#when i got it it was like the size of my thumb nail | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sparklingchim · 9 months

Text

too hot to handle;m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5.3k

rating: 18+

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, brother’s best friend, college!au, fwb

warnings: belly button smoochies !!!!, they banter a lot hihi, oral (m receiving), protected sex, dick slaps on the face 🫢, mentions of underage drinking, spanking, spitting, dirty talk, oc loves reality tv shows & jk just puts up w it, groping, praise, a sprinkle of jealousy😋, INTRODUCING A KITTY CAT !!!! pls she is the cutest <3

summary: pov: it's a hot summer day, and naturally, your brother's best friend can't take his eyes off your scantily clad body.

a/n: wow it's been so long!! but here's a lil summer fic!! love u hope u like it MWAH 😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“I can’t believe those people can’t keep their dick in for just a little while.” Jungkook tilts his head in a disapproving way. “There’s so much money at stake and you're risking it just cause you’re horny?”

You silently giggle at the way his brows knit. The judgement that contorts his face is the exact opposite of his earlier claims that he doesn’t care about silly reality tv shows that are obviously pre-arranged and scripted.

“Oh, don’t act like it’d be easy for you.” You poke his calf with your foot. “You’re a very horny person, Jungkook.” You look up at him with your chin resting against his bare chest and give him a pointed look.

His bottom lip juts out as he ponders your words. “I don’t think so,” he finally says.

You gasp in mock surprise, pushing yourself away from with your palms against shoulders. You lie nearly completely on top of him, one leg thrown across his body. “That is a bold statement coming from you.”

Jungkook toys with the strap of your lacy camisole. “Honestly, I think you are hornier than me.”

You blink multiple times. “Me?” You point to yourself. “No, it’s you.” You nudge his bare, husky chest with your nail – you got your nails done for summer, the tips are painted in the cutest pastel colours.

He catches your finger and swiftly interlaces his hand with yours. “Nuh-uh. It’s not me,” he denies. “Who was the one to initiate things between us?”

“That has nothing to do with this,” you argue. “You just never initiated anything because you’re scared of my brother.” A mischievous twinkle unfolds in your eyes. Jungkook should be paid for the obnoxious number of times he has to put up with your bratty ass.

Jungkook rolls his pretty eyes. “I wouldn’t be on his fucking couch cuddling with his sister if I was scared, hm?” He looks across the hallway, pointing with his chin to Taehyung’s room. “Where even is he?”

“I dunno. Said he’d come home late.”

His fingers slip away from yours and he holds his palm against yours.

“You’ve got long fingers,” you say, staring at the size difference.

“Your nails are pretty.” He mindlessly brushes his fingers over them.

You excitedly tap your fingertips against his hand. “I know, right? Thank you!” You lean down and give his belly button a kiss.

“Another one?”

You giggle foolishly, planting another smooch on his tummy. Then you rest your head on his belly and refocus on the show playing on the television.

His palm lies on the small of your back, thumb gently stroking your exposed skin. “You were, like, all over me, though. Last year, I mean.”

“Excuse me?” you turn your head.

“Last year during summer break, when Taehyung and I surprised you.”

“I know what you mean,” you tell him. You drop his hand on his lap, a frown blossoming on your face. “But that was not the case at all.”

Okay, perhaps he is correct – but to your defence, you were struggling with your first real heartbreak around that time and needed a little distraction.

“I just wanted to get the charger and leave,” he argues with a pout, playing all innocent with those damned doe eyes

“No.” You give him an appalled look. “You were literally standing in my room staring at me.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to find you like that.”

“You barged into my room, what were you expe-”

“I didn’t barge into your room,” he clarifies. “Your door was ajar, so I assumed you’d be decent.”

You shake your head disapprovingly. “Knocking is basic etiquette.”

“Whatever,” he sighs and his hand on your back sneaks beneath your top. “You initiated it, though. Practically threw yourself at me.”

You scoff, frowning up at him. “Need a trip down memory lane?”

Jungkook smirks amusedly. His dimple pops out adorably. “What?” He twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. “Wanna show me what we did?”

You roll your eyes, despite your heart skipping a beat. “You wouldn’t last a second on the show.” You tilt your head towards the flat screen tv.

“I have a hot girl in my arms – gonna blame a boy for trying?”

Jungkook clearly knows how to get you. And you hate that he knows when he’s got you. His smile grows bigger and his hand wanders down to your ass, barely covered with your tiny shorts, and delivers a little smack.

“C’mere,” he whispers and pulls you on top of him. “Wanna make you scream louder than you did earlier.”

one year ago

For you, summer doesn’t quite begin until it’s the perfect day to lie on the sun lounger in a cute bikini, sipping on a cold drink and bask in the gentle warmth with good music in your ears. It’s the perfect way to relax and unwind.

Lucky for you, today is one of those summer days – just perfect enough to spend the entire day resting by the pool. The sun is high in the sky, casting a warm glow on your skin.

Better than Revenge by Taylor Swift is blasting through your phone while you placidly flip the page of a memoir about love.

As you look up from the book, you notice that your little grey cat Moon has left your lap. She was sunbathing with you, lying flat on her belly with her limbs outstretched, but she must’ve slipped into the house a while ago. You dog ear the page and place the book on the small table beside you.

The sun dances on the water, creating a beautiful mosaic of light and shadow. A little slice of heaven on earth, you think. You love spending time in the backyard. It’s peaceful and tranquil.

And that’s when you hear the patter of feet running across the grass from behind, and before you’re able to realise what’s happening, two bodies jump into the pool, the water splashes everywhere – including you.

“What the-” You shut your eyes closed despite the sunglass perched on the bridge of your nose. Water droplets hit your face. You pull your sunglasses up to your forehead.

Two heads pop out of the water. “Hi.” Jungkook is the first to speak up. He sends a sweet smile in your direction, his hand doing a little wave.

Your heart beats faster at the sight of him. Unthinkingly, you slowly mimic the wave with your hand. Your gaze wanders over to the tattoo wreathing his shoulder, peeking out of the water, and the way the droplets run from his face to his neck before your eyes shift to your brother.

Taehyung is fixing his hair, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“What are you guys doing here?” You grab the towel next to you to dry yourself off. “Isn’t it Thursday? I thought you were coming back on Friday?”

“Surprise!” Your brother yells from the pool. When Taehyung notices the pout on your lips, he gives you a quizzical look. “You’re not happy to see me?” He pushes himself out of the pool and walks over to you.

“I had planned to bake you a cake,” you explain sullenly and stand up.

“A cake? For what?”

“Just a little welcome back cake.” You shrug. “Mum bought me the pink Smeg stand mixer and I wanted to try it out.”

“Well, that’s fine. We could bake together?” He opens his arms, and despite him being wet everywhere, you rush into the hug.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his arm. Immediate comfort surrounds you. "But it’s no fun being in the kitchen with you.”

“Yah.” He shoves you away. “Be grateful that I’m letting you ruin my kitchen with all your stuff.”

“Ruin?” you repeat offended. “As far as I know you barely even have anything in your kitchen – let alone your apartment. I’ll decorate everything really pretty, just trust me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jungkook pushing himself out of the pool. Taehyung restricts your sight a little, so you take a subtle step to the side. But the second you have a clear view of Jungkook, you instantly regret it.

His arms have gotten bigger – stronger, buffer, just everything – and the water running down his sculpted body is pitifully failing at making this scene less salivating. Oh, and his thighs. His wet swim shorts cling to them, leaving exactly nothing to the imagination.

You hastily look away when Jungkook catches your eyes.

“You missed me too?” Jungkook chips in, standing next to Taehyung. Jungkook wears a cheeky grin and stretches his arms out.

With faux reluctance, you give in. “I guess,” you mutter and gingerly hug him. Jungkook’s big hands are on your back and you feel the slightest tingle.

“You guess?” he scoffs.

He pulls you back and peers down at you beneath his wet locks. You’re a little blinded by the proximity of his gorgeous face. His piercings twinkle in the sun just like is eyes do when he looks at you.

When his hands clasp your waist, you know exactly what he’s scheming.

“Jungkook, don’t.” You try to push him away, but he obviously won’t budge.

“When are you gonna learn that teasing me by the pool never ends well for you?” He cocks his head.

You feel Taehyung’s hand on your shoulder. “You did this to yourself.”

You huff, trying to plead with your eyes. “Jungkook. I really don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“You don’t want me to throw you into the pool?”

“No.” Your mouth twists into a pout. Maybe he’ll spare you for cuteness. Your hands travel to his arms. Or maybe you can distract him enough to let you go.

“Too bad.” Jungkook throws you over his shoulder with an annoying grin. You kick his back with your fists, but it’s hopeless. “That’s, like, one of my favourite summer activities.”

And then he leaps into the pool with you.

You admit, you did indeed have fun goofing around with them in the pool – you're still pissed at Jungkook for tossing you into the water though.

“You’ve been alone the whole day?” Taehyung asks when all three of you are out of the pool.

“Yeah, mum and dad said they’d come home later.”

“Why haven’t you invited someone over?”

“Just wanted to enjoy some me time.” You point to your copy of Everything I Know About Love. “I was reading a little.”

“How are thing with Doyoon? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

It is a reasonable question, given that you haven’t updated Taehyung on your relationship status for, like, a month now. But you’d rather talk about anything but your ex.

“I don’t know,” you reply indifferently. When you spot little Moon plodding around the garden you swoop her up into your arms. “Have you greeted Moonie yet? She’s missed you.” The tiny grey kitty purrs in your hold.

“I spent like 20 minutes cuddling her in the living room when we got here.” Taehyung pets her under her chin and her purring intensifies. “So, what’s with Doyoon? You two had a fight?”

Jungkook joins the kitty cuddles and gives Moon belly rubs.

“I broke up with him.”

Both boys stop their movements. Moon complains meekly at the sudden lack of petting.

“You broke up with him?” Jungkook asks perplexed.

You’re aware it sounds shocking that the girl with huge separation anxiety and attachment issues broke up with her boyfriend of nearly a year, but that is exactly what you did.

“What did he do?” Taehyung's eyebrows are knitted, flashing you a glowering gaze.

You know he is not mad at you – even though he doesn’t particularly like when you keep things hidden from him – but mad at the fact that someone hurt you and he wasn’t there to protect you.

You just shrug.

“How long ago was that?” Taehyung continues his inquiry.

“Uh, like a month ago or so?” You let Moon hop onto the grass. She immediately goes to rub her head against Jungkook’s leg.

“___, if you want me to-”

“Tae, I’m fine. Really.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” In Jungkook’s direction he says, “I’ll get us some towels.” And then he disappears into the house.

Jungkook steps closer to you, now with Moon in his embrace, and changes the subject. “Watchu been up to?” He pinches your cheek. “Senior year was fine without us?”

Frowning, you shove his arm away. “Believe it or not, but school was actually more peaceful without annoying boys in the hallways.”

Jungkook snorts a laugh at your jab. His dimples popping out distract you a little and all you think about is cute and how badly you want to poke them. But instead, you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“So, everything’s been fine?” he asks. “You’re excited for college? Being roomies with Taehyung?” Jungkook’s eyes shimmer teasingly – how could they not, his doe eyes look the sparkliest around you.

Now, you don’t want to seem rude. But when you thought about moving out and finally having the freedom you had dreamed of for so long, you didn’t reckon with the fact that your parents had already arranged your move out without you. You had tabs of pretty apartments near campus saved on your laptop when your mum nonchalantly asked at dinner a few months ago if Taehyung had already removed the furniture from his guest bedroom so you could furnish it to your liking.

You were a little upset – still are upset, but there's nothing you can do.

It’s a sore subject, so you bite the side of your lip sulkily. “Why? Do you wanna move in? I heard you only got a tiny dorm.” You keep your nose in the air.

“Oh no, I love my apartment. I love having my own space and not having to share it with anyone.” Jungkook shakes his head at your wrong assumption, all innocently. “It’s not big, but perfect for one person.” He shrugs. “Will you be fine with only one room to yourself, princess?” He actually flashes you a smile – taunting you with those sickeningly wicked lips and round eyes – but you just roll your eyes at his silly remark and turn on your heel, sashaying your way back to the sun lounger.

“I’m good.” You pick up your towel from the small table to dry you off. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I don’t think I’ll be home much anyway.” You imitate his smile from just a moment ago. “Wanna have the full college experience.” You think you see his face falter for the tiniest second before he recovers.

“Told Taehyung that too?”

You purse your lips in naivety. “Of course he knows.”

“Oh, yeah?” He quirks his brow. You catch his eyes as they dip down to watch you drying your chest.

You blink. “What do you mean – yeah, of course I told him.” You have to contain your laughter when perplexity falls over Jungkook’s face. “What are you thinking of?” Your head falls sideways, mouth curving upwards.

“No, what are you thinking of?”

“Oh, I’m thinking of spending my time in the library to study, maybe explore some cute cafes nearby to study in – oh, creating study groups and having study buddies would be fun!” you exclaim. “And obviously cheering for Taehyung and you,” – you give him a pointed look – “at your games.” You throw the now damp towel back on the lounger. “What were you thinking of?”

He shakes his head, pouty mouth denying that he was thinking of something else. He’s guilelessly rubbing Moon’s back, who has quickly fallen into a little nap in his arms.

“Cheering us on, hm?”

“Just like old times,” you say. “Think I should apply as a cheerleader again?”

Jungkook toys with his lip ring and you hate when he does it because you already have a hard time not blatantly staring at his mouth as it is.

“You-” He stops abruptly.

“What?” you ask, trying to pull the words from him, the tip of your tongue pressing against your top lip.

“You looked good in your cheerleader uniform.” His eyes dart mindlessly over your body.

A short giggle escapes you. “I know, right? Thank you!” You give him a sweet smile over your shoulder as you walk pass Taehyung, who just stepped outside with two towels in his hand.

“Where’re you going?” Taehyung halts next to you.

“Thought I’d make us some drinks,” you reply.

Taehyung gives you a long stare. “That’s what you’ve been up to the past weeks?”

You wave dismissively. “No, not at all.”

But Taehyung can tell when you lie – can smell it from anywhere. It’s something you hate and love at the same time. Sometimes you just want to be left alone, and sometimes, when your guard is up high, he allows you to feel vulnerable through his endless poking and snooping.

“Maybe a little.” An apologetic smile forms on your mouth, eyes going rounder when you hear Taehyung sigh.

Okay, maybe you did drink a little more than you’d like to admit – you got your heart broken. What’s a girl gonna do? – but never too much. And never when you were on your own. Being drunk alone is no fun.

