’t look back at you, he just expects that you’re following him blindly and something about that overwhelms you peculiarly. You want to slap yourself for getting aroused so quickly—you just got here.

He extends his arms along the railing and you saunter to his side, taking a peek above his shoulder but failing, miserably. All you face is the hard wall of his muscles, even when you lift yourself on your tippy toes and it makes you huff out a frustrated breath against the material of his T-shirt, despite the fact his tall form dampens your cunt—

Is it your ovulation day? Fuck, you make a mental note to check that later.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you and chuckles. Grabs the back of your neck to push you closer to the railing and you fear your eyes will pop out of their sockets due to the way you widen them. The second body part he touched—one of many. You hope, you pray he keeps his hand there but he withdraws as soon as your fingers wrap around the wood of the railing. You narrow your lips in a tight line.

He points to what he wanted to show you. You try your hardest to not notice the details of his tattooed hand, to ignore the silver ring around that index finger of his and the ghost of his touch on the nape of your neck. You close your eyes for a heartbeat to regain your composure before they catch the view he’s pointing to.

A pond. A clear body of water under a thick weeping willow that wets its petals in the freshness of it. Your mouth parts. You sense his gaze on you, but you can’t reciprocate it. Not when such a lovely view like this lulls your soul, permeates it with the pleasure of beauty.

“Can we get closer?” you ask, mesmerized completely.

Jungkook grabs your elbow. Another body part. He drags you to another set of stairs. And you realize that the balcony is a veranda of some sort. The feeling of grass under your bare feet is exhilarating and, like a child, you begin to run to the pond, your skirt furling around you, exposing a sliver of your bottom. Jungkook lets you. Walks sluggishly with his hands in his pockets, watching you—smirking at that piece of skin he got to see.

You crouch to touch the stillness of the water, your fingertips reflected upon it. The coldness, despite the steaming sunlight, is so refreshing and you long to take a dip, to fill your hot body with the briskness it so evidently needs.

Standing upright, you twist to yap about how beautiful the scenery is—but Jungkook pushes you into the water.

You were so wrong. So very wrong.

Your feverish body didn’t need the coolness of the pond to dull your arousal because when you come up for air and your little outfit sticks to you body, your heartbeat picks up its speed, thumping in tandem with your clit. Jungkook wipes his smirking mouth at the sight of you and you’ve convinced that’s your undoing.

Nipples stiffened through your little top. Skirt shrunken. Skin wet and glossy. You run your palms through your hair, squeezing water out of your strands, feeling sensual, confident and so fucking playful. You smirk right back at him when you wade your way to him. Pull your shoulders back, tits on full show for him, when you lift your leg onto the grass.

And you stalk him down. You thought he’d move but he stays put. Those hands still in his pockets, those eyes zeroing down on yours—now different, now much smaller. Darker. Willing you to come after him.

“Prick.” You screw up your face at him, your chest tightening, an inch away from his.

Jungkook releases a breath. Grins smugly, briefly, swiping his tongue down the side of his inner cheek, as if he liked the fact you called him something like that. His irises drift down to your tits unabashedly and you swear you can see his hands twitching—

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs, irises back on yours, twinkling, dilated. “Wet.”

You blush. Ache to be touched. Think about Yoongi and whether he’s finished with his shower because you need to be attended to. Taken to a safe place where the pleasure of his words and energy can unfold, where you can enjoy it. But Jungkook hypnotizes you again—and you don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw your body close to his without hands. You hate him for it.

“Prick,” you repeat, more to yourself than him, drops of water trickling down every perimeter of your skin.

Jungkook cups your chin, raising it to his level. “And what else?”

You dart out your tongue and wet your mouth— slowly around the arc of your top lip to tease him. Then, you narrow your eyes even more at him. “Asshole.”

Affectionately, he titters, influenced by your actions so much that you catch flecks of drunkenness in his features. It makes you feel so brilliant that you beam up at him and once his laughter softens, he reciprocates the grin. Like you and Yoongi had, but in a different way.

The swish of the willow tree. A teetering bird. Jungkook fondles your glowy cheek.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Your breath lodges in your throat but you push against it. Want to speak up. “I couldn’t.”

He frowns. “But did you want to?”

You nod. The question causes you to blossom, shed the last of thorns left in your body from the attachment. He’s the only person you could say this to and naively you trust that he won’t peep a word to Yoongi. A relief bolts through you that you put yourself first and spoke your truth for the first time in your life. You understand the reason why Yoongi isn’t comfortable with that practice and you promised him you wouldn’t do it. Intending to keep your word, it doesn’t change your opinion, however. Your opinion being that there’s nothing wrong with letting him see this part of your sex life.

It could be reversed. Jungkook being the one who watches.

He wraps his fingers back around your chin, hovers his thumb an inch away from your lips, as if he’s fighting himself from touching them. “Tell me with your words.”

A question that makes the time stand still. Do you listen or misbehave?

The decision is fast.

You press up your body against his. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the sensation of your stiffened nubs beneath his pecs, the water of the pond soaking through his T-shirt, marking your tits on him. You interlock your hands behind your back and Jungkook withdraws his hand. Surprises you when he lets it roam down your arm until he finds your clasped wrist.

He’s waiting for your answer. You know he is. And you want to gratify the puppy.

“I did want to rub my clit for you,” you breathe out and the hotness of his exhale envelopes you in a heat, even more so when his other hand grips your wrist and nuzzles you even further into the shadow of his body.

Hard length against your tummy. The roundness of his nose nudging against yours. It’s too much, way too fucking much and you mewl—to which Jungkook immediately responds, approves of the sound, of your neediness and presses you closer to him, your tits squished against him.

Lips above your ear, he whispers, “would you have called me or would you have let me see?”

He takes both of your wrists into his fist and his other hand goes to your wet hair, smoothing down the strands. You find the gesture calming, calming enough for you to say, “let you see.”

You inhale his scent—wood, vanilla and fabric softener. The fragrance of gentleness.

“Hm, would you have fingered yourself for me?” Jungkook continues, pulling your hair so you look at him. No hint of darkness in his eyes, but tenderness—a healing kind of tenderness that makes you give yourself over to him.

“Yes. More than once.”

Jungkook grunts. Turns you around and flips your skirt to see if you’re wearing any panties. Is met with the bareness of your behind as your choice of underwear for the day is a white thong. Optical illusion.

A quick heartbeat. Dry throat.

He straightens you and presses you back against him—this time from behind. Lips to ear, the same one. You feel the shape of him on your palms. Thick. Big. You roll your eyes back. “On the count of three, you run and hide. If I find you, you get fifteen spanks for wearing panties when I specifically told you not to.” His breathing turns ragged, in sync with yours, the thought of punishing you turning him on.

