#[musings] ash in the mouth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carnalcrows · 3 months ago

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BRAT TAMING - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: There is an uninvited guest at your solo smoking session.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, weed, begging, breeding, creampie, orgasm denial.

word count: 1.1k

A/N: I can't find the req to this 😭😭

The arena was nothing but cold steel, bloodstains, and the constant fear of death looming over you. So, when you finally managed to find a hidden spot away from the cameras, you lit up a blunt that you had managed to somehow sneak in, inhaling deep, letting the tension in your body ease for the first time in days.

You didn't expect company, but then again, of course someone would show up.

"Tch, you’re really bold, huh?" a cocky voice piped up, and you turned to see him—Thanos, the purple-haired loudmouth rapper. His presence was unmistakable, as was that damn grin that screamed trouble.

He plopped down next to you without asking, nodding toward your blunt. "Pass it."

You considered telling him to piss off, but there was something almost amusing about his audacity. With a sigh, you handed him the blunt, watching as he inhaled like a pro.

"Damn," he exhaled, smirking at you. "Didn’t think a guy like you would have good taste."

"And what kind of guy am I?" you asked, raising a brow.

"Boring. Too serious. Probably one of those dudes who thinks he's got everything under control." He chuckled, flicking ash onto the ground. "Bet you're the type who likes to be in charge, huh?"

You side-eyed him. "And what about you?"

"Oh, me?" He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. "I like to piss people off. Keeps things interesting."

He kept running his mouth, going on about how he was the best rapper in Korea, how people worshipped him, and how, if the cameras weren’t watching, he’d probably be throwing the guards around like rag dolls.

You let him talk, dragging slowly on the blunt, waiting for the moment he'd slip up. And, sure enough—

"Bet you’ve never met someone like me, huh?" he teased, his gaze flicking to yours. "A guy who knows he’s hot shit and doesn’t take orders."

You let out a slow, deep breath and turned to face him completely. "You don’t take orders?"

"Nope," he said smugly.

"So what if I told you to shut up?"

His grin widened. "I’d probably talk even more."

You leaned in, closing the distance between you two. His breath hitched for just a second—not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

"You talk too much," you murmured, taking the blunt from his hand and pressing it to your lips. His eyes followed your movements, his usual cocky expression faltering just a little.

"And what, you gonna do something about it?" he taunted, but his voice was quieter now, his bravado teetering on the edge.

"Maybe," you mused, tilting your head. "But I don't think you’d last five seconds without running that mouth of yours."

That did it. His smirk twitched. "Tch. You wish."

"Prove it."

He went silent.

The air between you both got heavy. He wasn’t used to someone checking him like this. Every muscle in his body was tense, like he was waiting for you to make a move.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

"Tch…" he scoffed, but you could tell—he’d lost the game. The brat had been tamed.

"Maybe I do like to be in charge," you admitted, standing up and stretching. "But it looks like someone likes being put in their place, too."

He huffed, looking away, but the slight flush at the tips of his ears didn’t go unnoticed.

"Shut up," he muttered, but he didn't move away as you stood over him, asserting every ounce of control you had.

"Make me," you challenged.

Without warning, he pulled you in by the front of your tracksuit, crashing his lips onto yours.

You were mildly surprise, but you reciprocated the kiss with a sense of eagerness, you hands gripping onto his waist.

Wary of any guard that might pop up from a corner, you pushed the purple-haired man further into the tight spot, pushing his pants down and lifting his legs up without prior warning.

He gasped– looking up to face you, but you were too busy with you fingers, spitting on your hand and letting it slid onto his naked hole- making him flinch.

Once you felt that your saliva had worked enough, you tugged down your own track pants, revealing your erection.

The other man's eyes widened, he had never seen a cock so– big before.

Without warning, you pressed the tip in his hole– making his head hit the wall with a loud moan– before which you covered his mouth with the hand that wasn't holding him up.

“Fucking brat– can't stay quite even when you're filled to the brim, hm?”

Unable to respond– he merely whimpered, pretty eyes rolling to the back of his head as you sheathed yourself in him all the way to the brim.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck and pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, groaning at how tight he was.

Your repeated thrusts kept Thanos mumbling incoherently even with your hand covering his mouth. You merely rolled your eyes and pistoned into him even deeper– making his back arch against the wall.