“I promise it’s not that serious,” you say. Nothing a little crying, cuddles from Moon and journaling at night can’t cure. Your visits at stationery stores have been a tad bit excessive this past month – but for good reason.

His eyes tell you that he’s going to confront you about this later. He nods his head to the kitchen inside. “Don’t go too overboard, yeah?”

“Oh, I’ll make you one of my specialties!”

Taehyung doesn’t join your enthusiasm. Instead, he scowls. “Specialties? ___, when did you-”

You hop into the house, not listening anymore. Once he gets a taste of your drink, his grumpy face will ask for another one instead of grumbling about your recklessness.

You don’t know what Taehyung and Jungkook are up to, but you hope they took your advice seriously when you told them to put on sunscreen if they want to spend more time outside.

You’re fresh out of a shower. The steam in your bathroom follows you into your bedroom – despite the hot temperatures, you can’t bring yourself to shower with cold water.

With a fluffy towel around you and your kitty ears headband on, you poke your head into your wardrobe to search for clothes.

You just fetched a cute pair of panties when you hear your door fly open.

“Taehyung needs a charger can you-”

Jungkook immediately shuts up.

Your panties slip from your fingers. His eyes move aimlessly over your body until he realises what he’s doing. Flustered, he turns his head around and sees the door wide open. Jungkook quickly closes it, and you don’t know why – maybe he doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this, you think he mentioned earlier that Namjoon was gonna come over too, or maybe he doesn’t want someone seeing him in this untimely situation.

Your cheeks feel on fire. “He needs a phone charger?” you ask when he shifts his gaze back at you.

“Yeah.” You almost giggle at the way he tries not to look down at your body. He already had trouble with that in the backyard.

You pad through your room to find your charger.

“I’m not sure where I put it.” You feel his eyes on you and inevitably, your entire body gradually starts feeling hot. You bend down to take a peek under your bed, tightly holding the towel in front of your chest to keep it from sliding down, but you come up empty-handed.

Jungkook clears his throat. “You know – I think he’ll be fine. If he doesn’t find his I can get mine from home.”

Returning to him, you quickly snatch your panties from the ground and throw them back into your wardrobe.

“Maybe I left it in the living room,” you say, eyes trailing over his bare chest. If he’s not subtle about staring, you won’t be either.

“I’ll tell him to look there.”

You nod. And he nods. But no one moves.

“That looks cute.” He nods towards your headband.

“Oh.” You touch the soft material of your headband. “Thank you.”

“I probably should head back.”

“You really want to leave?”

That elicits a surprised snort from him. “Do you want me to stay?” His eyebrows shoot up.

“I dunno.” You toy with the front of your towel. “Maybe?”

The crooked smile that appears on his face gives you the last push. You’ve got Jungkook alone in your room in nothing but his swim shorts – you'd be a fool not to try.

His eyes are locked on your fingers playing with your towel. Jungkook takes a step towards you. When he raises his tatted arm and gently outlines the curve of your waist with his fingertip, you let go of your towel. With a dull thud it pools around your feet.

“I-” Jungkook is speechless as he stares at your exposed body His doe eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them. He averts his gaze to your face, pointing his thumb to the door. His mouth parts, but no words come past them.

“Don’t leave.” A little frown scrunches your face. “Do you want to leave?”

“We shouldn’t-” Jungkook shakes his head, eyes furtively glimpsing at your body again before lifting them up. “You sure?” he asks. “You want this?” Hesitantly, his tongue fiddles with his piercing.

You nod and reach for his hand, grabbing a few fingers to drag him closer to you.

“You want this?” he repeats. “Need you to say it. Please.” He’s staring deep into your eyes and you see the desire and restraint striving against each other in his. His question lingering in the air controls his mixed emotions.

“I want this.” You tug him even closer.

His longing glances are all over you – he can’t seem to dwell too long on one curve, he needs to memorise it all.

“Fuck it,” he whispers. And then he cups your jaw, roughly going in for a messy kiss.

You stumble a few steps back, but Jungkook catches you, his fingers dip into the soft skin of your waist. A sigh from you mingles into the kiss. You didn’t think kissing Jungkook would feel so good. But his lips are ridiculously smooth, and he moves his mouth in a fashion that has you yearning for more. Your hands vanish in his hair, teasingly pulling at his damp locks.

He pulls back, breathing heavy. “This is so wrong.” He nuzzles his head into your neck.

“He won’t know.” When you feel his teeth sinking into your skin, you yank him back. “He will if you're gonna suck hickeys on me.”

“You just taste so fucking good,” he mumbles.

You pepper kisses along his jaw before you slowly sink on your knees. The bulge in his shorts stares right at you. Giddy sparks flash through your eyes while you look up at Jungkook.

“You’re not doing this because you drank, right?” His knuckles brush over your cheek.

“Huh?” you feel dizzy, little pink hearts swell up in front of your eyes, the longer you stare into his dreamy face. When you register his question, you deny it with a strong shake of your head. “I’m not drunk.”

He tips your chin up. “You promise?”

“I didn’t put anything in my drink,” you assure him. “I promise.”

With a smile playing on your lips, you place a kiss on his belly button before pulling down his swim shorts. The pink hearts grow even bigger when his cock pops out. It’s a pretty cock – veiny and thick, his tip glistening with a teeny tiny dab of pre-cum. You’ve never been more excited to put a dick in your mouth.

You have one palm around his cock and guide his head to your mouth. You stick your tongue out and sweep it over his slit. The muscles on his abdomen tense. Even the slightest reactions from him excites you, cheeks turning warm in eagerness.

A breathy moan escapes Jungkook at the feeling of your warm lips wrapped around his head and his fingers slide over your kitty ears headband to the back of your head. You like the feeling of his hand on you. It elicits a tingly sensation in your tummy. You take more of him, relaxing your throat as you go.

“Good girl.” His hushed praise has wetness pooling between your thighs. Your fist curled around his cock tightens fleetingly.

More quiet moans fill the room as you bob your head, tongue swirling around his length. You pull off his dick with a lewd sound and pump his cock while you suck on his balls. Jungkook’s head falls back, flaunting his pretty throat you’d die to adorn with your love bites all over.

Dragging your lips over his cock again, his palm pushes your head forward. Almost his entire length vanishes in your mouth and the corner of your eyes start shimmering with tears.

“Fuck, that’s right.” He holds you there, savouring the feeling of your lips pulled taut around his swollen cock. “Taking my cock so good.” When you retract with a gag, his thumb brushes your tear away. “But still too big, huh?”

“You wanna teach me how to take all of it?” You bat your eyes.

Jungkook grins, flashing you his bunny teeth. He glides his tip over your plush lips and to your cheek. “Think you could take it all?”

“If you teach me well enough.” Your palms rest against his muscular thighs. You squeeze them and your mouth turns round in awe of their firmness.

He taps his cock on your face a couple times. “Another time, princess. Just wanna fuck your mouth right now.” Jungkook presses his dick on your mouth. “Open.”

With his cock back in your mouth, he starts moving his hips. He doesn’t force his cock in too far, just enough to have you teary eyed.

“Scoot over there.” His voice his husky as he pulls his dick from your mouth, it distracts you a little from what he’s instructed you to do until Jungkook nudges your shoulder and nods his chin to the back. You crawl backwards on your knees, palms on his thighs. When he’s satisfied, he leans in for a short kiss and you kneel comfortably on the plush carpet beneath you.

He strokes himself, eyebrows drawn together as he ogles your body through his hooded eyes. You could sit here for hours watching him play with himself. He’s just so hot. You love watching hot men do anything.

“Wanna fuck you,” he rasps, words laced with thick, deep lust. He pushes his hair back before it falls prettily into his face. “Can I fuck you?”

Unbeknownst to him, you would do anything he asked you to do now.

When you raise to your feet Jungkook asks, “Can you keep quiet?”

Offence is written on your face as you pad to your nightstand. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve snuck a boy into my room.”

“Who would’ve thought you’re such a dirty girl, hm?” He snatches the condom from your drawer before you can reach for it. He’s practised in tearing the wrapper open and rolling it over his cock. “Bend over your desk for me.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, arching your back for him. He shoves two fingers up your pussy and you have to bite down your lip to stifle a moan.

“So wet for me already.” Jungkook curls his fingers, and you can’t believe how fast he has your thighs trembling.

Withdrawing his fingers, he aligns his tip to your entrance. Jungkook gradually sinks his cock into you.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you whine, brows pinched together.

“You can take it.” Jungkook moves his hips while his fingers grip your ass, kneading the supple flesh. “Your pussy feels so fucking good – fuck.”

Jungkook fucks you fast – fucks you good, you think you already feel your high building up. He sneaks his around your body, pressing his palm on your tummy.

“You like this?” He puts pressure with his hand and your walls clamp around his cock. A moan escapes you. “Good girl,” he coos. “Wanna make you cum for me.”

“Don’t stop – please don’t stop,” you pant, shutting your eyes closed. Your elbows give in and you rest your arms on the desk.

Jungkook’s cock feels undeniably good, rubbing against your sweet spot and making you see stars while you uncontrollably utter tiny moans.

“Gonna cum around my cock?” Jungkook hand collides against your butt. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Your climax consumes you in lightning speed. It swamps your wholly, tears well up in your eyes. Your legs are wobbly, but Jungkook has a safe hand around you.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers.

His hand on your tummy flies up to your tits, rolling them around in his palm while relentlessly fucking you through your high.

“Has any sneaky link made you cum this fast before?” His voice is tinted in something you can’t quiet pinpoint. It’s deep, fierce.

“Nu-uh.” You’re dizzy and breathless, can’t think straight.

“Good.” He lands a smack on your ass.

His breathing intensifies, cock throbbing in your pussy. Pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade, his husky moans fill your ear. Your eyes roll. There’s nothing hotter than men moaning – especially when it’s Jungkook.

With a final thrust he spills his cum inside the condom. He exhales shakily and the tiniest whine falls from his lips. “Fuck.” Both his hands run over the slope of your ass. Jungkook plants a thoughtless kiss on the nape of your neck. “Fucking you might be my favourite now.”

“Found a new favourite summer activity besides throwing me into the pool?” You smile tiredly, peering over your shoulder.

“No – I’m talking favourite activity in general.” He absent-mindedly roams his palms across your back and down to your butt.

A giddy feeling unfurls in your chest. “Well, don’t tell Tae that.”

“Fuck, I should head downstairs.” Jungkook pulls his cock out, coaxing a little whine from you “You have a bin here?”

“In my bathroom.”

While Jungkook gets rid of the condom, you wrap yourself up in the towel again. You need another shower before putting on clothes.

When he steps out, he quickly throws on his swim shorts. “You gonna take a shower?”

“Yeah...need to fix this.”

Genuine confusion spreads on his face. “You look pretty.” With an endearing smile, dimples out and doe eyes sparkling he adds, “Always.”

Something really tightly wraps around your heart. “Thanks.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to stop your smile from growing.

The doorbell rings downstairs.

“Oh, is that Joon?” you ask joyfully. “I need him to recommend me some books again! I missed him so much.”

“He has a girlfriend,” Jungkook tells you.

You frown. You’re not stupid – obviously you know he has one. You’ve seen the pictures he shared on his Instagram stories. What kinda guy goes to a ceramic painting place? That was obviously a date.

“I know.”

When Namjoon’s loud voice screaming for Jungkook reaches your ears, your tummy churns.

“You need to leave.” You push Jungkook towards the door. He opens it and swiftly walks out.

“Hey, Namjoon, is that you?” Jungkook yells.

As you watch Jungkook leave your room, you want him back immediately. It feels unfair to get a taste of what his kisses and touches feel like only to have them taken away.

But deep down you know you two can’t repeat this. You wouldn’t be able to keep it from your brother. Eventually, Taehyung would figure it out.

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pt 1 & pt 2 here <3

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook college au #jock jungkook #hockey player jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook scenarios

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l0v3tast3 · 11 months

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i need pervy older bf konig :(

good god. bro you and i are both so lucky i had today off. this was some good shit to write thank you very much for requesting this ( ◡‿◡ *) also ngl i really think i just don't know how to write characters not being possessive. it's just in my dna

✎ tags: mdni!, smut, female reader, age gap (reader is 18/19, könig is mid-40's), mentioned loss of virginity, corruption/innocence kink, size difference, size kink, pet names, free use, posssessive!könig, exhibitionism, mention of violence (reader gets turned on by it dw), edging, dacryphilia, bondage, praise kink, reader calls könig "sir"

✎ word count: 1.4k words (not proofread)

✎ translations: "hase" = bunny , "liebling" = darling "mein schatz" = my darling/sweetheart , "mein herz" = my heart "mein kleiner hase" = my little bunny (please correct me if anything is wrong, i'll edit it whenever i get the chance!)

masterlist | requests

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!könig who is just obsessed with his darling little girlfriend. he loves everything about you, how small you are against him, how easy you are to manhandle and twist around, so happy to just have him touch you however he wants. how you always crane your neck up to look at him with such adoration in your pretty eyes, even when he makes you do the nastiest things for him.

✧ ˖ ° ever since the first time he sunk into you, your first time where you couldn't even take his whole dick (it took you a few rounds to fit it all in), he just can't get enough of you. the whimper when he pops his fat head through your tiny hole, how you dig your nails in and gasp for breath the further he pushes in, it's straight up addicting to him. könig's favorite thing is seeing you fall deeper and deeper into the pleasure he gives you, seeing you become more and more corrupted by his huge hands and cock.

✧ ˖ ° he's got such a kink for your innocence and naivety; his heart skips a beat every time you think it can't get any better, and then it does and your little body doesn't even know how to handle it. könig will try every position, every kink his expansive mind can come up with with you.

✧ ˖ ° it always starts with him pulling you over one of his thighs (it strains your legs too much to try and sit over both of them without his help) and him dragging your hips back and forth across it. his hands cover the entire expanse of your thighs and the globes of your ass, fingertips digging in until it's just on the edge of bruising. always soaking up your little whimpers, how you dig your nails into his shoulders and hide your face in his chest. "hase, my little bunny, does that feel good? look at me, liebling, answer me. always so shy when i have you like this. it feels good, yes? are you going to cum for me? heh, what is it, you need more, liebling? ask me nicely for more, then."

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!könig who steals your underwear and most of the clothes you pack when you come over and pretends to have no idea where it all went. oh well, guess you'll just have to wear his clothes! it's such a shame that you don't have any underwear left until he does the laundry that he keeps "forgetting" about. it's so sad that you have nothing clean left to wear except his t-shirts that almost reach your knees.