“What happens if you can’t find me?” You squeeze his full balls and you hear that grunt again, vibrating through you.

“You don’t wanna know. Did you forget I have toys?”

With that, he pushes you and you gaze back at him with horror—a lustful horror that blazes you. What kind of toys does he have? You want to find out, badly enough that you don’t mind misbehaving.

Jungkook begins to count.

You don’t wait until you hear the number three before you run for your life.

Inside the cabin, near the balcony, you bump into Yoongi’s naked chest. And you don’t have time to react before Yoongi scowls down at you, ridding you of any sounds of shock that desire to pour out of you.

“Why the fuck are you wet?” he asks, bracing you with both hands, skimming a glance upon the sight of you.

You panic. “Yoongi, I—”

A creak on the hardwood floors behind you. You round your brows. Will you ever make a decision on your own? Your fate was, again, picked for you. By Yoongi, by Jungkook—who didn’t give you enough time to hide.

Even a tendril of disappointment doesn’t have time to perforate your being because you sense another hand on the ruffle of your dripping skirt.

“Tell me why you didn’t take the second to make sure she was bare for me? You don’t check her holes?”

A deep, indignant murmur. Not expressed towards you, but towards your boyfriend. Yoongi’s scowl deepens, but you smile through your shock—the sun leaking through the clouds—and you sneak a finger along the definition of his abdomen that tenses under your touch. A conveyance that it has begun—that he should play along. You nod your head even, shortly, letting him know it’s okay.

Yoongi relaxes. Drifts his hands to your palms, holds them. Flicks his eyes to Jungkook above your head. Swallows. “She’s a brat that has a mind of her own,” he says and perhaps he’s right. Now you get to be one, at last. “She didn’t even pack her robe. Did she tell you that?”

You freeze. Jungkook fists your skirt.

Lips back to your ear. Heat radiating. You hope Yoongi didn’t see the marks of your breasts on his T-shirt. “Is that right?”

Vigor courses through you. You get to be a brat. And the possibility makes you feel infinitely alive.

“Yes,” you giggle, and when Yoongi gives you an endearing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, you find that safe place you were searching for, that you needed. “I figured I should be naked for the occasion.”

Jungkook scoffs. “And yet you disobeyed me. Do you even use your brain or are you just that horny?”

Your lashes quiver at that, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, feeling stupid, although you know the reason behind your defiance.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He pushes you towards Yoongi until you collide into his chest. If your panties weren’t drenched from the pond, his manhandling would’ve taken care of that already. “Turn her around and strip her.”

You panic. Fear that Yoongi will see your tits on his T-shirt. Noticing your emotions, Jungkook understands. Pinches the back of his shirt and flings it on the back of the couch. Broad shoulders, big pecs, deeply defined abdominal muscles and the lines of his V leading into his intimate parts. No happy trail. Jungkook smiles at your relief. Your body flutters.

Yoongi’s hands grasp the hem of your soaked top and swiftly pull it over your head, making your full breasts bounce from the impact. He can’t help but knead them, face nuzzling into the crook of your forest-scented neck to pepper kisses there, and you catch the protest in Jungkook’s eyes—only to watch it dwindle away with the slow realization that he can’t tell your boyfriend not to touch you.

It makes you whimper. And the licks of Yoongi’s tongue and harsh kisses merely heighten that sound.

He continues as his hands find the waistband of your skirt and drag it down your hips until it plops onto the floor. And to fully present you to him at last, he hooks his thumbs under your thong—at which Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. Walking towards you, he kneels before you and Yoongi blows on the traces of saliva he left on the side of your neck. Shivers, ones that Jungkook smooths down on your thighs to calm you down before he rips your panties in one motion.

If Yoongi wasn’t holding you, you’d fall to the floor—your legs boneless, jelly.

Like a leaf out in the forest, your ruined thong plummets to your feet. Jungkook lifts your ankle, helping you step out of it. Throws the scrap on top of his T-shirt, perhaps as a keepsake.

He doesn’t rise. Gazes upon your cunt, instead. Upon the glistening of your folds and lips, the swollenness of your clit. You part your legs wider for him. In appreciation, he looks up at you and strokes the back of your knee. Pupils dilated, the black swallowing the brown. And when Yoongi presses his length against you, pinches your nipples and you roll your eyes back, your attention stolen, Jungkook rises to his feet.

Licks his fingers and places them on your clit, starting a speedy series of circles—and you can’t catch your breath. Not when Yoongi rolls your nipples under his digits, not when Jungkook narrows his eyes at you and commands, “apologize.”

The pleasure overwhelms you so fast and you can’t speak. Can’t for the life of you remember how to apologize and what for, especially not when you grind your ass against Yoongi’s length and he grunts into your ear, not when you’re aware of the quickening of Jungkook’s breath.

Briefly, Jungkook speeds up his pace before he plunges the same wet digits into your hole. Doesn’t let you adjust, but instead keeps filling you to the brim. Then, with the same rapidness, he fucks you.

And you can’t stop yourself from coming and drenching his hand. The second fastest orgasm of your life. Your drops of essence are added to the pile of chunks of dry mud, grass and the pond water dripping from your hair on the floor.

Jungkook withdraws, completely. And you feel cold without his heat, without his closeness. “Why did you come?”

Yoongi begins to focus on your earlobe and you perceive the smug, proud smirk on his mouth. You don’t know what to say—beyond overwhelmed, beyond fucked out. All you know is that you don’t have enough, that you need more, that you hated how quickly your orgasm came upon you.

Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hands gently and rearranges them. The right one on your cunt, the left one on your jawline. To your surprise, he lets him. Something about that coaxes a string of your wetness to trickle down your thigh.

Yoongi’s hold on your chin is rough, causing a litany of soft mewls to spill out of your mouth as you wait for the next move. Needy, horny. And your mewls turn into loud moans that waft out into the forest when Jungkook grips your tits, pushes them together and licks against both of your nipples, your whole body fluttering, trembling, weak and stimulated. Yoongi begins to rub your clit and Jungkook catches you go cross-eyed, stifling his chuckle, but smiling at you regardless.

Drawing close to you until your bare, wet nipples come into contact with his skin, he glimpses at your mouth once before boring his eyes into yours. “Apologize,” he says lowly. “Apologize for wearing panties.”

Yoongi squeezes your cheeks, puckering your mouth, despite the fact this is something you only do together. Then, Jungkook tilts his head to the side and kisses you softly, owning you entirely. The puffy tenderness of his mouth, the gentleness which he pressed that kiss with—Yoongi squeezes your cheeks even harder, opening your jaw, giving Jungkook the green light to use his tongue and you’re gone.