Soon– you felt yourself at the brink of release and didn't bother to pull out, coating the other man's insides a pearly white.

Thanos hadn't come yet– but you slowed down your thrusts, making the man whine.

“You thought I would let you off that easy? Beg for it.”

You removed your hand from his mouth, and the other man immediately began blabbering and begging for you to let him cum.

After listening for a minute or two, you had grown hard again, and began to resume your thrusts– making him let out a loud moan.

Your other hand worked on his cock, slowly jerking him off as compared to the rapid pace you were fucking him at.

Soon, he felt his orgasm wash over him like a waterfall, and came all over your hand.

You kept him upright, and found the blunt discarded on the floor. Thankfully it was still lit.

You picked it up and placed it in Thanos’ mouth, to which he groaned– head falling back as he inhaled deep.

You slowly placed him down, cleaned him up with some cloth that was lying around and sat down next to him, taking the blunt from his mouth and inhaling the smoke.

The silence between you both lingered even after the blunt was long gone.

Thanos didn’t say much after that. For the first time since you met him, he seemed thoughtful—or maybe just trying to figure out why he let you get under his skin so damn easily.

"We're gonna pretend that didn’t just happen?" he finally asked, standing up beside you.

You smirked. "Nope."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and muttered, "Next time, bring more. We’re not done."

You watched him walk away, his usual cocky stride slightly stiffer than before. You just chuckled, shaking your head.

"Yeah," you murmured. "We’ll see about that."

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awritesthings1 · 1 year ago

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Good Taste

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife reader

Summary: You get made fun of for wearing your sapphire necklace to the foundation dinner. Tommy always finds a way to make things better.

Warnings: swearing, implied smut.

ao3 link

“She was making fun of me!”

“Yeah? And when has that ever bothered you before, my darling?”

“Since all the bloody country wives started debating whether my jewelry was in fashion or not, Tommy,” you huffed at your husband, who was having no luck pinching away the creases between his eyebrows.

Tommy sighed deeply, not really bothered to continue the conversation but irked because the wives down the lane had gotten under your skin, and if you were unhappy, then he was unhappy. He fueled his throbbing head with a cigarette, chain-smoking them back-to-back while he hunched over on the settee.

You were sitting at the vanity, fingers tangled hopelessly at the stubborn latch of your necklace that just wouldn’t let, when you saw how Tommy was beginning to fold in on himself. Guilt consumed you immediately. It wasn’t that you actually cared all that much about what people said, but when you were around Tommy, your guard slipped, and all the things that made you tick during the day would come cluttering out of your mouth like an unwanted clash of symbols and noise. Tommy would sit there and listen, hum, nod, and completely detach himself from the world.

You ran each other around like clockwork. He leaned back, you forward. Lust swelled in his eyes, concern in yours, a tug at your hip, and a gasp from your throat. You smiled sympathetically, apologetically. He kept quiet, forgivingly holding your gaze, until a defeated sigh broke the tension, and you both understood how silly the whole ordeal was. Here was Thomas Shelby, a man of great power, slumped against the settee, utterly exhausted.

“Darling, this is fucking Birmingham. Good taste is for people that can’t afford sapphires.”

That brought a smirk to your lips.

“Oh?” You muse, watching him through your vanity mirror.

Tommy huffs, but it’s more out of amusement than agitation. The cigarette between his lips twitches as a smile graces his face. He hums in affirmation.

You give up on trying to unlatch the sapphire necklace around your neck. You’re far too distracted by the way Tommy leans back on the settee like he knows it’s his damn right, spreading his legs, chain-smoking cigarettes, and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. He’s completely in the wrong if he thinks you are going to keep your hands tangled up in a necklace when they would be much more useful somewhere else…

When your chair screeches against the wood as you push it back to stand, his head snaps to attention. He has a faraway look to his eye, haunted even, but he swallows when you sink to your knees between his legs, and something else begins to swell other than his pupils.

You run your hands up his knees to his thighs and back again.

“I know it’s stupid. They just get under my skin sometimes,” you resign.

He clears his throat and reaches past your head to set his cigarette on the ash tray. He stays there, bent forward, a breath apart, and begins caressing your face with the back of his fingers. A faint smile softens his features and warms his skin.