✧ ˖ ° he just loves being able to come up to you in the kitchen, lift you up onto the island counter and run his hands up your thighs until his thumb covers your clit. you always get so squirmy when he does that, bucking your hips into his hand and clawing at his arm. könig chuckles and teases you about how needy you are for him, how you're such a dirty little girl for walking around with no underwear. "don't you know how men are, mein schatz? they'll snatch you up every chance they get," he mutters in your ear, the hand that wasn't shoving two fingers into you gripping your hip to keep you still.

✧ ˖ ° when you start stuttering out little pleas and fumbling with his belt he relents. he pushes you flat against the counter and kneels to lick a sloppy stripe up your pussy, never forgetting his dedication to not hurting you (not in a way you didn't like, at least). and when he's finally lifting your hips up to line up your sopping hole with his dick, he tells you how much of a good girl you are for letting him use you like this, whenever he wants.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!könig who gets off on having you sit on his lap in public; in front of anyone, really. könig knows that his overwhelming size and heavy stare makes him live up to his name of "king", and having a pretty little thing like you in his lap just completes the picture. he doesn't admit it, but you know it's an ego boost for him every time.

✧ ˖ ° it just makes him so happy to have you so close! he tells you it helps him with his social anxiety, having you there to calm him down. especially when he invites over his friends, other colonels and military men. könig knows you always feel out of place, feeling like you're going to hear something you shouldn't. he just coos reassurances in your ears and rubs his hands up and down your thighs, fingertips grazing just below the hem of the pretty dress he had asked you to put on. "relax, hase, it's okay for you to be here. mein schatz, mein herz, you know i would never let anyone harm you. i would break their neck before they even came close."

✧ ˖ ° you somehow always end up trying to discreetly white-knuckle his wrist that's buried between your legs. könig plays poker with the rest of the men, pretending very well that three of his fingers aren't knuckle deep inside you. everyone knows, they grow to expect it at this point. you're just so obvious, squirming and glancing up at him anxiously and trying desperately to cover up the tiny moans you let out. then he'll finally lean down and whisper in your ear, telling you to be good and cum; you can't possibly hide the way you shake and arch your back or the choked whimpers. but the men carry on with their game, barely sparing a second glance at you (they still shift in their seats, sneak a hand down to readjust), talking amongst themselves.

✧ ˖ ° "you see, mein kleiner hase, they know to not even look at you too long. they know you're mine, just well as you do, right?" könig says lowly while he wipes his fingers off on your thighs. he's pulling you closer to him so you can feel the outline of his hardon pressed against your ass. you nod and mumble a little "yes, sir" and he pats your stomach where he's holding you against him. "good girl. don't worry, liebling, we are almost done here. i'll stuff you full soon enough, just be patient a little longer."

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!könig who always has nothing but praise for you except for when you act up. he wasn't the kind of man to take insubordination lightly usually; you couldn't be if you wanted to be a colonel. instead of his usual punishments (making subordinates run suicides until they dropped) he likes tying you down and edging you until you're sobbing for him to let you cum, to untie you, anything.

✧ ˖ ° it's not that he enjoys seeing you cry (he loves it in this context), he just needs to teach you a lesson, to make sure you know your bratty actions have consequences. it just brings könig so much joy to reduce you to a brainless, overstimulated mess, whining pleas between hiccups and gasps for air. hearing you cry out, "no- nono please könig, please sir m'sorry, m'so sorry! ha-a- please, please let me cum, m'sorry, please-", is like an angel's choir to his ears. he knows you think he's being cruel and unfair, but könig is always going easy on you. you still are his sweet little girl, after all, he could never hurt you too much!

✧ ˖ ° he won't let up though until he's making you say whatever nasty things he wants, until you're so desperate that you completely forget about being shy. "have i taught you your lesson, hase? hm, i don't know if you have yet. tell me what you want- i know you want to cum, liebling, what do you want me to do about that? you want me to fuck you? ask properly, tell me you want my thick cock in your tiny pussy. you need it, don't you? tell me you need it, you need to feel me deep inside you. hah, alright mein kleiner hase, i believe you. it's alright, shh, mein herz, you did so well for me, let me reward you now."

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #konig #konig x reader #konig x female reader #konig x you #könig #könig x reader #könig x female reader #reader insert #call of duty smut #cod smut #konig smut #könig smut #— lilly writes! ♡

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leclsrc · 8 months

Text

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m��” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they��d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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loveshotzz · 6 days

Note

I have to know what would we do to spoil our old man on his birthday 🥺🥺🥺🥺

we’d spoil him rotten 🥺

here’s semi spicy 18+ blurb about giving our favorite old man a massage on his birthday ♥️

(this blurb is for my au All I Really Want Is You but can be read as a stand-alone. Steve is 43 and fem!reader is 31 requested so long ago by @joekeerysmoles 💕) wc:600

The rose oil that covers your hands makes your fingertips glide over his broad freckled shoulders with ease. Eucalyptus hangs thick and heavy in the warm air, crackling from the wooden wicks inside the candles that provide the only light in his room. They help the nerves that still flutter even after a year of saying ‘I love you’.

Steve lays flat on his chest underneath you only in his boxer briefs, the gold Gucci emblem around the waist band shimmers in the low light. Your knees sit on either side of his hips, dipping down the plush bedding of his new king size mattress. A 43rd birthday gift to himself, while you sit in nothing but the thin red lace of the one you got for him.

Leaning forward with a smirk, your lips ghost across two of your favorite moles that dot the back of his neck, the tip of your nose tracing the shell of his ear.

“Happy birthday old man.”

Applying just enough pressure up the dip of his spine, you earn a low moan from him that vibrates deep in your core. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to rock your hips and chase it.

“Honey,” his voice comes out muffled from around the tops of his hands,“I wish there were words to describe how good this feels.”

Giggling with a chest full of pride, you catch a flash of his white teeth, stubble covered cheeks pushing up at his favorite sound. One of his big hands slips out, shoulders flexing with his movement as he reaches back to squeeze at the soft dough of your thigh before disappearing back to where it came from.

A content sigh escapes from between his pink lips as your focus shifts to his neck, your fingers digging at the tense muscles under his gold chain. The metal glistens with oil every time it catches the glow of the flickering candle, while your thumb and forefinger knead behind his ears.

“Shit, baby.”

Huffing with furrowed brows, he readjusts so he can turn his head to the other side. The movement slides you forward, creating just enough friction to bite down on your bottom lip. The dull ache between your legs becomes even harder to ignore, and you wonder if he can feel just how wet you are.

“Yeah, is that the spot?” You coo all sticky sweet, working it with even more focus. He sucks in a sharp breath, his teasing kisses all night spurring you on.

”God, fuck - yeah, yeah, right there.” He groans loud enough to drown out the sounds of The O’Jays vinyl playing downstairs, your thumb finally loosening up a hard knot.

His whole body melts under your touch, the hard lines of his face relaxing while the blunt ends of your nails scratch at the silver hairs hiding in the nape of his neck. Letting go of his long work week with deep breath, the movements have your hips rolling on their own, his oiled sun kissed skin making it too easy to do again.

He hums knowingly, relishing in the soft tug of his hair loving the way you squeal when he flips himself over. Big hands grab at your hips to keep you in place, the effects of your massage had on him becoming obvious nestled between your thighs.

There’s still no preparing for the sight beneath you, and despite seeing it almost every day, you still can’t believe he’s yours.

His soft hair is a tousled mess of auburn and silver on top of his head, begging you to drag your hands through it. The five o’clock shadow that peppers his strong jaw is at your favorite length, and sometimes you think he grows it out a little longer just for you. His gold chain that hangs off his neck fits like a choker, no longer lost in the thick patch of chest hair that you swear has a few more gray curls inside of it after today. Letting your hands wander his chest, your gentle touch makes the subtle muscles of his abs twitch. Perfect teeth biting down on his full bottom lip, watching you in awe.

“You know I hate my birthdays? Always have.” Steve hums, warm palms gliding up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough before digging his long fingers into your hips, “Now I wish it was every day with you lookin’ like this, pretty girl.”

”Who says it can’t be?” You grin, running your slick hands back up his pecs, nails scratching in the coarse hair there.

Leaning forward, you fix his chain bumping the end of your nose with his, rolling your hips slowly, you feel him twitch inside the soft cotton of his briefs.

”It certainly feels like it,” he whispers with a smile against your lips.

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #all i really want is you #older!steve harrington #it’s 1am of course i’m posting a blurb about him

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Day 3

If you gave him your heart, your soul, your body- what would he do to those things? Maybe it's time to see if he can handle your love for once, and not just the other way around.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements, mild Angst, fluff, slow burn but we'regetting somewhere, they have mad chemistry but mc has trust issues, mentions of past domestic abuse (mental), Outercourse (basically non-penetrative sex except with a dildo), toys, Cumplay, it's messy smh, hand kink? Increased authority from kook

Length: ~5k words

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

A/N: you'll never be able to imagine how much I struggled reconnecting with this fic. This was torture. I hated this fic so much at some point. I'm not proud of this part but if I don't get this out I'll never be able to continue this series.

-> Masterlist

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Jungkook has really nice hands.

Not just in a sensual or sexual sense, but in general. They're big but not intimidating, because the way he uses them is never in a mean or hurtful way. They're soft, and kind, and they also look very nice. Masculine, and strong, veins underneath the skin sometimes a bit more visible than other times, but they also hold a certain softness to them. His nails are well taken care of, only his thumb sometimes giving you a hint of a nervous habit.

They're uniquely Jungkook. Rough, but not to be feared. Gentle, but with the potential to lead. Capable. Handsome.

They're his main way of exploring your skin too- his fingers often used to make shivers run up your spine, palms warm as they feel every curve of you. He doesn't need to look at what he's doing ever it seems like, hands having minds of their own every time they touch you.

Like a separate entity almost, listening obediently to their master's command.

You slowly wake up from your nap, feeling actually refreshed, when Jungkook walks in from the door, giving you a hint to what must've woken you up. "Oh- You're up." He smiles, walking closer with a plastic bag, though his first mission is to press his hands into the softness of the couch before he kisses your cheek. "Here- let me show you something." He impishly chuckles, sitting down on his shins, before he opens the bag on the bed.

You're in a state of shock for a good moment, not even having noticed him move.

He's got the audacity to laugh over your shoulder, front pressed into your back, hands teasing your sides as they sneak up your loose shirt.

"Bought one that's about my size." He purrs sensually, almost like he's mocking you. But it's not malicious- playful, if anything, but not mean in any way. "So you can call it.. practice." He explains, while you stare at the nearly clear pink dildo that's staring at you, still packaged together with other things in the black plastic bag in your lap.

"Jungkook.. when did you even buy those things?" You wonder, feeling almost scared to touch any of the things inside.

"Earlier, when you were napping." He shrugs easily, hand reaching past your body to shamelessly dump the contents of the bag on the bed, bag flying somewhere on the floor. "Anything look like an absolute no-go to you?" He asks curiously, and you look without touching.

There's an egg-shaped item there you're not too sure of what it might be. The dildo explains itself, clearly- and the other massage wand is also pretty self-explanatory. There's two bottles of lube- one pink, the other blue. A.. plug, with a pretty pink gemstone on one end of it. Leather handcuffs, with soft looking fur on the inside. Overall, nothing immediately makes you uncomfortable.

You don't know what gives you the confidence for your next comment you blurt out though. "Don't you have any toys?" You ask him bluntly. "Like, for yourself? Or do you just.. use your partner's body for stuff?" You wonder, and he looks at you with a sharp gaze, a smirk growing on his lips.

"I wouldn't mind using your body, that's for sure." He flirts, leaning his head a bit to the side. "Why would I need toys if I've got you?" He fakes innocence as he asks that question without expecting any answer- And for a moment, you don't give one.

But something about his flirty comment bothers you.

Maybe because you hear someone else in your head again- all the men who've degraded you over the course of time. Your ex. Your friends. Your father. You hear them laugh yet again like you're pathetic and worth nothing.

"I don't want to be used." You deny with a flat tone, and it's clear from the slight change in his eyes that he's now on high alert at your every word spoken by mouth and body language, so he can figure out what happened to change your mood like that. "I don't just want to be.. a toy you get bored off and toss away at some point just to pick it back up once you're interested again." You say, drawing a clear line.

You're not sure how he might react to this. You didn't want to make a statement like that, but you can't mask the truth. You really are scared of getting hurt at the end of this- you don't want him to just play around and then let you go.

You don't want to go. You want to stay- You want him to want you to stay.

He says your name to gain your attention, voice low and steady, horribly gentle- and it makes your eyes sting as you realize that this is the first time a man has ever spoken in such a tone to you. He notices the way your eyes begin to gloss over- and it hurts him too, the fact that you're hurting.

"This isn't just something fun to me. I think I might not have made it clear." He says, staying away from you as to not invade your little bubble you're in, letting you have your safety. "I don't know what happened to you in the past to be so full of distrust towards anything good offered to you-" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "-but I promise you, this isn't just a game to me."

"Then what is this." You say quietly, scared. "I'm scared that we're not on the same page here and that we're walking down to entirely separate paths." You complain pitifully with your back hunched over and head hanging low.

"That's because we are." He chuckles softly. "I'm trying to hold your hand here so we don't lose each other- but you're not holding it." Jungkook offers.

"I don't understand-" you shake your head, when as you look up again, his face is right in front of yours, eyes looking at your lips.

"Then let me help you." He hums towards you, before his lips press onto yours. And your body freezes.

Because he's never kissed you like this before- tender, calm and without any lust in it whatsoever. In fact, your realize only now that you've never been kissed without any hidden intentions or something to gain in mind. This kiss is soft, it's no words needed, it's love confessed in physical form. You've never been kissed like this. Ever.

And even more so, you're pretty sure he hasn't actually kissed you at all either- not until now, at least.

And it's all so confusing now, because you want to trust him, you want to just lean into him and let him have his way with you- but the fear inside you is still there, clutching your limbs, leaving you with no way to move anywhere- neither away from him, nor closer. You're currently stuck in place, and it's only a matter of time until he grows tired of you and your constant push and pull behavior.

You're hurting him, you know this.

Especially because you're kissing him back, giving him hope for something you might not be able to give him. You're cruel, aren't you? And the worst is that he probably knows even that.

Because once you start to cry, once you sob and cling to him like a touch-starved pet, letting all of those pent up emotions out because who cares, he doesn't say anything, doesn't ask what's wrong. He just holds you, gives you that moment, keeps your pieces collected in his palms for you to put back together later with his help. And you're not sure how many times you can do this.

Or how long he's willing to participate in this.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Since Jungkook didn't make a move the entire morning, you've been spending it entertaining yourself as to not get bored. Not in a sexual way-

but by simply trying to see how strong his patience is.