You’re gone when Jungkook swipes his tongue on top of yours. Gone when he toys with it, swirls around it for a moment before closing his lips around yours, kissing you deeply—the smacking sound so loud in your ears, so delicious that you moan, losing your strength to stand and sagging a little bit in Yoongi’s arms.

“Fuck,” you utter once he lets you breathe and even through the hypnosis, the hot flashes signaling the upcoming of your second orgasm and the blurriness of your vision, you can see how much that kiss affected him.

Softening glossy eyes, features loosening—smirk wiped clean, unbelief, wooziness and arousal in its place instead. Mouth parted, puffy, shiny with saliva. A beautiful, extraordinary sight.

“She can’t apologize, but she can swear,” Jungkook comments, but it doesn’t reflect the turmoil happening on the inside of him. And it doesn’t explain what he does next.

He kisses you again. More gently than before. A slight whirl of tongue around yours before he closes his lips against you all over again. Although this time, he doesn’t stop. He pinches your nipples with his fingers, over and over, while moving his mouth against yours, a slow ripple of the pond behind you if there ever was one. And you feel the heat, the sweat coating your body and you feel Jungkook feeling you come. You don’t have to make a sound. He knows.

Your orgasm is a deep current moving through you. Like that kiss. You lose yourself in it, eyes rolled back into darkness, fluttering to and fro—from light to dark—and when you resurface, you find Jungkook’s cavernous, enthralled gaze fixed on you, fixed on the forging process of your orgasm taking roots in you.

Yoongi lets you drop to the floor, breathless. Jungkook shoots him a dirty look, but you reach for the button of his pants, not caring. He stops you with a gentle grasp of your wrist. Bends to your level.

“You’re not sucking dick. Not mine, not his,” Jungkook snarls, helping you stand to your feet. Hooks an arm under your knees and back and lifts you into his arms—carries you upstairs, without any other words spared.

He sets you on the bed. Gently cleans your feet with a wet cloth and when he’s done, he takes a seat on the white rocking chair across from you. Palms his length briefly before he manspreads, propping his elbows on his thighs like he did at dinner. Once Yoongi arrives, he pats your head and caresses your hair, an apology for letting you fall. You’re on the verge of tears.

Jungkook doesn’t even look at him. “Fifteen spanks from him for wearing panties. Fifteen more from me for not apologizing. To me.”

Yoongi never spanked you. You recognize it’s as much of a punishment for him as it is for you. They haven’t been friends for a day. Jungkook must be very well aware of Yoongi’s disliking of any impact play. He might like to make you cry during sex, but he never uses violence to do so. He uses his words, his dominance and his length.

Jungkook is teaching him a lesson for letting you drop to the floor. And it coaxes an onrush of foreign emotions to swarm within you. You’re touched. Deeply, deeply touched.

So much that you don’t take in the fact you’re getting spanked thirty times.

Yoongi scowls and you’re sick of seeing it. Getting on your knees, you wait for him to sit down. He remains standing.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Sit down, hyung.”

Power play. He has no business ordering him around and calling him hyung while at it. Has no business to be in control when he’s the bull. Your essence sticks to your thighs.

“I’m not spanking her,” Yoongi mutters. “Do it yourself.”

Jungkook leans back, a finger to his temple. Darkness soaks him in heat and he shines, dimly. “You allowed it to happen, so you punish her. For me.” In other words: You dropped her, so you’re getting punished.

Yoongi has no other choice. You can see the defeat wrung into his face and he doesn’t look at his friend as he sits down. You do.

And the look you share should mangle your heart, but it doesn’t. You should feel bad that you’re on his side and not on Yoongi’s, but you don’t.

Purposefully, you angle your pussy so Jungkook has a perfect view of her as you crawl on Yoongi’s lap. One leg on the mattress, the other in the middle of his thighs—

“Lie down,” Jungkook orders and you listen, immediately, plopping down on Yoongi’s lap, making him gasp.

Yoongi cages you in. Pushes you farther towards his back, but you fight against it. You want to look at Jungkook when you’re getting spanked by your boyfriend for the first time, and so you twist your torso to the side. Just in time to catch a sunray penetrating his aura of darkness, enkindling him softly.

With his hand wrapped around his still clothed cock, Jungkook nods at Yoongi. You didn’t even realize he was waiting for his signal. Your pussy drools. Jungkook squeezes his girth in response.

The first spank is tender. And so is the second and the third. Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Fourth and fifth—it gains a small amount of intensity, barely. Sixth and seventh, he rubs both of your cheeks as if it hurt, when in reality it was a caress to you.

Jungkook slowly blinks at you, telling you to be patient through that gesture.

Because it’s the tenth one that makes you gasp. The prickling pain coursing through your body, pooling at your core—your core that shows him how much you liked that sharp spank. Jungkook smiles, proven right.

Yoongi’s breath shakes. His cock twitches against your stomach.

“Harder,” Jungkook mutters, his own breath quick, eyes never leaving yours. “For the last five. And faster.”

Yoongi obeys. Your moans grow in volume with each spank, your bottom painted in faint red. Yoongi quickly pulls you up to face him, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You liked that?” he asks in disbelief, eyes flicking between yours, looking for any hint of discomfort.

You nod. “I need—” Him, you don’t say. You can’t.

The rocking chair creaks. Jungkook walks towards you. You twist your body again to meet him halfway and he caresses your cheek, rewarding you. You go to turn your body wholly, but Jungkook stops you, holding you steady by the waist. While you still straddle Yoongi, knees on either side of his thigh, he gently prompts you to lift up your bum against him, arching your back, tits in Yoongi’s face.

“Stay like this,” he whispers into the waterfall of your hair and as you rub your cheeks against his manhood slowly, he hums, pressing a deep kiss onto your scalp. “Hold onto his shoulders.”

You do as he says. As if Yoongi knows something you don’t, he latches his hands onto the back of your knees, clamping you down on the mattress.

The first spank causes you to squeeze your eyes shut, pain so acute striking your body like flashes of lightning. And unlike Yoongi, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps spanking you, each hit harder and more painful than the one before and you lose count of how many you’ve taken. You grip Yoongi’s good shoulder with all your might, wrapping your other hand around his neck.

You like the pain. You like the pain so much that you stay still. And because of that, Jungkook tilts your chin so you can look at him, coming to your side and propping a knee on the mattress. You see amusement and amazement swimming in his eyes when you finally open yours, dazed. He smiles at you, softly and tenderly. And you pucker your lips at him, asking for a kiss.