You laugh because it really is ridiculous. For marrying someone who spends most of their life buried in their head, you sure have picked up on his tendencies.

“Do you think I’m becoming obsessed?”

He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “No.”

You were; he was just treading carefully. Because while he wandered off to speak to god knows who at the foundation dinner, your feathers were being ruffled by stuck-up old women who were too busy being stuck up to notice their husbands’ lingering eyes. However, being able to defend your vanity was another thing compared to dealing with Shelby Company Limited business. And if it came to surviving passive aggressive remarks from old women or being led into another room to talk with Mr. Thomas Shelby, head of the Peaky Blinders, you would sneer rudely at Margaret any day.

You voice the thought at Tommy, “I take it your night wasn’t as successful as mine?”

He exhales and raises his eyebrows playfully, more or less confirming your suspicions.

“And should I ask you about it like a good wife?”

He hums, “no.”

He’s so entranced in running his fingers up and down your jaw, around your chin, and thumbing your lips that you’ll just have to forgive him later.

You pull a face. You’re not mad at him. Far from it. Those fingers of his dancing across your face are your weakness.

“You’re not listening to me.” You lean in closer.

“Yes, I am,” he smiles.

You try to pull back in faux skepticism, but with his hand holding your face so close to his,

“Where are you going, eh?” Tommy leans forward to steal a kiss, and he feels your laughter against his lips, a pleasant sensation.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” you jest.

Together, you fall back onto the settee with you astride his lap. Your hair falls over his face like a curtain, keeping him safe from the outside world. He doesn’t want to move; no, he will stay here for the next couple of months, transfixed inside this moment. The gun tucked away in the holster beneath his arm feels less heavy, and the clock ticking above his head slows. He can breathe. He can gingerly stroke your jaw with his thumb in the way you adore. So he does, and the shuttering thoughts that occupy so much of his head stutter in fear because they know they come second to you.

Then there’s that pretty sapphire necklace hanging from your neck. The one that got you both in this position in the first place. Those fucking people, eh? Those fucking people with their fancy palaces and prim and proper manners judging you, his wife, refusing you, his wife? That got him going.

You can tell he is in his head by the way his eyes linger on your sapphire necklace. He looks irked.

“What’s wrong, Tommy?”

He shakes his head lazily.

“Speak to me, love,” you insist.

Fuck em. Fuck the bastards that made his wife feel unworthy. They wouldn’t know taste if it hit them like a fucking train. He won’t let them bring her down.

Tommy clears his throat. “I’m sorry for being in my head, Mrs. Shelby.”

His apology is soothed into your skin with a gentle brush of his thumb at the end of your chin. He tilts it down to lay a kiss on the corner of your mouth. He always knows how to make you smile.

You press more of your weight into him and deepen the kiss, to which he grunts. It stirs a honey warmth in your stomach.

As for Tommy, the need to be closer to you is suffocating; he’d rather just lock you both in this room and throw away the key. He’d rather the stifling walls close in on you both until he can’t even open his lungs, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough. He needs to be in your skin, in your thoughts, but most importantly, right now, in your underwear.

It’s your goddamn nails clawing at his scalp that do it for him. It winds him up like a fucking pocket watch, boils his blood like good whiskey, and fuels the fires.

He urges your name in warning because he’s so strung up he might just rip the seams of your pretty dress, and you make the mistake of swallowing his plea with a huff and a tangle of tongues.

“The necklace, Thomas,” you gasp.

It would really be a pity if he accidentally broke it in the rush to remove your dress. It slows him down momentarily removing it, and his fingers can’t quite function being away from your skin but he knows ever since he gifted it to you, there’s been nothing you loved more. When the latch finally unclasps, he parts from your lips to gently lower it to the coffee table where it remains unscathed for the rest of the night. The same couldn’t be said about your dress.

Taglist: (i was drunk when I posted this so I forgot to add it lol).

@maliceofwonderland @fairytale07 @goblinjnr @ilovepeoplesdads @multidimensionalslut @blogforficslol @elenavampire21

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mintyys-blog · 30 days ago

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ANYWHERE TO SEE YOU — sinister! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

INSPIRED BY @halo-chao ‘s COMMENT

WARNINGS: implied sex, mention of abortion, pregnancy, miscarriage, alcoholism, blood, dark themes

PART ONE

You woke up before him.