It's a new feeling you've developed after just two days of being with him- confidence, and trust in that he won't ever hurt you whatsoever. No consequences he could come up with would ever truly put you in harms way, you absolutely believe in that. But what's disappointing was how he didn't ever get past a clench of his jaw, or a tilt of his head. He'd just.. let you do whatever, and never do anything to somehow discipline you.

It made you wonder. Is he even such an intimidating 'Dom' at all, or did he just make that up?

However, after talking about it after lunch, he's finally opened up to you too- having told you that he's gonna trust you too, that he'll be more open with you and his own desires, while you'll have to be honest about when he's going too far or too fast. And you agree- you want him to trust you too, want him to relax more around you as well.

After all, he wants to get to know you too, right? Not just the other way around.

What you did not take into account though, is that now, your actions actually will have consequences- and he will indeed put you back into your place in one way or another. And even if in that very moment where you piss him off he isn't reacting- he will remember those actions to remind you of them, later, when you don't even expect it.

Just like now, as he's finished some calls he had to make, finally finding time again for you. "I'm sorry- I technically told the studio not to contact me on my break." He hums into your hair, as you sit with him on the small sofa in his office, having practically demanded his attention back on you the moment he'd put his phone down, and he'd been visibly amused by it. Unbeknownst to you, he's more than just excited- after all, it feels like your week is finally gaining traction, as you no longer step around in the dark trying to navigate around obstacles that aren't even there.

He's just been too scared to scare you. But by now, it's clear that you're not. And it makes him eager to explore now that he can actually see where he's going with you.

There's a hand under your shirt, cropped top and cotton shorts nothing more than decoration really, considering he's already seen you naked. It's nothing too sensual technically- but at this point, you feel like something might be wrong with you. Because even a simple touch like this makes you.. needy.

He reaches over to the side, plastic bag rustling- and now you're actually starting to get antsy. Because there's only one bag next to the couch- the one that's containing all the different items Jungkook had bought this morning as he'd told you. And that's exactly what he's grabbing for it seems like, as he moves his arms a little to take out one of the items you weren't too sure about- already unpacked for some reason, as he holds it out for your hand to take.

"What is that?" You ask, fingers running over the smooth, silicone surface, while he chuckles behind you, since you're still halfway laying against his chest.

"Something I always wanted to try." He simply jokes. "It's really fun, according to a friend of mine. I've never used it with anyone before, but I think you might like it.." He hums, taking the toy away from you again, before his free hand pats your thigh once. "..scoot to the side for me, yeah?" He asks, and you do so, sitting next to him now while watching how he finally reveals what this.. object might be used for.

He has to adjust the belts multiple times to fit around his thigh, plastic clipping into place, before his eyes find yours, lips turned into a suspicious smirk. "Alright.." He starts, leaning back against the couch, and it's obvious that he's now demanding respect and most of all, your obedience. He points at a spot in front of him, and without words, you know exactly what he wants you to do, his expression one of almost.. pride, as he watches you stand in front of him, instinctually knowing what to do.

"Undress." He simply says, a straightforward command that you follow easily, because shame is something that you refuse to let yourself feel. He's not one you need to be hesitant with- he's promised you his honesty, after all, and he's promised you that even if things get awkward, it'll never change his view on you.

And his view of you is one of love, that's very clear to see and feel.

So it's not weird to stand in front of him all bare, clothes on a small pile next to your feet now, as he smiles. "Come here." He urges with a softer voice, having clearly realized that you've accepted his invitation into a scene now- for the first time not having needed any cues. "Take a seat, princess." He almost teases, and you do so, sitting on the soft silicone toy hugging his thigh.

It's pastel colored, multiple hues swirling together into one another, creating wave like patterns. "There you go... So pretty." He chuckles, hands running over the length of your arms, causing goosebumps to erupt from the sensation of his warm palms. He's feeling your skin a lot more sensually now, clear intentions as he touches your hips and waist, thumbs almost massaging the skin of your lower stomach, moving from the inside towards your hipbones before repeating the action.

His hands are so close to where you'd love to have them, and yet, you try and be patient. Because if you're good, he'll reward you, right?

It doesn't take long for you to notice the way your arousal makes movement a lot easier- your core by now slipping around with every little jerk of your hips, making you anxious to move more. And finally, as his fingers grip your hips, he gets into a more comfortable position himself- the unoccupied leg casually stretched out, while his back rests against the sofa, giving him a good position to watch you. "Show me how those hips can move." He urges, and you instantly take that invitation, slowly moving to test the waters.

You don't care what you look like, or about the wet sounds coming from the toy between your legs- because the feeling is insane.

He clearly let's you enjoy yourself for now, giving you free reign to figure out yourself how you like it. Your hips are squirming from side to side, ridges and bumps of the toy an odd but definitely pleasant sensation as you roll your core over it, uncaring of your arousal already leaking onto his grey sweatpants.

And neither does he care.

Watching you chase your own pleasure on his leg is just such a treat to witness- especially when he holds onto you, before he lifts his foot, forcing you down onto the toy without any warning, earning a surprised whimper from between your lips as he lets you down- just to repeat the motion a couple of times, simply to entertain himself. You're just too cute, even while doing such a sinful act. And especially when you clearly reach your orgasm is when he truly can't help himself-

hands guiding your hips to keep moving despite your clear sensitivity, just to see you struggle a little, thighs trembling and hands gripping his arms.

He's letting you lean against him, hips occasionally moving just a little, clearly still needy to feel more- and he's actually quite surprised when your hand curiously runs over the inside of his thigh, hesitating just shy of his very obvious erection that's only somewhat contained in his underwear and sweats. "You can touch me, you know?" He chuckles, making you look up at him. "I'm all yours." He tells you, and it feels like he's offering more than just his body to you.

But you don't get to think for long, because he's already helping you lay down on your back on the leather couch, unclipping the toy from his leg before he looms over you, hand running through your legs. "You didn't think I've forgotten, right?" He chuckles darkly, while his hand explores your still clenching core.

"You don't think I'm just letting you act like a brat and not put you into your place?" He purrs, leaning back on his heels, before he takes out something from the bag, his phone as well from the table close by. You're pulling back your legs, unaware that you're still exposed to him, lower lips plump and red from the friction of the toy, skin glistening with your arousal.

It's playing right into his desires, seeing you so clueless about your own appeal.

You're watching him press a hidden button on the toy, the pink object buzzing to life once, red light blinking while he taps away on his phone. "Oh~" He hums, trying out somethin it seems like, as the toy buzzes in different patterns before it stills again. "Interesting.. That'll be fun in the future." He chuckles, before he leans over you, kissing you with playful intent.

You're not sure what he's up to when he pushes your legs back down to stretch out, running the smooth object between your legs to cover it in your slick. "You're always so worried you can't take it.." He teases, looking right at you before you notice him push the object inside-

the egg shaped vibrator slipping right in, almost suddenly, core taking it inside greedily- only the elongated part staying outside, something resting right on your clit. "Oh?" He jokes, brows raised. "Where'd it go?" He jokes, making you laugh now, entire nature of this whole scene awfully light in that moment, lifting your overall tenseness entirely at this point. And for a moment, all is fun and games-

until he leans back, sits down in the corner of the couch, finger on his phone suddenly doing something-

The toy inside you buzzing to live, and not on an easy setting, that's for sure. He's obviously amused by the way you squirm, hips jerking whenever you move in a way that forces the part resting against you to move. And he's having the time of his life, trying out different settings and rhythms while watching you suffer under his antics.

"You still need to learn." He chuckles, watching your legs jerk whenever the piece that's resting over your clit moves just slightly. "I don't have to touch you to gain my fill." He says, simply scanning your body with a warm, hooded gaze. "Hm? You've had such a smart mouth the entire day." He coos, almost feigning innocence as he looks at you racing towards your final high-

Generously turning down the intensity so that it's not that harsh.

You're slowly catching your breath, when his lips tilt upwards, and his finger taps around- buzzing intensifying again, catching you off guard, causing a yelp to escape you as your hips lift off the couch.

This is too much. Or not enough? You can't take this, there's something strange happening with your body as it moves without your permission, turning over into all fours, front laying down as your hands frantically touch the inside of your thighs.

And Jungkook relishes in the scene you present to him, because there's a reason your fingers hesitate to touch your core, and he knows it.

You can't take it out. Not physically- that you can, if you really wanted to- but mentally. You know he's put it there, and he's the one in control. This is your punishment, and in an odd moment of realization, you accept it, thighs trembling as your body reaches yet another, warmer orgasm that causes you to cry out, voice sounding foreign to your own ears as your hips jerk, your knees pressed into the leather below the only thing holding you upright-

Or maybe it's Jungkook, who's leaning over your back, arm keeping your front elevated as it rests against your collarbone.

When did he move?

When did he shed his top?

Your core feels empty, and your legs feel wet. Is ge not wearing pants anymore? You can feel something touch you, hot and heavy against your thigh, and it must be him.

You want him. Where'd that toy go that was inside you seconds ago?

You’re still breathing heavily, cheeks still wet from the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen from your eyes. Your lashes are still coated in them, wet and heavy, when Jungkook kisses your neck from behind you, a reminder that he’s still there.

Just like he always promises. He never let’s you feel lonely.

“That's it.” He praises. “Hold onto me like that. I’ll keep your body safe while you let go.” He chuckles, and only now do you notice the iron grip you have on his forearm over your chest, nails digging into his skin. You feel a bit bad for it.

Though you just lessen your strength a bit, not letting go.

Suddenly, his other arm moves, grabs something out of sight, before he runs the object through your slick-coated cunt and thighs, covering it in your arousal before it prods at your still clenching hole.

“You think I won’t fit?” He purrs against your neck, and you swallow thickly, a strange cocktail or anticipation and worry mixing in your body. “You think I won’t claim this cunt as mine at the end of this week?” He asks again, and you can feel the wave if cool excitement wash over you- starting at your very neck, before it ends in the tips of your toes.

“I’ll teach your body to take me..” He almost chuckles, pushing the very tip of the clear pink toy inside, before he moves it back out- Pushing it in a little further each time. “I’ll make sure to get you all ready for me..” he hums sensually, by now having learned of your little kinks you have, as the hand from his arm still keeping your upper body pressed against his own finds one of your tits, groping the soft flesh before his thumb flicks the sensitive bud once to see you squirm.

“I won’t let you forget any of this.” He threatens almost, and you whine when you feel him push the toy even further now.

You feel so full. How much more is there to go?

“Jung-” you whine pitifully, eyes closed as your hips can’t stay still, all of it a stark difference to the fast paced, almost aggressive orgasm he’s given you just moments prior. “I cant-” you start, and he laughs.

“Oh you can.” He tells you, before he gives the toy another push. “And you will.” He purrs, and its then that you feel the base of the toy against your lower lips.

You swear you can feel it in your stomach- and for some odd reason, you like it.

"You're made for me." He chuckles, kisses at your neck and cheek before he bites, toy leaving your cunt with only the tip before he moves it back in, feeling of a Rollercoaster ride making your insides jump and eyes roll back. You can't think anymore, you can only feel- and right now, you feel just so used in the best kind of way.

Somehow, he makes your worst nightmares come true- but they're not nightmares anymore, just dreams, vibrant and pleasant. Exciting. New.

It could be so easy to replace the toy with himself right now- but he doesn't, because that's one of his own rules he will never break. Your trust in him is precious, it's a gift- and he won't tarnish that by simply being greedy for more than you want to offer.

"Jung.." you huff, swallowing down saliva before you can say anything at all. "Jungkook-.. please-" you beg, unsure how to phrase it.

"What is it?" He asks, moves to nuzzle your neck so softly- a stark contract to his constant push and pull with the clear pink dildo he's using to give you a taste of his own length one day doing the same. Filling you up. Probably even better? You can imagine him all warm and slicked up from your wetness, stretching you open and making you feel so full you can hardly breathe.

"More.. f- faster-" you request. "Please?" You add on, and he chuckles.

"See?" His breath fans over your neck. "You can be such a good girl." He teases, pressing the replica as deep as it can reach inside you, base pushing against your skin. "Where were your manners today?" He wonders. "Will I always have to ruin this cunt to remind you where your place is?" He asks, and you nod, shamelessly so.

"Yes!" You whimper, mind somewhere else by now entirely as you struggle to keep yourself still. "Yes- I.. I forget-" you huff out, and he laughs as he runs his lips over your shoulder, piercing a distinct contrast to his softer lips.

"Then let me remind you, darling." He hums against your jot and sweating skin. "You're mine, in this moment. And I decide what to do with you... or to you." He tells you, and you nod, legs quivering.

Only for him to move the toy back to have it slip out, hole gaping at him, closing around nothing. The sigh is everything he ever needed or wanted- cunt all red and flushed, lower lips swollen and glistening, and he has to imagine his own seed staining your skin, mixing with your own arousal staining the couch and your legs.

His cock twitches at the sight, a drop of precum escaping him without control.

But what he does have control over is the rest of himself, as he pushes the toy back inside, causing your toes to curl, especially once he moves it in a faster, steadier pace. It short-circuits your brain, everything around you smelling of sex as he uses the replica to give you a taste of what he could give you.

Your arousal foams up around the base of the pink silicone, creating a ring of white as you cream up from his pace.

The orgasm you reach from this is different, as if it happens somewhere else in your body- though his hand is quick to flick your sensitive pearl to send you off with a proper goodbye, soil leaving your body as you quiver and lose all control one last time, body giving out as he lets you lay down now, muscles twitching from the overuse.

And it only takes him one good pump on his own cock to make him spurt his release onto your back, where his lips kiss up your spine in his post-orgasmic fever.

He's drunk off of you. He's never even had full on sec with you yet- and he's already addicted.

You've got no idea what you're doing to him.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

In the bathtub, his hand is a lot softer as it runs over your body, cleaning you and nurturing this blossoming feeling you're growing for him.

You're both back from your respective highs, world slowly bleeding back into reality as you simply exist in the warm water for now. "Was that alright?" He asks you, and you nod.

"It was.. new." You say, voice echoing in the bathroom, together with the sound of water sloshing everytime he moves. "I didn't think I'd enjoy what you did- but I did."

"How so?" He wonders, wanting to know hour thoughts now that your brain is functional again. Feedback is important now more than ever after all- he has to still figure out how to navigate this new experience with you.

"I thought.. it would feel, you know, degrading." You explain. "To be used." You clarify, and he nods, carefully moving your hair to see the side of your face better. "But it didn't. It felt more.. as if I was.. of service? Is that the right word?" You wonder, and he chuckles.