Jungkook willingly obliges. Gives you a deep peck full of meaning that you don’t know the language of yet—and it sinks down your body, makes a bed there. The coldness of his lip ring turns you whiny. Jungkook kisses you over and over again, just to hear your sounds.

Yoongi is red when you glance down at him. He’s at loss for words and there’s a puzzling look to his face that you don’t want to decipher.

“Five more,” Jungkook whispers, tracing the outline of your abused, sensitive ass. “Can you handle five more? You’ve taken it so well so far.”

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and the fact you asked for it makes both of the males still. Jungkook sneaks a hand between your legs and circles your hole, gathering your arousal, teasing you, finding you wetter than before.

Yoongi begins to suck on your nipples. And when Jungkook finishes his punishment faster than you anticipated or even noticed, your bum burning, you could come like this—but you don’t. Jungkook sticks his tongue down your throat, does what Yoongi does on your nipple and you begin to tremble, making a mess on Yoongi’s thigh.

As if pitying the abuse, Jungkook kneels before you and peppers gentle, wet kisses on the red flecks of your disobedience, making it right, healing it. Careful with his lip ring, careful not to suck on the skin.

Then, he places a singular kiss on your clit, making you shiver. Stands to his feet. Walks over to his dresser. “Both of you lean back against the headboard. You against his chest. Keep her legs open, hyung.”

You hiss at the change of positions, your cheeks hurting, even when Yoongi places a pillow underneath your butt. It worries him, your expression of pain and he tries to alleviate it by kissing you. There’s so much difference to the way he does it that it makes you emotional, drags you deeper into the madness of your hypnosis.

“You enjoyed that?” Yoongi asks, knuckles brushing against the side of your face, as if he truly can’t believe you enjoyed the inflicting of pain.

And you’d want it again, if your skin wasn’t so sore.

“I loved it, Yoongi.”

Shock flares in his eyes and you look away.

Jungkook crawls upon the bed with a pink toy in his hand. A small egg with a small gap in the top half. You smile at him, excitement surging in you, and he reciprocates it. Lifts your leg to your shoulder and Yoongi holds it in place.

“Butt hurts?” Jungkook asks, noticing the pillow, and you nod. “Good.”

You laugh, softly.

Placing a hand on your mound, covering it entirely, he brushes his thumb across your cunt, checking your arousal, spreading it on your clit. Doesn’t think there’s enough, which you find ridiculous, and he spits on her, making you moan. Turns the toy on.

“Spit on her again,” you command, grinding your hips, feeling the trail go down to your hole.

Jungkook smirks at you. “Filthy girl.”

Bends to your cunt and spits at her again, tongue darting out to lightly keep the liquid love, where he wants it to be. And you mewl, welcoming his tongue on your clit, and you yearn for more, lifting your pelvis even though it hurts, but Jungkook withdraws. Places the toy on it, thumb clicking on the intensity, rising it, rising it high so much that you widen your eyes—

It sucks on your clit.

You cry out, pleasure seizing you in its grasp and all you can do is close your eyes and feel it. It paralyzes you, takes your breath and—

“Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I know it feels good, but I’m not letting you have it until you look at me.”

He takes the toy away. You grip his tattooed arm, opening your eyes.

“Please, Jungkook—”

He doesn’t listen to your plea. Lifts your other leg. Doesn’t give it to Yoongi—keeps his hand there, nice and firm. Begins to concentrate on the back of your thigh, leaving behind wet marks of red and purple, tongue sliding on the skin before he sucks on it, keeping his eyes on you as he does it. You grab a hold of his hair. Soft, so silkily soft, short and healthy. You imagine the tiny petals on the weeping willow outside have the same softness.

You’re spellbound. Jungkook places the toy back on your clit, pleasure flooding you—now more fervent and extreme, with his puffy lips still sucking your skin in tandem. And hearing your moans, Jungkook fires them back at you, setting your body ablaze.

“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he husks and Yoongi squeezes your other thigh, kissing your hair, reminding you he’s here with you. But he’s not the one who moans along with you. It’s Jungkook. Your eyes lid, but you try your hardest to keep them open, your feverish body swaying, the nearness of your orgasm at hand. “Yes, like that. I’m gonna make you come for me.”

Letting go of your thigh, he sinks the two of his fingers inside your heat, gasping along with you. Stuffing you to the brim like he did before, he doesn’t have to fuck you fast to bring you over the edge. He moves the toy from side to side—and it’s the feeling of fullness, the twist of his features as if he was the one pleasured that makes you come all over his hand, the pillow and the bedding.

It’s like being submerged under the water of the pond and you keep your eyes open the entire time, the endearment on his face and his attentiveness taking care of you, watching over you as he talks you through your orgasm.

“Don’t hold back for me, yes, take it, baby. Good, so good, I know,” he says it in such undertones that you sob, emotions rushing out along with your release, trickling out of your tear ducts. You feel so safe and so well taken care of, so content that you don’t shy away from your feelings. You let both males be witnesses to it.

It’s Jungkook first, who reacts. Brows knitted, he wipes your tears away. And it’s him who decides to take a break.

“Let’s eat lunch.”

Your focus is enveloped around him so tightly that you don’t even know how your boyfriend reacted to your tears. You don’t feel him when he lets go of your leg and stands up to his feet to dress. It’s Jungkook who cleans you and checks the redness of your ass if there are any bruises.

Yoongi doesn’t wait for you as he goes down the stairs.

And it’s you who feels defeated now. And when Jungkook looks at you, he knows.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one

#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 #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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astonmartingf · 1 month

Text

ADORE YOU ; KR7

kimi raikkonen x mclaren driver!reader

. . . your relationship with kimi was always civil, not too close like friends, but not too far apart like strangers. somehow you got stuck in a situation leaving both of you confronting your feelings for each other.

amgf still one of the best things i wrote, ever. this is my baby, the time i spent making the radio graphics was all worth it, i love this so much ughh

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

Getting called in for a private meeting with the team principal is always worrying. Usually you’re called for one of two reasons, either you’ve done exceptionally well or if you’ve fucked up. With how things are looking up, you’re clearly called in because you’ve fucked up and one of the sponsors has found something to complain about.

You were used to it, sadly. And despite his constant reassurance, you know Fernando doesn’t have that much power to help you. Paired with his recent win in the driver’s championship you kept your mouth shut from the pressure held on you.

The last thing you want is to take away the spotlight from him, it was his win after all. Despite the number of news outlets questioning his position, and the ambiguity of it all with you in the center of controversy.

All because of some harmless photos with Kimi, one that caught him off guard. Not because he was unknowingly involved, but with the fact that he only knew then just how many people loathe you in the industry who are constantly waiting for you to fuck up.