For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were—forgot the weight of his arm draped over your waist, forgot the way your body ached from the night before. But then it all came crashing back.

You were still here. Still trapped in his world, his bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.

Carefully, you slid out from under his arm, barely breathing as you moved. Mark was a light sleeper, and the last thing you wanted was to wake him. You needed space, even if only for a moment.

Your feet hit the cold floor, and you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—one of his shirts, loose enough to cover you. You didn’t care that it smelled like him. You just needed to move. You stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. And then you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your reflection looked like a stranger’s. Your skin was flushed in places he had touched, lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes hollow, haunted.

This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the woman your husband—your real husband—had loved. The woman who had once laughed, once lived.

Mark had taken her, too. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the sink, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear your own skin off, scrub away every mark he had left on you. But it wouldn’t change anything. You were still here. And he wasn’t letting you go.

A soft knock came at the door, followed by his voice, still heavy with sleep. “You sneaking off in the middle of the night?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a slow breath before forcing your voice to be steady. “I just needed a minute.” Silence. Then the sound of him shifting, leaning against the door.

“Hope you’re not regretting last night too much,” he mused. “That would be tragic.” You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“…I’ll be out in a second,” you said quietly.

Another pause. Then, to your relief, the sound of him walking away. You looked back at your reflection, your fingers curling into fists. You could keep playing this game, letting him strip away what little was left of you.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the bathroom, staring at your reflection like the answer to everything might suddenly appear in the hollowness of your eyes. But eventually, you stepped away.

Mark was waiting in the bedroom, lounging lazily on the bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head as he watched you with that insufferable smirk. “Took your time,” he mused. “Thought you might’ve drowned yourself in there.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked past him, heading for the closet where he had let you keep some clothes—not because he cared, but because he wanted to maintain this illusion of domesticity. Like you were actually his wife.

Like you were actually his. You felt his eyes on you as you pulled out something to wear, your fingers shaking slightly as you got dressed. He enjoyed watching you squirm, enjoyed the little moments where he could remind you just how powerless you were here.

“Come eat,” he said suddenly. “You’re not skipping another meal.” You didn’t argue. There was no point.

The kitchen was too normal. That was the worst part. He had set the table, plates already filled. You hesitated for a second before sitting down across from him, picking at the food while he ate without a care in the world.

“So,” he said casually between bites, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You kept your eyes on your plate. “Nothing.” Mark hummed, amused. “Liar.”

You forced yourself to take a bite, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. He was watching you too closely, like he always did, like he knew you were planning something. And maybe he did. But it didn’t matter.

The drinking started as an escape. A glass of wine here, a few sips of whiskey there—just enough to dull the sharp edges of reality. But as the days bled into weeks, it became something else.

A necessity. Mark never stopped you. If anything, he seemed amused by it, watching with a knowing smirk every time you reached for the bottle. He never told you to stop, never warned you that you were drinking too much.

Because he wanted this. He wanted you to rely on something—and if it wasn’t him, then this was the next best thing. You weren’t sure when you stopped drinking just to forget and started drinking just to function.

One night, you stumbled into the living room, the bottle of whiskey in your hand nearly empty, your vision blurred at the edges. Mark was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, watching you with amusement as you swayed slightly.

“You’re pathetic,” he murmured. You scoffed, taking another sip. “I wonder why.” His smirk widened. “Oh, don’t blame me. This is all you, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip on the bottle tightening. He was right, in a way. You were the one drinking. You were the one spiraling.

But he had pushed you here. Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s the end goal here, huh?” he asked. “You think if you drink enough, you’ll forget where you are? Forget who you’re with?” He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “Or maybe you’re just hoping you won’t wake up at all.”

You didn’t answer. Because that thought had crossed your mind. His smirk faltered for just a second, like he saw something in your expression that he wasn’t expecting. Then he sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched slightly when he took the bottle from your hand, but he didn’t scold you. Didn’t stop you.

Instead, he just pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead and murmured, “You should pace yourself. I’d hate for you to go and ruin all my fun.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—empty, broken, and still craving something that would never be enough.

You tried to stop. Not for yourself, not because you wanted to be better, but because you refused to let him be right.