"Its how I feel in my position as well, you know." He answers. "Knowing that what I offer gives you pleasure.. is enough for me." He shrugs, and you stretch your legs, cramps finally letting up. "You looked so pretty.." he teases, and you whine.

"I was crying like a baby!" You argue, turning around a bit-

Though you're caught off guard by the terribly soft look he offers you, hand reaching out to hold your cheek.

"Thats because you are my baby." He says-

Making you cry once more.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic

857 notes · View notes

mncxbe · 7 months

Note

I believe Ur requests are open rn, so can I request bad men (pls include jouno I'm so down bad for him rn 😭) taking Ur V card? How would they act, etc yk?

Anyhow, Ur writing is beautiful and I wish you a good day/night 🤍

tysm anon^^ you're really sweet and yes ofc I can write for that. hope you like it♡♡

also the way I resisted including my fav dilfs I cannot. internal battle fr

°☆○

First time♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂, 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐, 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ itty bitty fluff

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

bro does not go easy on you just because it's your first time

he will be gentle at first until you get used to his size and all but after that he'll edge and overstimulate you until you're a babbling mess under him♡

wants to be on top so he can see your pretty face

doesn't really care about the whole making the first time special. every time should be equally special^^ so don't expect anything too fancy

for aftercare you cuddle

"Shit baby. Look at you taking me so well" he praised, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on your tear stained cheeks.

It's only been half an hour since the two of you got in bed but your boyfriend had you cumming countless times already. Legs wrapped loosely around his waist, your glossy eyes rolled back in your skull as you pleaded him to stop.

But how could he stop when you were chanting his name like a prayer with each of his thrusts?

A heartfelt chuckle rolled past his lips as his thumb pressed on your aching clit, rubbing gentle circles on it.

"What was that bella? Want me to stop? Can't have that until you cum one more time. You can do it f'me yea?" he cooed, smiling down at you.

You only nodded in response, too fucked out to form a coherent thought. And so your sweet boyfriend kept rolling his hips against yours, reaching your sweetest spots until your high washed over you again; leaving you panting softly.

When he eventually pulled out, Dazai rolled to the side and slid his arms around you, pulling you flush against his frame. The sheets were damped by your sweat, cold against your skin.

"Was it good bella? Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

You sighed deeply, feeling your breath slowly return to its normal rhythm.

"If I liked it? God damn you Osamu it was amazing" you smiled, kissing his damp forehead. "I love you"

"I love you too baby" he whispered softly, smiling contently. Not long after you both fell asleep, relishing each other's embrace.

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂

he's so gentle and caring

puts his whole chuyussy into it; there will be scented candles, silky sheets and he probably buys you a fancy lingerie set

takes his time with you with foreplay and when you actually do it he's so tender. holds your hand. constantly asks if you're ok

he does not stop until you cum at least twice

"Good girl. You're taking me so well baby"

for aftercare you either take a warm bath together or share a glass of wine while you debrief the sex; what you like and dislike and what he should do different next time

overall an amazing experience

The sweet, syrupy scent of the candles placed on the nightstand lulled you into a blissed out state. Your gaze was hazy as you took in the imagine of your boyfriend underneath you, ruby coloured locks standing out against the pearly white sheets.

Chuya's thumb gently caressed yours as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"You feeling good princess?" he hummed, watercolour gaze carefully observing your expressions.

You rolled your hips against his at a steady pace, meeting his thrusts; and nodded, a sultry smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

At first your boyfriend wasn't too keen on letting you be on top. After all, it was your special night. Why would you have to work for it? But after coaxing two orgasms out of you he finally agreed and helped you straddle him before burying his cock deep inside you again.

As for now you were chasing your high again, manicured nails softly grazing the skin of his chest as you let your head fall back and mewled so sweetly for him.

"Chuu..." you began, struggling to keep your pace but failing miserably. Chuya's free hand came to rest on your hip, guiding your movements.

"That's it baby you can do it. Just a bit more ok?" he groaned and squeezed your hip.

After you both came and you stumbled off him, laying on the damp sheets beneath, Chuya let out a mellow laughter.

"You did so good baby. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yea, I did. And you?"

"Obviously" His fingers brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face; he couldn't help but smile when he saw the content expression on your face, a mask of pure bliss.

"How about we take a bath sweetheart? Sounds good?"

You only nodded in response, eyes shutting tight as you shifted closer to him. Your boyfriend rested his hand on your head, gently caressing your hair.

"Okay then. I'll go get the tub ready"

𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐

just like Dazai he likes to overtsimulate you but he's a bit more gentle

the fact that he picks up on your reactions- hitched breaths and heartbeat- helps him adjust his pace

the perfect mix of praise and degradation sjsjjs

loves to hear you moan

any position is good for him. as long as you feel comfortable

for aftercare you just cuddle♡

Jouno could feel your heartbeat spike as he pushed himself deeper inside you. You were so sweet and warm; he was utterly entranced.

"Ah fuck Sai" you mewled, causing your boyfriend to shudder lightly, his strong arms threatening to give out. You made him so weak.

You've both been at it for a good while but Jouno showed no sign of stopping. And how could he when your walls were wrapping around him like a vise, milking him of all he's worth? The pretty pleas and mewls that rolled past your lips were like music for his ears, a sweet symphony just for him, that only added to the cocktail of pleasure.

But of course he couldn't let you see the effect you had on him, so he picked up the pace, causing your eyelids to flutter shut.

"What a pretty doll I have. I could swear this ain't your first time judging by how well you take this dick" he chuckled, relishing the feeling of your velvety walls fluttering around him. "Shit baby. You gonna cum again? You like it when I talk to you like that don't ya?"

"Y-yea" you babbled out, fingers sliding to the nape of his neck as you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss.

A small groan left Jouno's throat as you both reached your high, the tight knot in your abdomen snapping into a delicious pool of heat.

Your boyfriend gently rested his forehead against yours, mumbling sweet praises until you both regained your breaths.

After a few seconds he tried to roll to the side but you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back on top of you.

"Just stay like this for a bit. It feels nice" you hummed sleepily against his shoulder, earning a soft sigh from your partner.

"As you wish baby" he smiled, his lithe fingers finding your, loosely interlocking with them.

𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂

another gentle boy; when I tell you he's more nervous than you

Tachi really wants to make your first time special so he asks you 1000 times if you're sure you wanna do it

takes his time with foreplay and when you get to do it he takes it slow. maybe a bit too slow. he just doesn't wanna hurt you

but as soon as you tell him you're good he'll pick up the pace

please for the love of God praise him

he whimpers (sources: trust me bro)

for aftercare he brews you a cup of tea and you talk about how you felt

"But you sure you felt good right? Right??"

"You sure you're ready sweet thing?" asked your boyfriend with a concerned expression.

"Yea. I am, don't worry about it. I just need you so badly" you whispered in response and he nodded, slowly pushing himself inside you.

And oh you felt divine. Tachihara couldn't contain the loud groan that fell from his lips when he bottomed out and slowly started moving, rocking his hips against yours in a steady rhythm.

"You ok there pretty?" he asked, taking in your features; you looked so beautiful sprawled beneath him like this, silky hair a tangled mess from all the foreplay.

You bit your lip and nodded in response as you urged him to pick up the pace; and naturally he did.

Soon after you were both panting, His eyes were shut tight, mouth slightly agape as he whispered sweet nothings against the shell of your ear.

"You're so good f'me sweetie. You feel like heaven." he said in a sultry voice between sweet moans and whimpers and you swore you could've came just by the sight of his blissed out expression. Your boyfriend's hands worshipped every inch of your heated skin, fingertips slowly tracing down your body to rub little circles on your puffy clit.

"Baby wait wait I'm-" you attempted to protest but were cut off by his gentle touch.

"Shh sweet thing it's ok. Need ya to cum f'me like a good girl"

The moment he spoke those words a wave of pleasure washed over you, causing your thighs to squeeze his narrow waist.

Nails digging into the plush skin of your hips Tachihara let out a groan, thrusting a few more times before releasing his cum deep inside you.

"God that was..." he sighed, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment as he took a deep breath in. When he opened them again and saw the mess the two of you made, his cum dripping down your thighs as you desperately squeezed them together he got out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom to bring you a towel.

"Here you go babe. Lemme clean you up" he smiled gently, brushing the puffy material against your sensitive skin. "Was it good?"

"Of course it was babe" you replied, returning his smile "But I could use some sleep now"

"As you wish"

He slid back underneath the covers, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he nuzzled his head against the nape of your neck.

"You were amazing darling. I'm so happy I got to be your first" he hummed, sending warm tingles down your spine.

What did you ever do to deserve someone as sweet as him?

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd smut #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #bsd headcanons #dazai smut #dazai x fem reader #dazai x reader #chuya smut #chuya x reader #bsd chuya #jouno smut #bsd jouno #jouno x reader #jouno saigiku

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cupidssorbett · 7 months

Text

Phone sex.

Characters included: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, just the 141 today, others like Konig, Valeria, Alejandro etc will be in the next.

Includes: Phone Sex, Praising, Jerking off, Talking through it, Nicknames like sweetheart, love, other ones etc but no name use, AFAB Reader but no pronouns specified or looks etc, NOT PROOFED.(also I know the images looked odd center I tried..)

Word count: 2,806.

John Price:

Price was out on another mission/deployment, it wasn't incredibly long really, just the usual amount for when he'd be sent away. He'd always text you and what not, pictures of him after a long mission or just to text you in general, you'd receive ones like:

"Hope your morning is treating you well love.❤️"

"Just finished a mission, gonna hop in the shower, love you darlin'."

and so on, he was a man who wouldn't call unless it was needed, or a really big issue, so that's why when you got out the shower, wrapped in your robe toweling your hair and what not, settling onto the bed noticing you'd miss not one but two calls from him and that settled worry in your stomach.

Carefully you picked up the phone and dialed him, anxiously getting up to pace about, then when he picked up you heard a pant of a breath escape his lips on the other end.

"John-! Oh my god, Are you alright? You called me two times?"

Your tone held worry, it was touching to him, "Yeah, Yeah dontcha worry I'm just fine darlin'." He managed out but it sounded like he was biting back other noises that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"John..Are—Are you alright? You sound pained?”

"M'fine darlin' Just..solvin' an issue, How bout you go on about your day, would make it a lot better." He huffed out slightly, and the soft sound of a belt coming undone on the other end caught your attention, that's when it dawned on you what he was getting at it.

The cheekiest smile spread across your lips, carefully you sat back onto the bed,

"If you say so.." You trailed off slightly waiting for his response earning a mere grunt on return.

Oh you were gonna have fun with this.

"Well..Today I went out shopping with Gisele yeah?" You hummed as you looked at your nails, "Mhm mhm..Anythin' catch your eyes?" He asked and you could hear the soft pants between his normal breathing which grew shallow.

Perfect.

"Actually yeah somethings did," Price was a thigh man, he loved them in shorts, he loved them in pants, but he really loved them in skirts, didn't matter the size or length. "Some new skirts." you could hear the way his breath caught.

You knew damn well he was picturing it already, Price on the other hand was pumping his aching length, swiping a calloused thumb over the tip with a gruff exhale, his pumping slow and lazy, then you mentioned the fact of you buying new skirt and that rush came to him.

He couldn't help the way he sped up his pace, his breathing shallow and in pants, low whispery gruff cuss words escaping, he could hear the soft laugh of a giggle that you let out and he couldn't help the breathless chuckle he let out.

"You enjoyin' this much?" He asked sarcastically, "Come on..If I'm gonna help you I'm gonna have fun with it, haven't seen you or felt you in awhile." You said matter of factly.

Price grunted softly in response, "Well keep talkin' then..Can't help the way your voice sends me darlin'." he said, no demanded as if desperate for your voice.

"Bet you look real pretty right now John..Your aching cock all flushed just like your face can get." You laid on your stomach with a hum as you twirled your now damp hair around your finger, a devilish smile on your face at his soft groans. "And I can bet your thinking about me in my skirts, not just my mini ones I know that, all of them." Your tone was so sure and so pleasing to his ears.

His pace sped up, the sounds of slick skin picked up by your ears on your end, letting out a satisfied hum, "I can tell..Your breathing is getting rougher, shallower, your liking that image huh?" you murmured as you rolled to lay on your back imagining him with his fist around his length desperate over you.

"Fuck..Ain't gonna last much longer with you talking that way." he manages out, the sounds picking up in pace, "Aren't you just dirty when your desperate?" you teased with a small laugh as you hummed. "Can't wait for you to be home.." you trailed off slightly, "Can't wait to hug you..kiss you..be stuffed full of you." that's what sent him, a strangled groan had you aching between your legs as soft pants and huffs followed after, "Did I help?" you asked and he could hear the smug smile.

"Course ya did, but you also just gave me a whole new reason to look forward to bein' home."

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Ghost usually wasn't a desperate man, really he wasn't, but something about being away from you for so long had him itching to touch you, feel you, see you, hear you. Then you sent him a photo of your nails that you just got done and It had him resorting to last outcome he’d go for right off the bat.

He dialed you, not long after you sent him the picture he dialed you, you were driving home when you picked up, using the Bluetooth of your car to talk to him without a worry.

“Hey darling? Whatcha callin’ for?”

“Missed ya voice.”

That’s all he grunted out and that was fine by you, you knew how Simon was so it didn’t really bother you. “Go on tell me about your day.” He said, no, demanded as he sat back on his bed, undoing his belt as discreetly as he could getting all of it out of the way as his aching cock sprang free, precum beading at the tip.

“Well, as you saw I went and got my nails done today, lovely color for me really. Dontcha think?” You weren’t fully aware of what he was doing on the other end, as he swiped his thumb over the tip, an exhale muffled by his balaclava. “Simon?” You asked again snapping him back.

“Hm?”

“My nails Simon, did you like the color?”

“Yeah, looked real nice on ya love.”

His breathing sounded shallow but you had just assumed made he’d done some rigorous exercise or something so you paid it no mind, unbeknownst to you he began to pump his length in slow languid thrust occasionally picking up speed but not too much. He couldn’t believe he was this desperate but he didn’t wanna tell you.

“Go on, I’m all—all ears.” He managed out through slightly gritted teeth to bite back any prominent noises, you raised your brow but you just chalked it up to Simon being Simon.

“Alrighty, and then before my nails right? Went out and got the cutest stuff for Zelda! I know she won’t be a big fan at first but that’s just how cats are and—“

You went on and on, and that’s when he kind of zoned out only focusing on your voice but not your words, so lost in imagining your hands in place of his pumping his cock as he looks down at you.

Your occasional kisses to the tip and your eyes always finding his no matter what, he was so focused he didn’t notice the shallowed breathes and pants he was letting out.