Breathing out, you shake off the million thoughts running in your head. There’s no use overthinking what has been done, standing in front of the team principal’s door you brace yourself for the worst that could happen.

Thinking to yourself that maybe this is the end of it all, that maybe they’ve finally succeeded in leaving you without a seat for the next season. The worst that could happen is Renault pulling out your contract early, and you were preparing for the worst.

The person out of your equation is Kimi Raikkonen himself- the first person your eyes landed upon entering the room. Looking around your eyes scan the room, your teammate nowhere to be found. It’s just you, Kimi, and your team principal.

“Good Morning.” You’re voice curt and short as you feel the dry scratch at the back of your throat. Sitting beside Kimi you lean towards him whispering, “What are you doing here? Did McLaren form a complaint?”

Next to you, Kimi shrugs his shoulders equally unaware. “I was called in when I arrived earlier, I thought you were the one with the complaint.”

Brows raised, you let out a small sigh in disagreement, “I don’t think I’m in a position to complain, you on the other hand, God knows what people are saying.”

You don’t notice the frown forming on Kimi’s face, his brows furrowed in annoyance, “How are you empathizing with me right now? God knows how much worse you’re having it, and here you are worrying about me. I don’t care what they say about me, as long as they don’t involve you in it.” Kimi scoffs, watching the corners of your lips curl into a small smile.

“You must hate being involved with me that much.” Teasing him, Kimi shakes his head with his eyes rolling back.

A cough breaks your attention away from Kimi, reminding you that you’re here for a serious meeting with your team principal. Turning your head you see him with a big smile on his face.

Huh.

“Do you know why I called you here?” His voice reverberates in the room, leaving your throat dry. Your eyes widen, gulping before attempting to answer.

“No, you don’t have to answer.”

Pressing your lips, you shrink down back in your seat feeling the drops of sweat press against your team shirt. Your eyes widen, avoiding contact, you prepare yourself with the worst anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“It’s all going well in fact that I’ve decided myself to let you continue with what you two are doing.”

An audible gasp left your lips, “But there’s nothing, we aren’t doing anything,” quickly defending yourself from your team principal’s accusations.

Bewildered, a loud cackle escapes his lips leaving you and Kimi in confusion, “That’s even better. Honestly, you don’t have to date each other, just continue what you’re doing.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Doing what exactly?”

“Listen, all you need to do is be seen in public. Think of it as a fake secret relationship. Just like you said, if there’s nothing going on with you two then there is no need to confirm it. Just to keep the sponsorships happy, and free publicity for both teams.”

You share a look with Kimi, gauging from his reaction he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again it’s not like anything is happening between you two, it’s like hitting multiple birds in one stone. You can keep being friends with Kimi, you keep your seat, and you keep the sponsors happy with the advertisement.

Clearing his throat, Kimi speaks up first, “You know if you don’t want to-”

“I don’t mind.” Giving him a small smile, you assure him of your consent, “I’d rather it be you than someone else, plus we get to hang out more often. Unless you don’t want to, then we don’t have to-”

“I’m okay if you’re okay with it.”

Clasping his hands your team principal is smiling over the moon, at least someone is happy with the situation,

“Well if you have no other questions, you’re free to leave Kimi.” Your team principal dismisses the Fin, leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth.

“Why? If you have something to say to Y/N you can say it to me as well. What are you going to scold her for? You should’ve been there to defend her against the comments, I won’t leave. Whatever you say to her, I will be here and listen.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, uncharacteristic for Kimi to go over his emotions like that. Though his outbursts are short it’s usually directed out of frustration, but this was out of nowhere. Your eyes dart back and forth Kimi and your team principal with conflicted feelings.

While you feel proud that Kimi defended you, on the other hand you grimace at the sight of your team principal, still and speechless.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to wait for Y/N outside but Fernando is coming along in a while- we’re having a team meeting for the next season.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll guide Kimi on the way out, you know in case he reads any of our world winning strategies.” Standing up swiftly, you pull Kimi’s arm, dragging him away from the office and out to the paddock.

It wasn’t until then you realized the awkward silence looming between you two. Looking up to his eyes, you stare at his blue ones, getting lost into the deep hues akin to a storm. In the silence, a mutual understanding was built.

And unbeknownst to you, it was the beginning of a deeper relationship with Kimi.

You were on your way to Maranello when the announcement of your transfer was released. Sinking in your seat you close your phone, thankful to be on a plane avoiding the constant ping and ringing of your phone.

It was a short-lived moment of relaxation, not long after the seat beside yours was occupied. Observing the person, your eyes squint at the sight of a familiar face.

"Kimi? I didn't know you were on your way to Italy as well."

Turning around, Kimi blinked slowly taking in your presence. "Was staying with me that bad that you need a different vacation?"

Scoffing at him, you shift in your seat facing his, "As much as I want more time for vacations unfortunately I'm going to Italy for work."

Kimi tilts his head, "Didn't know Renault moved to Italy. Are you going over factories?"

You still yourself, contemplating telling him the truth or getting away with a little lie. Not in the mood for conversation, you chose the latter.

"Something like that. They want me to check something personally. My manager arranged it for me so, I really don't have a say."

Kimi nods again leaving you to do your own things, something that you appreciate when you're with him. There's no need for small talk, it's always comfortable silence.

A few people you feel comfortable being with for long periods of time, it's either him or your teammate Alonso. Contrary to popular belief, there's no "feud" between the three of you– more on the two of them, you were somehow stuck in between their "rivalry" and just how the company milked the media for more coverage.

Truthfully faking a secret relationship with Kimi was one of the easiest things you had to do last year, purposefully being seen hanging out, going on "dates" and vacationing together without having to confirm anything, you were winning.

And the end of it all with you getting a seat with Ferrari. It was a whirlwind of emotions, not just for you but for your teammate Alonso who was poached to McLaren.

A secret you had to keep from Kimi while vacationing together. You did carry a smidge of guilt hiding him from his new teammate, but vacation meant time away from work and racing. And one thing you learned about Kimi is that he hates race talk at the dinner table.

You sit in silence catching the last hours of sleep. By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. You feel the seatbelt around your waist, scouring the area you look for Kimi.

"You were asleep the whole flight, I put on your seatbelt for you." You blink your eyes, in an attempt to keep yourself awake.

"When did we land?" Your voice is croaky and dry, you squirm in your seat yawning and stretching.

A small smile can be seen from Kimi's face as he hands you bottled water. "We just landed, you want to go now or wait for a little while?"

A small pout forms your face as you unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing the bottled water from his hands you take small sips feeling more awake by the minute.

"I want to go now, I want to change clothes before going to the factory." Grabbing you things you stand up leaving the plane with Kimi beside you.