You hated the way he looked at you when you drank—the smug satisfaction, the amusement in his eyes, like he knew you would cave. Like he was waiting for it. So you slowed down. You avoided the bottles. You fought the cravings, the need to numb yourself. And for a while, it worked.

But then came the nights where the silence was too loud, where the memories of your real life, your real husband, clawed at your mind until you felt like you were suffocating. And Mark was always there.

He saw your struggle, saw the way your fingers twitched when you walked past the liquor cabinet. And he enjoyed it. Because he knew—just like before, just like always—you would break eventually. And you did.

The cycle repeated itself, like a cruel joke the universe refused to let you escape. You drank. He watched. He waited. And then you gave in. He never had to force you. That was the worst part.

Because by the time his hands were on you, by the time he whispered those filthy, possessive things against your skin, you weren’t fighting anymore. You let him have you. Again. And again. And again.

And when it was over—when you were lying beneath him, sore and spent, your body betraying you in ways your heart never could—you realized just how pathetic you had become. Because you had nothing left to hold onto. Not your dignity. Not your pride. Not even yourself.

The first time you threw up, you blamed the alcohol.

It made sense. You had been drinking more than usual—too much, if you were being honest with yourself. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up nauseous, your head pounding, your body sluggish. So when you barely made it to the toilet one morning, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl, you didn’t think twice about it.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you slumped against the cool tile. I need to cut back.

You told yourself that. You even tried for a few days, forcing yourself to drink water instead of drowning your misery in liquor. But the sickness didn’t stop. Every morning, like clockwork, it returned.

Some days were worse than others—violent retching that left you trembling, your stomach twisting into knots. Other days, it was a mild wave of nausea that would pass after a few minutes. You figured it was stress, your body finally reacting to the hell you had been trapped in. It wasn’t just the nausea, though.

The exhaustion weighed on you constantly, a bone-deep fatigue that made it hard to get out of bed. You had always felt tired since coming here—being Mark’s prisoner had a way of draining you—but this was something different. It clung to you, heavier than before, leaving you sluggish and disoriented.

Then came the cravings. At first, you didn’t even notice.

Your appetite had been inconsistent since arriving in this twisted version of your life. Some days you barely ate at all. Other days, you stuffed yourself with anything you could find, desperate for comfort, for something that didn’t make you feel so hollow. But then you started craving things you never had before. Weird things.

One night, you stood by the open fridge, your fingers curled around a cold cup of chocolate pudding. You didn’t even remember grabbing it, but the moment you saw it, your stomach demanded it.

You dug in, shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth without thinking, sighing at the way the sweetness coated your tongue. It felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, something actually tasted right. You barely noticed Mark’s presence until he spoke. “What are you doing?”

You froze mid-bite, blinking up at him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement. You rolled your eyes, licking the spoon before speaking. “Eating pudding.”

“At—” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two AM?” You shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been craving it.”

Then you paused. Something in the back of your mind itched, an old memory stirring, but you couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit you. Your fingers slackened around the cup, and it slipped from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“No… no, no, no…” You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mark frowned. “What’s the problem now?”

You barely heard him. Your mind was spinning, racing back to a time when you had sat in your kitchen—your real kitchen—licking chocolate pudding from your fingers, laughing as Mark teased you about your late-night cravings. Back when you had been pregnant.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I’ve done this before…” Mark tilted his head. “Done what before?”

You swallowed hard. “The cravings. The sickness. The mood swings.” Your voice shook as realization set in, creeping through your body like ice. “I thought the nausea was from drinking. I thought my period was late because of stress but… it would explain everything.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Mark’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. His amusement was gone. His smirk, the teasing glint in his eye—gone. He stood still, unnaturally still, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, finally, he spoke. “What?”

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not pregnant.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I am.”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His body tensed, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward. “You’re not.”

His reaction shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made your stomach drop.

You forced yourself to breathe, to stay calm, even as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Mark, think about it.” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “We—we haven’t been careful.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.”

Mark stilled.

His brows furrowed, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes.

A realization.

A cold, harsh truth that neither of you had considered before.

For weeks—maybe even longer—you had been trapped in a cycle with him. The nights blurred together, filled with rough hands and heated breaths. He had taken you again and again, never once stopping to think about the consequences.