And you were too busy going on and on about some outfit you bought for your cat that you two adopted that you didn’t notice right away, his mind was foggied with the images of you with your lips around his dick, gagging softly around as drool pooled around the corners of your mouth and how pretty you looked swallowing all of his..

“Fuck..” was what he blurted put as he came, through gritted teeth and huffs which now caught your attention making you a bit more worried. “Darling? Are you alright?” You chimed in bringing him right back.

“Yeah just can’t wait to see ya.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Most times when he’d be away for long times like this you’d send him photos and videos, the first time you sent him those he was aching, he was done for after that mission.

This time was no different, you’d recently bought a new bralette that you knew he’d love to see even if he wouldn’t be home for a bit, so when you tried it on at home you snapped a photo in the mirror and sent it his way assuming he’d still be out and doing things.

But he was infact on his way back to his room at this time, taking his cap off with an exhale as he opened his door, his phone vibrating to life in his pocket as he retrieved it from there your contact popping up causing a smile to make it ways to his face as he shut the door.

Then he opened the message entirely, image and all..

“Fuck me..” Gaz breathed out as his hat settled back on his head, his weight settling against his door for a moment, the steady aching tightness of his pants becoming more noticeable by the second. He debated he really did, was he this desperate for you?

Yes. Yes he was. He quickly sat on the edge of his bed, fingers hovering over your contact before doing it. As soon as it began to ring he pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to spring his aching length free with a harsh exhale. Then your voice rang through, “Gaz!” You called cheerfully.

“I didn’t think you’d call so soon!” You had already changed into some nightwear, working on putting laundry away that you should’ve done a bit ago really. “Aren’t you busy or somethin?” You asked, he didn’t think hearing your voice would have such an effect on him but boy he was wrong.

He swiped a thumb over the leaking angry tip as his mind had slightly blurred out your words, “Gaz?” You questioned with a raises brow as you carefully folded more clothes. “Huh—What?” He blinked back to reality as he set a slow pace softly rutting into his fist.

“I asked if you liked the bralette, the one I showed you today?” You asked with a hum, and he groaned he couldn't muffle that even if he tried, "Ohh..You liked it that much huh?" He could practically hear the slight cheeky smugness to your tone and he exhaled as he picked up the pace a bit. "What do you think huh?"

You laughed a bit as you began to stack some of the clothes, shrugging to adjust the way the phone sat by your ear, "Dunno, Never had you so desperate to the point of calling me." You hummed as you continued your little chore, "Fuck..Yeah well it's been awhile since I've seen ya for real, and heard your pretty little voice." Gaz murmured out as the sound of slicked skin caught your attention by now a little cheeky smile quirked your lips.

"I didn't think my voice would help much though.." your tone trailed off slightly as you picked up on his shallow breathing and the sound of whispered curse words, carefully you moved the clothes to the side, sitting down one leg over the other, a hand propping you up and the other holding your phone. "But I bet I know how it can."

That caught his attention, cause as of right now, just being able to hear you and your cheeky tone was enough for him. "You've probably been imagining my thighs..my lips..my tits, haven't you?" you asked, your tone trying to hold a slight sternness to it.

A slight groan of an inhale was what Gaz managed out but you tutted, "Nope, Have or Haven't you if your so desperate." You hummed as you laid back. He huffed out slightly, "Shit..Course I have," You could hear his voice becoming breathy by the minute.

On the other end Gaz had begun to rut and buck desperately into his hand wishing it was any part of you..maybe especially your tits. "Mhm..Mhm, I know how much you love all those photos and videos, always been one for getting a glimpse of me." You couldn't help the giggled that escape as his groaned and gritted responses being just cuss words.

"Can't wait for you to come on home ya know that? To cuddle with ya, Go on our morning walks..the things you do to walk me up for those walks." You eluded to the mornings when he wakes you up with either eating you out with lazy sloppy kisses and licks or soft kisses to the neck and that had his head reeling. Hunching over as he groaned, cumming onto his exposed thighs and some of his hand.

Groans and pants, strings of cuss words and what not escaping his parted lips as he slowly came down from his high, "Did that help?" you chimed in.

"You have no idea."

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish:

With an exhale proud to have finally cleaned the house, something you put off today in favor of other things until you had nothing else to do, with a proud huff you grabbed a towel and went and got a good hot shower in sending Soap a sweet little text that you didn't see a problem with.

"Hoppin' in the shower, hope your getting some kind of relaxtion now! xo"

Then you set your phone down and hopped into the shower to enjoy a hot one to relax your muscles and what not. At the same time all day you'd been on Soap's mind and he couldn't figure out as to why, you two called most nights and texted throughout the day when he had the time.

But something in him ached and yearned for you, and he swore it was like magic when your text buzzed his phone in his pocket as he laid with his arms behind his head. He pulled it from his pocket with a stretch, opening your text, that's when ideas began to pop into his head.

You in the shower, water running off your skin, the steam creating a soft haze..him joining you in there and fucking you against the shower wall, hands entangled in your wet hair. God it drove him mad, he leaned his head back against the headboard, arm over his eyes as he tried to drift his thoughts else where, off you and those steamy moments.

But somehow..you had the most impeccable and worst timing, dialing him for your usual call, and he almost dropped his phone, that ache returning when your voice chimed in.

"Hey Johnny!" You called cheerfully and he bit back any groan or shaky inhale, he rested his phone between his shoulder and ear, was he really this damn horny? yes, yes he was this horny. His hands made work of his belt and what not, pulling all those layers in his way down just enough, "Hey there love." he tried to make his voice and breathing sound less shallow as he rubbed some of the beading precum off the tip, falling into slow methodical rubbing with his fist.

You smiled happy to hear his voice as you settled onto your bed, putting him on speaker as you dried your hair up, as he tried to focus to hear more of your voice, he asked, "How was ya day huh? Anythin' good happen?" Soap asked as he added a little pressure biting back a strained moan.

"Well..I did finally get the house done but I did other things as well even if I had used them as procrastinating!" He just responded with 'Uh-huh' and 'Yeah', you were too busy chatting away to notice his breathing picking up and becoming shorter. "Then I got some more rubber ducks for ya, found these funny lookin' ones just like the one you've got now!" you said with a laugh and he couldn't help the way his rubbing on his aching cock sped up chasing that familiar coil.

You went on and on, talking as much as you wanted to, his head lolled back slightly his phone sliding to rest between his neck and shoulder as his pumped and pumped, imagining you, your lips, all of it, your smile and the way you look at him. God he missed you.

Then that coil formed, his movements became erratic and hasty chasing that euphoric feeling eventually reaching it with a bit back groan of a moan. The noise bringing you back from your chatter.

"Johnny? You alright?" you asked raising a brow as you picked your phone up this time.

"Uh-huh..just made a bit of a mess, thank's for callin' me up love."

#cod smut #konig cod #price smut #captain john price #captain price #cod mw2 #cod price #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost smut #soap mctavish #soap smut #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz smut #gaz x reader

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vampireapple · 2 years

Text

Hide the Object

Humans are very sneaky when it comes to hiding objects, even using their own body to do so. Can you imagine how horrified aliens would be if humans hid objects inside their bodies?

. . .

The leader of the archaeological team looked around at his team. They were hiding from the pirates, but they would soon be discovered. “If the pirates find these stones a vital piece of this planet’s history will be lost.”

“Back up is coming, right?” The lone human asked.

The leader nodded. “Yes, but they will not arrive in time.”

“Don’t worry, I got this!” The human said. He grabbed the small pebble like things and put them in his mouth.

The crew did not have long to freak out as the pirates arrived and there was a fight.

After the rescue team arrived and the pirates were dealt with the human spat the stones into his hand. Everyone recoiled in disgust.

“How!” the leader demanded.

“I just kept them in my cheeks,” the human replied.

“How! You spoke normally and even fought!”

“Dude, I have kids. I have to be good at hiding things in my cheeks if I want to snack in piece.”

. . .

Specialty Retrieval was interesting with a human. They seemed to have no appreciation for danger. And they were crazy.

The pair had successfully found the chip they were assigned to retrieve and taken it without being located. However, they had a problem. It would soon be discovered that the chip was missing.

“They will do a strip search,” the alien partner said. “We will need to hide the chip and come back for it later.”

“I have a better idea,” the human said. She pulled out a little rubber baggie, put the chip in it and sealed it closed. She took a big drink of water, put the baggie in her mouth, and swallowed it.

“What have you done!” the partner demanded. Had the human lost her mind!

“Relax,” the human said. “The rubber will protect the chip from my stomach acid-”

The alien paled at those words.

“-and the chip is like the size of my thumb nail, so it’ll pass through my digestive track just fine. We’ll get it back by tomorrow.” She smiled brightly.

The alien wanted to bag his head on the wall.

(They survived the strip search, made it off the planet, and did get the chip back the next day)

. . .

The five teammates stared at the little statue. It was small, fitting in a human’s palm, but it was big enough that it wouldn’t be easy to hide. How were they going to get it out? They would surely be searched when it was discovered missing, and they wouldn’t be able to leave the planet for another planetary cycle and a half!

The two humans looked at each other. Both seemed apprehensive, which put the rest of the team on edge. If something scared a human, it had to be bad.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Human Steve asked Human James.

Human James nodded grimly. “Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

The aliens stared at the humans has they held out their fists, counted to three, and then made shapes. Human Steve looked at his hand and then swore.

“Sorry bud,” Human James said.

“Give me the statue, and then everyone turned around,” Human Steve said, looking very unhappy.

Confused, but trusting their teammate the three aliens did to. Human James also turned around. They waited in tense silence.

“Okay, we’re good,” Human Steve said.

The four turned around. The statue was gone.

“Where… is the statue?” the team leader asked.

Human Steve grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”

(After they were back at base Human Steve insisted on washing the statue very well and many times before he gave it back)

#earth is space australia #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #aliens

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hanasnx · 3 months

Text

MINORS DNI 18+

You line the end of your stick up with the cue ball, your tongue poking out from between your lips in concentration. Playing pool was never your strong suit, but you’re not trying to win this game per se. You’re interested in something far more valuable.

TOJI FUSHIGURO approaches you from behind, hanging his head to the side to get a good gander at your round behind. The baby tee you wear rides up from how you bend over, revealing the dimples at the small of your back. Not at all brief, and in great detail, Toji imagines other contexts. Circumstances in which his thumbs would find a handle on those divots, yanking you back onto him when you run away from a good dicking. Looking at you now, dressed up in a pink outfit two sizes too small, you wouldn’t know a good dicking if it hit you in the face, and he sure was considering batting your pretty cheeks with it.

You wiggle your hips, subconsciously rearing to prepare for your shot, and he chases you. Without thinking about it, he lines himself up with you, rolling his tongue between his lips as mere inches separate the bulge in his pants with your backside strapped in by that teeny skirt. His hand itches to fix onto your tailbone, steadying you so he can nudge up against you. Jus’ a little, wouldn’t even know he was there. Tuck his thumb in the crevice to give your asshole a massage while he did it, he’s really thinking about you here, you should be grateful.

You wind back, and flick your stick forward, pool balls knocking together in snapping sounds as you watch your move play out. He sniffs and swipes his nose pinching it between his index and thumb real quick, adjusting his pants by the back of his belt as he rounds you. A hand at the top of his stick allows him to lean on it marginally, the pool balls slowing to a stop under his gaze.

“You’re bad at this.” he tells you.

The curl to your lips deepens, popping your hip out as you tilt your head at him. He notes the flirtatious body language, the knowing glint in your eye. “Am I?”

His gaze darkens. “Can show you a few things. If you promise it’ll get through that thick skull o’ yers.” A small smile on his mouth stretches out the scar tissue overlaying his lips, and you visualize tracing it with your tongue.

“Oh, don’t be a brute.” you respond as he passes behind you, forcing you to follow him with your eyes. As he picks his target, he holds your gaze, hunching over the table as he lines up his stick. Powerful shoulders confined in a thin black t-shirt has you biting hard onto your lower lip. He breaks the eye contact long enough to hit the ball, but you don’t bother watching them scatter, focused on taking in every marginal move he makes, straightening to his full and dizzying height. The end of his stick comes to your exposed midriff, and hooks under the hem of your baby tee, flicking it up.

“You like it when I’m a brute.”

Indignantly, you tug your shirt back down. It’s clear he wanted to fake you out, make you believe he was gonna get away with flashing himself and any lucky stiff at this bar. You swat his arm scoldingly, but all your dumb brain can think about is how hard and thick his bicep is. “I do not! Why do you insist on bullying me?”

He grins, canines glinting in the dim and smoky light, snickering through his nose. “Easy to bully when you’re bite-sized.”

Bite-sized. That’s all that goes through that thick skull of yours when Toji’s pulling out your brains and shoving ‘em back in with every fuck into you later. Powerful and harsh thrusts, nailing your abused cervix so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. “The fuck are you thinking about, hah? You rememberin’ those pool tips? Got ya to lay down real low on that table. Bet everyone saw up that stupid little skirt.” Toji jeers at you while he’s pinning you by your head, big hand on your hair to pin your cheek to the mattress. “Everyone saw you leave with me. Saw a slice of cherry pie get pushed around by mean ol’ Toji, only to hang off my arm out the door. A little slutty, don’t’cha think?” He’s amusing himself, you can tell by the sound of his deep voice he’s got that wolfish grin on he wears so well. Wickedly, his reckless pace speeds up so you can’t form a response.

Your limp body has no choice but to move with him, rippling with each sheath into you. Poor cunt puffy and agitated around him as his mean cock brutalizes it some more. Tears sting your eyes but you can’t tell if they’re of pain or pleasure.

“T- Toji—“ you choke out, reaching back to finger timidly at his thighs. He won’t have it, picking himself up to a kneel so he can yank you back on him. Thumbs slot onto your dimples as fingers tuck between the folds of your pelvis and thighs. That perfect ass of yours smacking against him so hard, your skin pebbles and blushes.

“Huh?” he mocks. “What’s that? S’this the part where you lie and tell me you can’t handle it? Nah, little girl, I’m looking at the way this cunt’s slurpin’ me up. Fucking take it.”

#i’ve never read or watched jjk btw. mb if this is ooc #ch: toji #indy: drabbles #toji fushiguro drabble #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji imagine #toji fushiguro imagine #toji fic #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro fanfic

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makeyoumine69 · 8 months

Note

Hi! For the 2k followers celebration: Daddy kink, non con, rough sex. Pet name Sugarplum, thank you! <3

Watch Me Burn

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Patrick waited for so long to get his hands on you, and now that you’re finally his, he'll make sure to fulfill all his fantasies, whether you like it or not.