"Is someone picking you up or do you want me to drive you to your hotel?" Kimi offers, putting his bags at the trunk of a Ferrari 599. The way his arms flex, as he pushes his weight, leaning upon the frame of the trunk.

You shake your head off your thoughts, "You don't have to, someone is picking me up. I guess I'll see you around then." Frankly, you booked a one-way ticket to Emilia-Romagna as soon as your break with Kimi was over.

Spending your vacation with Kimi was one of the best things you've done, but the longer you stayed inside the bubble that is Kimi Raikkonen, the more you realized your conflicting feelings towards him.

And that is something you're not prepared to confront yet.

Nonetheless it seems as though the universe has a way of bringing you together— it comes in the form of sitting beside each other on the plane ride, and now seeing him through the glass window in Ferrari's headquarters.

#f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #kimi raikkonen smau #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen fluff

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whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan · 1 year

Text

🍆 So you can feel me even when I’m not there… 🍆

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Sad smut

✎ Summary: Chan’s on tour, but he’s found a way to be attentive even when he’s overseas.

✎ CW: Phone sex, FaceTime sex, dirty talk, sex toy use, swears, praise kink, daddy kink, general sadness

✎ Word count: 3,604

✎ Song recs: “Baby I’m Yours” - Arctic Monkeys & “Even When I’m Not With You” - Pierce the Veil

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

Two days.

It had only been two days since you saw him last, when he dragged himself out of bed at 3 in the morning to head to the airport.

He’d made you come four times before bed that night — once for each day he’d be gone — and held you tight while you slept. He even kissed you goodbye four times before leaving in the morning. But it wasn’t enough; nothing could ever be enough.

Even on his busiest days, you could at least look forward to him crawling into bed at night. He’d slide in behind you, pulling you into his chest as he drifts off, or maybe lightly pressing his hips into yours to see if you’d be down for a quickie. Sometimes you’d both be so tired he’d just slip his cock into you and gently roll his hips until he found release or simply fell asleep.

But the nights he was gone were almost unbearable. You’d wake up just before dawn to a dark room and an empty bed, immediately filled with fear that something happened to stop him from coming home to you. Then it hits you that he’s not supposed to come home, and somehow that’s even worse.

Two nights in a row waking up with that feeling has you losing it. The ache in your chest and your cunt only grows, and there’s nothing a weighted blanket or vibrator could do about either sensation. You need him.

Hey, baby

Malaysia is only an hour behind, but he’s probably sleeping after the early morning trip. He’ll reply later.

You try to go about your morning routine as best you can, but you can’t take your mind off his absence. Coffee, oatmeal, an empty seat at your table for two. Movie, blanket, a cold cushion on the loveseat. His scent is fading from the sweatshirt you haven’t taken off since the morning he left.

He needs his rest, but you need to hear his voice, see his words. Anything from him at this point.

Baby…

Luckily, he answers quickly this time.

Yeah love ?

I miss you…

I miss you too sweetheart

No I mean I…

I MISS you

I see hahahaha

:( don’t laugh

A voice message comes next.

“Naur, I’m sorry baby,” his silky voice pours out of the speaker. “Didn’t mean to make fun. You’re just cute… and predictable. Hehehehe.”

It takes a few listens to comprehend what he’s actually saying to you. The sound of his words and his laugh and his breath are exactly what you needed. And you’re sure he knows that, because he sends another text before you can compose yourself enough to reply.

Doing ok over there?

As best as I can… thank you

I wanna hear you too ㅠㅠㅠ

“Hiiii. I love youuuu. I miss yooouuuu,” you coo into the mic and send it off.

Adorable

Hey… what are you doing now?

Watching a movie

Ok if I call… ?

Of course :)

The Arctic Monkeys’ rendition of “Baby I’m Yours” plays and his goofy smile pops up on your screen. You almost always spend a few seconds distractedly staring at this photo you took before answering his calls.

“Hi, honey.”

Your voice is soft and sweet, matching the expression on your boyfriend’s face. One hand is pressed between the hotel pillow and his messy hair, and his sleepy, cinnamon eyes look right into the camera.

“Just woke up, thinking about yooouuuuu…” he croons, dragging out the last word just as you did in your voice note. “What are you watching?”

“I don’t know, I just clicked on whatever Netflix suggested,” you reply. “Just trying to distract myself.”

“Is it good at least?” he asks, still gazing at you in complete adoration.

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” you insist, more interested in listening to the beautiful boy on your phone talk about literally anything. “How about you? Tell me about the tour.”

“Ahhh,” he starts, shifting his glance offscreen. “First show went well, another today.”

His eyes are pointed just under the camera now, and a tiny smile spreads across his lips.

“It’s beautiful here,” he says. “I keep thinking about experiencing all of this with you, though. We’ll have to come back.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer dazedly. Hearing him say romantic shit with those lips… looking at you with those eyes… it’s mystifying.

When you started dating, his excitement would turn to concern when you zoned out like this, but now he knows better, and his smile only widens.

“I love you,” he says softly and stifles a giggle. “But hey, I gotta go. They need us for some press thing soon.”

You can’t hide the frown that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“I know, I know,” he consoles. “I’ll be free later, and I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Ok, have a good day, talk to you later,” you answer weakly.

“Hey, 힘내. I’ll make it worth it,” he winks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He blows a kiss and then he’s gone, leaving you to stare at your sad reflection on the black screen.

The minutes, then the hours pass. True crime episodes, supernatural thrillers, nothing can hold your attention. You’re drowning in thoughts of him, and every tiny chime from your phone sends your heart rate to the moon. It’s never him, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping.

A characteristically slow episode of this week’s hottest dating show has you half asleep, and you almost miss the alert you’ve been waiting for. Luckily, it’s followed by his ringtone a minute later.

“Hiiii??” you answer groggily.

“Hey, baby, enjoy your nap?”

Chan’s voice is barely louder than a whisper, and you decide a low grunt is enough to answer his question.

“Hehehe, I can’t talk but wanted to make sure you were up. Check your texts. Byyyeeee!”

He’s gone again, and you muster enough strength to navigate to your messages just in time to see the original text before a new one pops up.

Still filming, but I miss you too much

Get any deliveries today?

Not that I know of but let me check

You pad to the door, feeling the cool wood on your feet for the first time in hours. A quick peek into the hallway outside of the apartment reveals a medium-sized, plain cardboard box.

You bring it back to the couch — today’s haven — and drape the blanket back over you before placing the box in your lap and checking your phone.

흠…

Come baaccckkkk

There’s a box… what did you do

Did you open it?

The tape breaks easily, and inside is a note stamped with three small hearts sitting atop delicately folded tissue paper. Underneath, you find some lingerie, a mask, and two boxes varying in size.

Inside the first is a small suction toy, and the second contains a silicone dildo packaged with another note.

So you can feel me even when I’m not there…

A closer inspection reveals ridges and curves that seem almost familiar. You close your fingers around the base and slowly drag your hand toward the tip, feeling the same veins press against your fingers. How did he…

Is this…

Akskdnsnsksjsjskdjdnskskdjdnd

It was supposed to ship before I left I’m sorry it’s late

How the fuck did you do this

Will you try it out for me later?

I want to know how close it is to the real thing and you know it best

Chan oh my god

I’ll call in an hour when I’m back in my room ok…?

See you soon!!!

Of course he’d do something like this without warning you, but the timing couldn’t be better. What better to fill the hole left by his absence than, well, him.

A quick shower and trash run later, you settle in on the couch right as your phone rings for the third time today.

“Hey, sexy,” he hums. “Do you like your gifts?”

“Waited for you to try them out, but they do seem promising,” you tease, angling your phone down just enough to get some cleavage in frame. One corner of his mouth pulls back in a smirk, putting that dimple on full display.

“Cute… I’ve wanted to see you in that for weeks. But I do have a question, a proposition I guess…”

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“Can you prop up your phone so I can see you, and put the blindfold on?”

Hot, but also…

“So… I can’t see you then?”

“I want it to feel like I’m there, like I’m the one touching you, making you feel good,” he says as a light blush spreads across his cheeks. “I read somewhere this helps.”

“Oh, well, ok, yeah. You’ll keep talking though?”

“Of course, baby. I’ll talk you through it all.”

“Ok, hold on.”

You make quick work of leaning your phone against one of the many glasses on the coffee table, ensuring the whole couch is in clear view before stepping back and slowly sitting down. The suction toy rests on the cushion to your left, and the dildo on the right.

“Perfect, ok, now put the dildo on the floor,” Chan says. “There’s suction on the bottom, you can just stick it to the wood.”

You secure his cock on the ground between the couch and the table, and everything in you screams to just sit on it now and never take it out ever again. But he has other plans, so you’ll save that fantasy for later and sit back on the couch.

“Blindfold time, sweetheart.”

A deep breath in, and you slide the silk down over your eyes and place your hands on your knees, awaiting further instruction.

“All good?” Chan asks, excitement and concern laced together in his voice. “You can hear me ok?”

“Mhm, yeah. Ready when you are.”

Another giggle fills the space, and it’s clear he was right. In the dark, it’s easier to pretend he isn’t hundreds of miles away. Like he’s here, standing above you.

“I love that you got all dressed up for me,” he says, slow and low. “Can I see your pretty panties, too?”

Hands still on your knees, you gradually spread your legs until your calves hit the couch.

“That’s perfect, baby. They look so good on you, on your skin. I wish I could touch your skin,” he rambles a bit, then pauses before continuing. “Can you describe it for me?”

“My skin?”

“Yeah, touch yourself. Tell me how it feels.”

You place your fingertips just under your chin, lightly dragging them along your neck, down to your chest.

“It’s…. soft, smooth. I put that lotion you like on after my shower.”

“You did? Where else did you put it?”

“On my chest, my stomach, my thighs…” you respond, running your fingers down your body as you go.

“And your inner thighs? There, too?”

“Of course.”

He lets out a shuddering breath as your hand travels down to your legs, moving out to your knee via the top of your thigh and heading back on the soft, sensitive skin on your inner thigh. Fingertips stop just between thigh and crotch.

“What about between your legs? Can you tell me how it feels there?”

You slide a finger under the fabric, gliding across the freshly shaved skin with help from the slickness of your arousal. You make a point to bend your finger so your knuckle presses outward, making it clear exactly where you’re touching yourself — for the yearning viewer’s sake.

“It’s wet, silky… delicate.”

“Silky, huh? And how do you feel when you touch yourself there?”

“Good,” you reply a little too quickly, revealing the truth behind the calm, composed roles you’d both been playing. You’re sure he’s chuckling at you right now. If only you could see his face…

“How does that compare to when I touch you there?”

Thoughts immediately snap to him, his fingers, doing what you’re doing. Emulating his typical movements in the dark has you almost, almost convinced it is him. Him teasing you, tormenting you before unexpectedly dipping a finger or two inside. Asking how badly you want him, want his big cock…

“Baby, tell me what you’re feeling.”

“You,” you admit. “I feel… you.”

“Yeah?” he chirps, a hint of pride in his voice. “What am I doing? What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me.”

“I don’t know if you’re ready for me yet. Gotta stretch you out first, play with your clit a little. Can you grab that toy for me?”

You reach for the suction toy on your left, hovering just over it until he confirms that’s what he wants.

“Yeah, use that for me. On your clit. It should feel like my mouth...”

You raise your hips to slide the thong down, giving yourself a better chance to use this correctly. Pointer and middle fingers spread your folds as you try your best to aim in the darkness.

The suction feels… strange. Interesting? You reposition it a few times and it’s nice, but not like oral, though. And you must look frustrated, because…

“Wow, it is really like I’m there…” Chan muses.

“Huh? How?”

“It’s just… taking you a bit… to find…” he giggles.

“Oh, shut up, you’re so… oh…”

Yep, there it is. The silicone circle surrounds the sensitive nub and pulls inward. It’s just like lips… and tongue… and Chan… relentlessly sucking and pulling with his face buried between your thighs and his hands gripping your hips and your fingers lodged in his hair…

It’s so good but it’s so much. Your head is spinning and your heart is racing and your toes curl down into the wood trying to ground yourself in any way you can. Your free hand alternates between squeezing the life out of the couch cushion and running along your skin — down your thighs, up your chest, through your hair. Nails dragging and leaving marks like you would on him, on his chest, on his back…

“Baby, come for me.”

His voice breaks through the haze like lightning cracking down from the sky, sending electric tingles through your veins. A strained cry escapes your throat as you do exactly what he said, what he ordered.

The high is short but intense, and you’re shaking well past the end. You let the toy fall to the couch and lean back, enjoying the aftershocks.

“You look so beautiful like that,” he hums.

“Mhhhmmm,” you sigh. “Hope you enjoyed the show.”

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Chan whispers, but it’s louder now. Like his mouth is right next to the mic. “I want you to ride me.”

Finally.

You maneuver down to the floor and feel for the rigid silicone. You position your knees on either side and slightly in front of the dildo, then lower your ass down toward your feet until the tip brushes against your folds.

“Want daddy to spread you open? Split your walls around my cock?”