— CONTAINS: Non-con smut, oral sex (Patrick receiving), unprotected p in v sex, Daddy kink, degradation, manhandling, pet names, dirty talk, humiliation, choking, hair pulling, biting, spanking.

— WORDS: 1.5k

— A/N:Thank you so much for your request! It was such a pleasure to write this, so don't mind the length, I just couldn't stop myself, but I hope you like it!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [buy me a coffee]💓

Anger and despair were eating you from the inside out and that feeling was almost scorching — you could feel the searing pain piercing through every pitch of your trembling body. Naked and embarrassed, you were resting on Bateman’s king sized bed. Even though you were not tied up, you didn’t make any attempts to run away, considering you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to escape him.

Playfully humming to himself, Patrick was setting up the camera, he was fully stripped too, however you were doing your best to avoid looking at him — the way his toned muscles were lilting each time he made a move, and not to mention his fully erected cock, bobbing up and down with the bead of the pre-cum on top of his blushing tip.

“What is this sad face?” He suddenly asked after checking if you were on the full screen for the camera. “Not funny anymore, Sugarplum?”

When you didn’t reply, Patrick got closer to the bed and beckoned you to its edge — and this time you couldn’t just ignore him. Tentatively, you moved to the place he wanted you to, his cock twitching from the sight of your exposed body, plus the way it was shaking was giving him a special sort of satisfaction.

With a devilish smirk, Bateman grabbed your chin possessively, forcing you to look at him while he briefly stroked himself. “C’mon, baby. Give it a taste.”

With your eyes already wet again, you got closer to him and wrapped your shaking hand around the base of his dick. When you opened your mouth, you thought you were ready to endure all the things which this night would bring you, but at the very last moment, you closed your eyes and pleaded: “No, I can’t! I can’t do it,” you tried to return to your previous place but his dead grip on your throat didn’t allow you to do it. “Patrick! NO! Please, d-don’t make me do this!”

As soon as you saw his large palm getting closer to your face, you flinched, knowing that he would slap you, but instead, he just slipped his thumb inside your mouth.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I said you would be mine,” Patrick hissed and kept jacking himself off in a steady pace, pushing his finger deeper inside your mouth. “Not a pleasant feeling, huh?” He chuckled arrogantly at your pitiful lowing. “You will get used to it, I promise.”

Everything started to happen so fast, your little mind didn’t have a chance to follow and your head was spinning as if it were hit with a hammer. Growling, Bateman stuffed your mouth with his throbbing cock, pushing it almost till the base and squeezing your nostrils tight, asphyxiating you and ignoring the way you were desperately clawing at his hands.

“If I find any scratches on my skin, I will rip off your fucking nails!” He scoffed and yanked you by the hair. “DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Annoyed, Patrick pulled out from your mouth and you used this moment to inhale deeply, not even thinking about the string of saliva mixed with his pre-cum running down your chin.

“Yes…"

Bateman growled in return and shook you several times.

“Yes, who?” He spat his words into your dull face, squashing your cheeks.

“Yes, Daddy!” You dared to stare into his eyes, although you regretted it almost instantly, as they seemed to be brighter than the Sun and it was too much to look into them.

“You better not test me, Sugarplum.” Patrick crooned in a sweet voice, sliding his leaking dick along your swollen lips before he gave them several slaps. “Actually, I don’t want to hurt you,” he matched his words with a light stroke on your cheek, but the next second he pushed himself inside your mouth once again. “I was thinking about having you for too long… I was imagining how warm your mouth would be,” he almost moaned with his eyes closed as he began to rock his hips against your face. “Fuck, it feels even better than I thought.”

Never in your life have you felt yourself more vulnerable than now and with each passing moment it was getting worse — his obsession about you became your darkest curse.

When Bateman got bored with you giving him head, he easily manhandled you to get on all fours while he was setting himself behind you, so now you both were facing the camera and the mirror on the opposite side of the room. That damn mirror made you close your eyes to avoid seeing that pitiful sight, but once you felt his red tip prodding against your shamefully moist opening, you couldn’t help but turn around to face him — your scared gaze met his lustful one and for a moment you thought you were going to black out.

“Mmmhm, w-wait!” You mewled the moment Patrick rammed inside your tight hole. “It… a-aaaww… it’s so big!”

Cramping the sheets, you could swear you felt each inch of his girth stretching your soft walls and that sensation was both painful and delightful — it made your eyes roll back into your head and lose attachment to reality.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he husked and thrusted deeper, pushing on your back to bend you lower. “And so fucking wet, you like to be treated like that? Am I right, bitch?”

“N-no!” You whimpered as he gripped your neck and made you arch your back towards him, almost splitting you in half.

“You’re… mmmhm… you’re such a little pathetic liar!” Punctuating each word with a harsh, long stroke, Patrick sped up and forced you to look up at him. “I’ll make sure everyone knows how much of a slut you’re! Now, look at the fucking camera!”

Panting, he let go of you and spanked your ass hard, you could see several tears falling down on the sheets before you raised your watering eyes on the camera.

“How would your friends and family react to seeing you like that?” Bateman continued to taunt you, slamming into you relentlessly, so you could feel his heavy sac hitting your soaked pussy. “Do they know how nasty you are?”

“P-please stop! Stop saying things like that,” you cried out, wiggling in his grasp but Patrick only pushed on you harder and when he covered you from behind completely, you wailed so loud because the angle of penetration was too much to bear. “Please, Daddy! Please, ahhh—please don’t do that!”

“Do what?” He murmured into your ear, resting his hands beneath you, so now they were wrapped around your neck like tight ropes.

“Don’t… don’t show this to anyone, I beg you!” You hated yourself for sounding so miserable and broken, but just the thought of your friends or family watching you like this made you wanna sink through the ground.

His low snickering drowned in lewd sounds of your bodies slapping against each other, along with slick squelch your cunt made each time his throbbing cock slid inside and outside.

“Argh, look at you! You’re so pathetic and ruined… and I like that.” He nipped at your neck and rolled his hips against your ass to push himself even deeper, his swollen tip roughly brushing against your cervix. “How far are you ready to go for it?”

You swallowed your salty tears, clinging to the bed with all might you have to bear the hard pounding. “I… I’ll do everything… you want.”

God, your words just ascended him right to heaven — the power he had over you was overwhelming — how long he was waiting for it, how long he was dreaming about you saying this. Now, he was going to make you pay for each time you denied him, so you would remember how weak and defenseless you were against him.

Leisurely, he backed into his previous position, his pulsating dick slided out from your abused pussy and that gave you a brief moment to catch your breath.

“(Y/n), my dear (y/n),” he repeated your name like a mantra as if he was trying to hypnotize you. “Show Daddy how obedient you can be.”

Shaking, you got on your knees and turned in his direction to see him biting his lower lip and the next moment you cut the distance between you two to kiss him as hard as you could. When you heard him moaning against your mouth you looped your arms around his broad shoulders, and though you did it to save your reputation, you couldn't deny the fact how utterly handsome this man was. And maybe if you two met under other circumstances, you could really fall for him, but now the only thing that had left for you to do was fuck yourself on his beefy shaft and hoping that he would destroy this cursed tape, so no one would ever see this. If only you could wipe your memory, if only you had listened to the warnings about Patrick Bateman, if only…

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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whereireid · 11 months

Text

˚ · . 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron hotchner x plus!sized fem reader | masterlist

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After months of waiting, you finally give Aaron what he's been craving most — you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship. fluffy icknames (honey & sweetheart). words of affirmations, declarations of love. age gap. nsfw content; first time(s) stomach bulge. aaron has a huge cock. p in v (soft sex, making love) oral, fingering, virgin!reader, nipple play.

Trapped between the plush mattress and Aaron's hard chest, you let out a quiet hum as you feel the pad of his thumb softly glide over your knuckles. There's something so blissfully domestic about being intertwined with your boyfriend in the late evening; him still in his work clothes, and you dressed in your satin pink nightgown.

His large, muscular frame presses into yours as he embraces you, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he drinks in your appearance. You had been laying in his bed when he returned home from work, having just put Jack to sleep, and you were waiting up for him. Aaron had bid goodnight to his sleeping son, a content smile on his lips as he traipsed towards his bedroom, and he swears that his heart had stopped beating in his chest when he saw you.

The pink, satin chemise that you're wearing has forced his eyes you since the moment that he stepped into the bedroom. It's a perfect fit, tracing the curves of your body, slightly outlining the small pudge of your tummy as you sit. He didn't even have time to change — he simply toed his shoes off before he collapsed atop on you, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed your scent in, desperately trying to calm the throbbing ache in his trousers.

You're not quite ready for what he wants to do to you, yet and he knows that — but you're just so delicious, gazing up at him with hazy eyes, feigning innocence as your nails run over the lightly buzzed sides of his hair.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all day," Aaron murmurs sweetly, a small smile on his lips as you squirm beneath him. His eyes flick down to your thighs, mesmerised by the way your chemise rides upwards, exposing your plump flesh. "Couldn't get you out of my head."

Your heart feels tight in your chest as his hands slide down your body, his knee delicately parting your thighs as kisses you. There's an affectionate expression fleeting across his features, and you smile up at him shyly. "I thought about you a lot, too," you say quietly, biting back a smile as he presses a soft, drawn-out kiss to your lips.

He pulls away, smiling down at you, and your skin blazes with warmth. He's so handsome, so big — you can see the way his biceps strain against his shirt as he leans over you, and you try to hide the way your breath hitches as his knee rubs against the black lace panties you're wearing beneath your gown.

"I love you," Aaron says, between the gentle chaste pecks he delivers you. His hands gently squeeze at your waist through your nightgown, his voice rumbly as he adds, "so much."

Warmth blooms beneath his touch, and you desperately hope that he doesn't think too much into the way you squirm beneath him as he kisses you. "I love you," you repeat back to him, your voice as sweet as honey. Your nails gently scratch at his scalp again, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut as you touch him. His hands stay fixed on your waist. "Was work okay?"

Aaron hums softly, and his stubble skims against your cheek as his lips trail peppery kisses from your cheek, down towards your jaw. "Work was work," he responds, no hostility in his voice; just slight hesitation, "but I don't want to focus on work right now, honey. Not when I've got such a sweet thing like you beneath me."

Honey. The sound of his husky voice makes you tingle, and your breath hitches in your throat as he delivers hot, wet kisses to your neck, suckling at your pulse point softly. The sensation makes your cheek flush with warmth, and Aaron smiles into your neck as he feels your pelvis softly grind into his knee.

"Oh," you whisper, your cheeks glowing with warmth as he nips at your neck. A knot forms in your stomach as his tongue flicks over the skin he had just bruised, in an attempt to soothe your neck. "So, you want to just focus on me instead, Aaron?"

"Yes, honey," he responds, but he doesn't let up, his teeth softly nipping at your neck, his hands trailing down towards your thighs. An ache grows in his trousers as he feels your plush thighs beneath your gown, an insatiable desire beginning to bubble in his gut as he continues to kiss down your neck. "I just want to focus on you, if that's okay."

For the first time in minutes, Aaron pulls away from you. You can see the genuine concern circling in his dark brown eyes, a sharp contrast to the usual black sheen, as they study your face. Your eyes flick down to his lips, your heart pumping fast as he squeezes your thigh gently.

"Yes, please," you say, your voice eager, "that's okay, Aaron."

Your voice is soft and delicate, and it's all the affirmation that Aaron needed. He lets out a quiet groan of approval, before dipping his head again, his focus zeroing in on the purple mark which has begun to form on your neck. "My sweet girl," he murmurs as his tongue laps over the bruised area, "You're just as sweet as honey."

The phrase causes butterflies to bloom in your stomach, and you let out a quiet moan of agreement as his hands begin to ride up your gown.

Sweet as honey. It was what Aaron had described you as on your first ever date, and when you had flustered and squirmed as a result, he made it a habit to use the phrase whenever possible.

You don't stop his wandering hands, instead, you invite him to touch you more. As his lips trail along your chest, just short of where your gown rests above your plush breasts, you open your legs shyly. Your motions are timid, and you allow for his hands to roam closer and closer to the area where you need him the most.

His fingers twitch against your inner thighs, but they don't move. Aaron's focused on making you feel good, and he doesn't want to pressure you into anything. He knows that you're still a virgin, and he understands that whilst you trust him, you may not be ready to commit fully yet.

"Aaron," you whisper, your hands falling to clutch at his biceps, "More, please."

"More, please?" He repeats, gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes. He pulls away from you somewhat, though you're still pinned beneath him, and he observes your face. "What do you mean, honey? Use your words."

His hands gently press against your thigh, and a breathy moan catches in your throat as he carefully rocks his knee against your clothed cunt.

"This," you say, "but more."

An amused expression flitters across Aaron's features, and you have to close your eyes as you feel him press his knee into you with more pressure. You feel slightly flustered, pinned beneath him, ashamed that your body reacts so needily to his every touch.

He hums. "You can't be coherent, honey? That's okay. I think I know what you want." He cocks his head, a small grin on his lips as he shuffles downwards slightly, pushing your gown up softly.

His knee abandons your cunt, and you pout, opening your eyes and looking down at him. Aaron has nestled between your thighs, and as you lock eyes with him — his hazel irises are sheathed by his pupils, which are dilated massively as a result of his lust — you can't help but shudder.

"You always know what I want,” you say quietly as he looks at you for permission, and your body trembles as his fingers delicately push your wet panties to the side, "please make me feel good, Aaron."

Your voice wobbles slightly, and your tone is syrupy; sickly sweet, causing the ache which pulsates in his trousers to worsen. He coos. "How can I say no when you ask me like that?"

As if to praise you for your obedient tone, Aaron tilts his head down. His eyes flutter shut as he dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue softly glides over your sticky slits. "Sweet as honey," he growls instinctively, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pushes his mouth against you. His nose presses into your pelvis as he slides his tongue around your pulsing pearl, "my favourite dessert."

The feeling of his tongue rolling skilfully against your heat has you panting, your back arching into his touch. Being treasured by Aaron is your favourite past-time, and whilst your relationship has never gone any further than the innoceuous pleasure of worshipping one another with your hot mouths, you desperately crave more.

Perhaps, you're now ready for him. You can feel the strain of his trousers as his crotch presses into your ankle. Aaron eagerly laps at your cunt, and your walls flutter as his lips suckle at your clit. He relishes in each desperate breath you take and the sounds of your lewd, quiet moans spilling out into the open air.

"Aaron," you mewl, your toes curling as a familiar warmth begins to bubble in your stomach, pleasure spilling over you in waves, "I'm gonna—"

"It's okay, honey," he praises, his voice sickly-sweet as he grinds against you softly, his mouth hot against your heat, "you can let go for me. I'm right here."