“Please,” you beg, reaching down to play with your swollen clit while rolling your hips forward and back, just rubbing the head against you.

“Spit in your hand and rub it on me.”

You do as you’re told again, coating the dildo in your saliva. It’s amazing how much it feels like him.

“Put me in… just a little.”

You angle the head into you. It’s just as big as him, and just as much of a shock when the tip disappears inside your body. You have inches to go, but you’re already starting to feel whole again.

“How does it feel?”

“Amazing, it’s so real. It feels like you.”

“It is me, baby. You feel so good, too. Can you pull your hair for me?”

The thought of it makes you moan, and the tug on the back of your scalp only increases the volume. You inch down slowly, giving yourself time to adjust to his size and appreciate every single vein and curve as it forces your walls apart. He stretches you out so well…

“Take me all the way. Now.”

A pained groan sounds out as you force yourself down to the floor, burying Chan’s cock in you down to his balls. The sound of them slapping against your soaked pussy makes both of you moan.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You carefully raise and lower your hips, still not fully acclimated to his size. Each lift-up is bittersweet relief, and each push-down is delicious torment. You go faster and faster each time, urged on by his groans.

“Take off your bra. I wanna see your tits bounce for me.”

Fingers undo the clasp and you slide the garment over your shoulders and down your arms, still rolling your hips up and down, angling him into every inch of flesh inside you.

“Play with your nipple… wet your fingers and pinch it like I do. I want to hear you whine.”

This time, You use the wetness from your pussy to dampen your fingers before running one hard nipple between finger and thumb. His moans encourage you to reach down to gather more, but this time, you slide three fingers into your mouth and close your lips. You drag them out slowly, knowing it will drive him wild.

“Wanna taste me, baby?” you ask.

“More than anything in the world. What is it like?”

“Hmmmm,” you muse, taking time to wrap your tongue around each individual finger in the lewdest way possible. “Sweet… and salty.”

“Mmm, I want to lick you clean,” he confesses, “eat you for every single meal. I wanna live between your thighs.”

You fuck yourself faster now, bouncing up and down on his dick. He fills you up perfectly and completely, like he was made to your exact specifications. And this was made to his.

“Feels so good… so big…” you exhale, placing one hand behind you to steady yourself and using the other to twist and tweak your nipple.

“Yeah… and you feel so tight, you take my cock so well. Can you roll your body how I like?”

Shoulders back first, you wind your torso forward and back, taking extra care to roll your hips on his cock. Back and forth, back and forth. His name on your lips.

“That’s it, just like that. Good girl.”

Skin slaps from both ends of the call, and your shaky exhales happen almost in perfect unison. He must be close, and so are you.

“Ch… choke yourself. Squeeze that pretty neck.”

Fingers leave your tit to grip your neck and force your head back, just like he does when he leans in, hot breath on your skin, sucking hickeys into any flesh not hidden by his long fingers. Biting your ear, pulling down at the lobe and letting it snap back as you grind into his lap. Fucking yourself on his big cock at your own pace, tits bouncing in his face. He’ll catch a nipple between teeth if he can, biting down hard and letting go quickly. Just kissing and sucking and nipping at your skin like an animal… like a…

“Oh fuck!” you cry out, washed over by a wave of unstoppable pleasure. “I’m… Chan… I’m…”

“That’s it, come for me, come on me,” he hisses.

His cock relentlessly slams into you throughout your orgasm, so rhythmically you forget it’s not really him fucking you to pieces in his lap.

“Oh god… oh fuck, you… oh fuck…” he moans, finishing right after you in typical him fashion.

Vision blurs until you come back down, slowing your vertical pace until you’re sitting on him, motionless. He’s quiet now, too, undoubtedly recovering from his own orgasm.

“You are, that was…” he starts then trails off, opting to focus on breathing instead.

The tinny sound of his voice is almost a surprise. You practically forgot he wasn’t there. Forgot he wasn’t lying in ruins in the dark next to you.

You pull the blindfold off and toss it to the floor. He’s in a similar position as you, sitting at the foot of the bed looking wiped as hell.

“So… what’s the verdict?” Chan asks between deep breaths and sighs.

“It’s great. Not as good as the real thing, but close,” you decide.

“You look so amazing using it. Watching it slide in and out of you… god. It felt like a dream.”

Your eyes meet — as much as they can over FaceTime. You’re captivated by the image of him: shirtless, cock taut against his toned stomach, half hidden by the elastic waistband of his shorts. Eyeshadow is smeared around his wide, caramel eyes while a soft smile plays at his lips.

“I love you,” he says softly, breaking the silence.

“I love you,” you echo.

A few more seconds of quiet admiration, then he makes the face. The one he breaks out just before delivering bad news.

“Hey, I gotta get ready to head to the venue,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “I’m already a little late, oops.”

“That’s ok, thank you for… everything. Really,” you reply, still too far up in the clouds to be sad about yet another goodbye.

“I love you, I’ll text you after the show, yeah?”

“Perfect. Oh, and just so you know, I will be sleeping with this inside me tonight.”

His sullen expression fades into that famous smile, and it’s aimed at you.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he says with a chuckle and a wink. “Now I just need a replica of you…”

“We’ll make one when you get home.”

“Perfect.”

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Text

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.

Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.

You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.

The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him.

He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”

"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"

He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S F O R T H E B A B Y.

It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings.

But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor.

He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.

You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up.

He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.

You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.

The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it.

Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.

"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"

You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field.

"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.

"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap.

“Right. That."

You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.

“Can I have yours???"

He had only sliced 4 cuts for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you.

Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.

"You gotta watch the salt intake—“

“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”

“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.”

“What about the fist one?”

“….We split that.”

“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you.

“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?”

You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.

"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.

Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"

"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”

His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“

"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable.

He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”

You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.

30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.

You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”

Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”

He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.

Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.

His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?

Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.

And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers.

"Babe"

"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"

"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”

You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”

He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now.

"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)

"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."

You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!"

He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.

“So how about it?”

“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”

“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”

He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.

Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.

You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.

He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.

Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.

“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.

You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time!

It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy

"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water.

“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.”

"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”

Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "

“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”

Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”

You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”

Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.

Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.

He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.

"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.

But you don’t move. “No"

"Now.”

"I want an orange.”

"No. You—you just had your snack."

"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.

Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.

You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam.

You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.

You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.

Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.

“Yes?”

"Peel it.”

He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.

Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.

You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“

Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.

You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.

“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!"

He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”

Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.

“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”

You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.

You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time.

“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”

The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.

You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more.

It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.

He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place.

“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“

His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.

“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.

Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn.

Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you.

You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.

“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.

Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him.

If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.

Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”

“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”

Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.

He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight.

- - - -

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