"I need — ah," you gasp quietly, your thighs beginning to tremble as he continues to worship you, "more, Aaron. I need more, please!"

As though to make a point, you grind against his palm, and he hums in acknowledgement, the sensation sending a vibration pulsing over your clit. Skilfully, Aaron parts your slits further with his fingers, and he softly pushes two of his digits inside of your cunt, your walls sheathing him instantly.

You're tight around him, and he's careful as he softly curls his fingers inside of you, his tongue simultaneously working on you. Desire rolls through him as your thighs tighten against his head, your plush flesh warm against his ears as you shake and tremble.

You writhe above him, and Aaron can't help but groan as he feels you convulse. You taste so delicious, so sweet as your cream floods his tongue, his senses heightened by your overwhelming orgasm that crashes over you.

The knot inside of you frays and snaps, and you eagerly tug at his hair, your back arching. Your breasts spill from your chemise as you do so, and you whimper softly as Aaron keeps lapping at you, his tastebuds dancing with the sweetness of your cum.

“So sweet,” he praises again, pulling away from your cunt once your thighs dull their trembling.

You can tell that he’s going to pull away from you — and whilst you love that he respects your initial hesitance to anything more intimate than the general exploration of one another’s bodies, you can’t help but want more.

"No," you murmur quietly, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing heart. You reach out towards him, your eyes pleading and your chest tight with nerves. "I'm ready, Aaron. I need more. I need all of you."

"All of me?" He repeats, and his deep brown eyes stare into yours, "Do you mean—"

"—I'm ready, Aaron. I want you. I'm ready."

Truth be told, you're not sure if you'll ever be ready. Aaron's so big, and you struggle to take him in your mouth. The thought of his cock burrowing inside of your cunt strikes fear inside of you, but you simply can't wait anymore.

He's been patient, and he's been kind, and it's been six months — you're unsure of any other man who would wait that long, and the fact that Aaron has been so forbearing makes your heart feel full.

"You're ready?" He breathes, adjusting himself so his trousers are pressing against your soaked panties, and he swears that his body sparks with electricity as you nod vigorously. "You're sure?"

"Yes," you affirm, "I'm sure. I want you so badly, it hurts.”

A few seconds pass, and you're worried that you've said the wrong thing, so you part your lips to speak. Your words are silenced by his mouth pressing against yours, his lips entrapping your own in a feverish kiss.

Wisps of his hair tickle your face as he kisses you. His warm hands gradually begin to pull your chemise up, and as the cool air nips at each inch of exposed skin, goosebumps rise. You fluster as Aaron pulls away from you, his eyes darting over your frame, which grows more exposed with each upward pull from his hands. He tugs, further and further, until he pulls the gown over your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, and his hands instantly dart down to grope and grab at your body, "you have no idea what you do to me."

You gasp quietly as his hands slide over your waist, trailing over the pudge of your stomach. He lets out a quiet groan as he gives your plump flesh a small squeeze, dipping his head to kiss you again, his tongue running over your swollen bottom lip. His hands are gentle against you, but his movements blaze a fire beneath your skin, and you find yourself growing hot and needy.

"Stop teasing," you breathe against his lips, "I need you now."

Aaron smiles against your mouth, before he pulls his lips away, trailing wet kisses across your jaw. "I need to make sure that you're wet enough to take me, honey," he utters quietly, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm wet," you say in response, shivering as his hands part your thighs slightly, "I'm so wet. Fuck, Aaron, please."

He laughs as your hands pull at his tie, smiles when your fingers begin to shakily unbutton his shirt.

"Somebody's eager," he comments, and he sits so that it's easier for you to undress him, and his hands abandon your body in favour for unbuttoning his trousers.

You're frantic, but he's smooth; calm and collected. Aaron lets his eyes explore you, and he can't help but palm himself through his trousers as he drinks in your flushed body.

Every curve, every soft indentation of flesh makes him feel feral. Your body, so generous and cushy, drives him wild, and he chokes back a groan as he slides his eyes over your soft stomach and your wide hips. The sight of you makes him ache, and he couldn't be more thankful that you're too inebriated by your own lust to notice the extent of his.

There's a fire in his gut, and his hands shake somewhat as he finally rids himself off his trousers. Aaron's face blazes as he notices the patch on his underwear, evidence of his own lewd desire, but you're too busy pushing his shirt off of him to notice.

You're trapped beneath him, pinned, and as his clothes become abandoned on the floor, he dips his head down, and he burrows his head in your chest. His tongue glides over your right breast, his hand palming the left, and you gasp as you feel his teeth nip at your sensitive bud.

"Do you know what you do to me, honey?" Aaron asks as he worships your body, delivering kisses over your pillowy chest, burrowing his head between your cleavage. He pinches your nipple softly, relishing in the way you writhe from his touch.

"I have an idea," you squeak out weakly, your thighs trembling as his hands slide down to pull at the waistband of your panties.

He shakes his head, looking down at you through thick lashes as he abandons your underwear to the floor. "No, you don't," he responds, and his head is instantly burrowed between your chest again, his hands trailing the curve of your waist and hips before he slides his palm between your legs, "you have no idea what you do to me."

A satisfied sigh glides past your lips as you feel his fingers glide through your sticky slits, and you eye him cautiously, your eyes zeroed in on the tight crotch of his boxers.

He's so hard, and you wonder if he's in any pain, because you are. You're pulsing between your legs, desperate to take him in, but he's being so sensual and considerate that it somehow makes you hurt more.

"You're so beautiful," he comments, and he adjusts so that he can slip his own underwear down. His voice is husky, and his hot breath fans against your ear as he murmurs, "I could look at you forever, honey."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." Aaron's voice is serious, weighty, and he smiles down at you softly. His eyes are focused on your glistening face, wet from tears of pleasure and sticky from the summer heat. "You're just perfect."

You flush under his gaze, and you whimper as he kisses you again. Aaron's lips are soft this time, gentle as he moulds his mouth against yours. You let out a quiet gasp as you feel his hands part your thighs further, the sensation of his cock flexing against your folds making you shudder.

He's so big, but you're so wet, and you hope that it's enough to stop the sting. You wish that you had more experience, you wish that you could take cock perfectly, but you can't, and you and Aaron both know that.

You cried the first time he fingered you, so this is going to hurt.

"I'll take it slow," Aaron's voice pulls you from your thoughts, "and if it hurts — tell me, honey, and I'll stop, okay?"

You flick your eyes up to meet his. You instantly drown in his hazel irises, which are so round and soft and considerate. You nod your head. Your throat feels a little bit dry, and you feel somewhat hazy, but his words are so gentle and reassuring that you beckon him in.

"Okay," you respond, your voice wavering.

Aaron presses a soft kiss to your neck, his hand giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "I love you," he murmurs quietly, gently sliding his cock through your sticky folds, trying to keep his breathing even as he sees your eyes flitter shut.

"I love you," you mumble back to him, trying to stay lax as his hand slides over your stomach.

"Are you ready?" He asks, his tongue wetting his lips as he squeezes your flesh softly. He can feel precum dribbling out of his slit, and he's desperate to burrow deep inside of you, to feel you swallowing his cock.

His lips tickle your neck again, and you whine softly. "I'm ready. Please make love to me, Aaron," you say shakily, your arms wrapping around his neck for support, your fingers riding through his hair, "I want you."

Your confirmation was all he needed.

He keeps his hand against your stomach, his eyes focused on yours as he gently slides his cock inside of you.

You're so tight. Your walls are pillowy and soft, insatiably warm and wet, and he lets out a quiet groan as he feels you tighten around him.

You whimper below him. Aaron's eyes are soft, and they carefully scan yours. You can tell that he's enjoying this, even if right now he's hardly moving — just slowly pushing his hips forward, encouraging your cunt to swallow him inch by inch.

"Hurts," you say shakily, the sting bottoming out any feeling of pleasure. The only satisfaction that you feel right now is knowing that Aaron's enjoying himself, and the fact that your cunt is slowly beginning to feel fill.

His brows pinch together as stills his hips. "You want me to stop?"

You shake your head. "You're not even in all of the way yet," you say warily, "keep going, please?"

Nodding his head slowly, he continues to push himself inside of you. Your walls flutter around him and his breath hitches, his body tensing as he palms your navel, feeling your stomach bulge slightly as you finally take all of him in.

Aaron stills his hips.

Your chest heaves, and your eyes prick with tears. It hurts, and it feels intrusive, and you know that it's supposed to hurt — but this much, really? You curse yourself somewhat for losing your virginity to a man whose cock is quite literally huge, and you exhale shakily as you meet his eyes.

"Is this okay?" He asks, and he's so caring that your bottom lip trembles slightly. He can see tears prick at your eyes and his heart drops in his chest, worrying that he may have hurt you.

His hand comes forward, swiping away the stray tear which slips from your eyes. "It's okay," you affirm, his warm palm cupping your cheek, "I'm okay. It just hurts, that's all."

"Do you want me to stay still, just like this?"

Your walls flutter around him as he speaks. He can feel how wet your cunt is, even when he's not moving. It's the most blissful thing he's ever felt in his entire life. Aaron wants to press against your navel again, wants to watch your plump stomach bulge further from his cock, but he restrains himself, because has plenty of time to do that; he has the rest of his life to do that with you.

Right now, all he needs to focus on is making you feel good.

"I want you to move," you say finally, tilting your head. Your nose brushes against his, and you give him a soft kiss. "Slowly, if that's okay."

Aaron gazes down at you through half-lidded eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his dark brows knit together in concentration as he slowly begins to roll his hips into you, ensuring that his motions are gentle.

A warmth blossoms in your stomach. It's a different kind of warmth, and you feel the familiar feeling of pleasure beginning to shroud the pain of his intrusion.

"Right there," you choke out, your eyes screwing shut as his cock brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, "just like that."

A quiet groan slides past his lips as you praise him. He's doing good, and he bites down on his swollen lip as your walls tighten around him. His hands slides over your body, runs over your plump flesh lovingly. Aaron swears he could do this forever, just continuously fuck his cock into of you whilst simultaneously groping at your plump flesh. The way you moan and writhe beneath him is addicting, so beautiful, and he wants to worship you this way for forever.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he continues to softly roll his hips into you. His eyes are fluttering shut, and his hair is sticking to his forehead slightly, and he looks so good. The scent of sex and his cologne floods your senses, and you softly drag your nails over his shoulders, arching into him as his movements pick up.

He moans softly, and you screw your eyes shut, unable to look at him anymore, the pleasure growing overwhelming.

"Please," you beg, "more."

"I don't want to hurt you," Aaron whispers, and his voice shakes slightly. He grips at your hip to steady himself, the lewd sounds of your squelching cunt echoing around his bedroom.

"You won't hurt me," you say, and you look up at him, pressing your lips against his in reassurance, "I promise."

Aaron's jaw ticks, but he nods his head. His head lulls, his nose brushing against yours as he carefully begins to increase his speed. His hands linger at your hips, digging into the plump flesh softly, and he groans as your walls flutter around him again.

You're so wet. The sound of his balls slapping against your soaking cunt shrouds the bedroom, and you find yourself growing closer and closer as he moans against you. His cock hilts inside of you, brushing consistently against the area where you need him most.

You can feel the love that he has for you poking through. You feel it in every gentle squeeze he delivers you; sense it in the way that his eyes lingers on the soft jiggling of your breasts and your stomach. You don't feel insecure around him — you feel powerful, and you arch your back more to allow him deeper inside of you.

The sting is gone, replaced by an insatiable pleasure that devours you from the inside out. Aaron’s cock is perfect, hilting inside of you, and your walls squeeze him, milking everything that he's got.

You gasp. You feel warm and fuzzy, and your body tingles with desire. He keeps squeezing you, his hands enveloping your thighs as he pushes your legs up slightly. The position allows for a better angle, and you sigh contently as you feel him ride against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.

Aaron's eyes scan yours, and you feel so overwhelmed, so beautiful. "You're so beautiful, honey," he murmurs, his eyes dragging down to study where your body meets, where the two of you become one. His breath hitches, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "My perfect girl."

You flush wildly, your face burning with heat. He feels so good inside of you, and you moan against his lips as he kisses you again, gently, softly. You savour the taste of him, relishing in the fact that you can still somewhat taste yourself on your tongue, and your nails dig further into his shoulders as he rolls inside of you.

You're growing close. You can feel it in the way the knot inside of you is beginning to fray and break loose. Aaron’s lips stay pressed against yours, and he squeezes your trembling thighs reassuringly.

"It's okay," he breathes incoherently against your lips, "you can cum, honey. Be a good girl and let go for me, okay?"

Nodding your head, you allow yourself to lax, to succumb fully to the comforting feeling of him inside of you. His cock nuzzles against the most sensitive spot inside of you, and then your eyes flutter shut, an orgasmic bliss beginning to pulse through you.

You whine as you cum around him, your walls tight, fluttering around him. You tremble, but he keeps you steady, his hands gently pushing into the flesh of your thighs as he allows himself to grow sloppy in his thrusts. Aaron sighs contently as you paint him with your cum, his balls and thighs growing wet from your squirt, and he can't hold back anymore.

You gasp as you his cock leak inside of you — you feel his hot, ropey cum paint your walls, and it feels good; intensifying your own orgasm as you shake below him, your walls fluttering, your cunt swallowing all of him.

His hands stays tight against your thighs as he finishes inside of you. Aaron's lips graze over your neck, the sensation causing you tingle and shy away from him. He groans quietly into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you as his hips still.

Your chest heaves and your heart races. Your body is tingling with the aftermath of your orgasm, and you pause before you purposefully tighten around him, trying to gauge his reaction. He cries out into your neck, and your stomach flutters in response. You milk his sensitive cock softly, your walls tight around him. His hips jolt into you, and you gasp as he hilts inside of you again.

Aaron's thankful that his balls no longer feel heavy, that the ache is dulled. He presses lazy kisses against your neck, his hand softly trailing up and down your burning skin. You're so warm that it's comforting, and he wants to stay like this forever, moulded inside of you.

Your motions are lazy as you drag your nails up and down his back, goosebump rising in their wake. His head stays nuzzled in your neck, and his breaths come slowly.

“Was that okay, honey?” He asks finally, his hair tickling you as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You didn’t hurt me, Aaron,” you murmur softly, looking at him with adoring eyes, “if anything, you did the opposite. That was really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, uh, I’d like to do it again with you sometime.”

The cheeky grin that you send him doesn’t go amiss, and he chuckles, giving you a small kiss. You smile as he sinks down, burrowing his head in your chest, his hands squeezing your hips and waist softly.

You could stay like this forever.

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