Neither had you. The thought had never even crossed your mind. But now, faced with the possibility, everything came crashing down. His expression darkened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“No.” The word came out quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. You watched his face, your chest tightening. “Mark…” His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I won’t lose you again,” he growled, his voice trembling with something you almost mistook for desperation. “I won’t watch you wither away. I won’t let that thing kill you.” Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not a thing,” you whispered.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly let go, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’re getting rid of it.” The finality in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t asking. Your breath hitched. “Mark—”

“I said you’re getting rid of it,” he snapped, his voice laced with something sharp and unforgiving. “I don’t give a damn what you think, what you want—this isn’t up for discussion.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it came out strangled. “You killed our daughter before she had a chance to live. And now you want me to—” Mark’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, his lips pulling into a snarl. “I saved her.” Your chest heaved, your nails digging into your palms. “You don’t get to decide that,” you choked out.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw it—fear. Buried beneath the anger, beneath the cruelty, was fear. Not for the child. For you. He clenched his fists. “I do,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. And just like that, you knew—this wasn’t a fight you were going to win.

You shook your head, stepping back from him like he was something vile, something you couldn’t bear to be near.

“No!” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you clutched your stomach. “This is my chance—our chance! At having my family back! I won’t let you take that from me!”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “Y/N.” He was trying to be patient—his version of it, at least—but you could hear the strain in his voice, the way he was barely holding himself together. “You know what happened to the other you. She died because she got pregnant. I won’t let that happen to you.” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You could hear it in his voice, see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his entire body coiled like he was preparing for battle. This wasn’t a man having a conversation. This was a man at war. And you were the enemy. “You’re not him,” you whispered, voice trembling. Mark’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’re not my Mark,” you repeated, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. “My Mark—he would’ve been scared, but he still would’ve stood by me. He still would’ve fought for me, for our baby.” Mark’s jaw ticked. His lips pressed into a thin line. But you weren’t done.

“You don’t want to protect me,” you spat, anger bubbling up like a volcano. “You want to control me.”

That got a reaction. Mark moved—in the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, so close that you could feel his breath against your face. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist hard enough to make you wince. His face was unreadable, but his voice was deadly calm.

“You think I don’t know the difference between control and protection?” His grip tightened. “I buried you once.” His voice was low, guttural, dripping with something dark. “Do you think I want to do it again?” You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His fingers loosened, just slightly. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no mockery, no cruelty. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.

“I can’t lose you again.” Something in your chest clenched. For a split second, you saw your husband in him. The one you had loved. The one you had lost. But then the moment passed, and he was himself again. Mark. But not yours. And that was far more terrifying.

You didn’t speak to him for days. You couldn’t.

Every time you looked at him, all you saw was the monster who had stolen everything from you—who had stolen her, the other you, the one who had died at his hands. The thought of him making that decision again, of him thinking he had the right to decide what happened to your baby, made you sick.

So you shut him out. You ignored him when he spoke. You turned away when he entered the room. You barely ate in his presence, forcing down just enough food to keep yourself going.

Mark was used to your defiance—he thrived on breaking you down—but this time, something was different. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t mock you or force you to bend to his will.

He just watched. Every time you passed him, his gaze was on you, unwavering and unreadable. Like he was waiting. You hated that it made you uneasy. You hated that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

You spent most of your time in the bedroom, curled up in bed with your hand resting over your stomach. The idea of something growing inside you, something small and fragile, something that was yours… it was overwhelming.

It was terrifying. But it was hope. Hope that maybe this was your second chance. Hope that maybe—just maybe—you could take back some control. You weren’t the other you. You were stronger. You knew your body, you knew you could do this. And Mark—this Mark—wasn’t going to take that away from you.

Even if he thought he could. Days passed in a blur of silence. And then, one night, you woke to find him sitting in the chair across from the bed. Watching you. Like he had been there for hours.

Your breath hitched, your body tensing under the sheets. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the city lights outside, casting shadows across Mark’s face. He sat perfectly still, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your throat felt dry. “How long have you been sitting there?”

Mark tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and calculated. “A while.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could somehow protect you from the weight of his gaze. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes traced over you, stopping at the place where your hand rested against your stomach.

“You think you can ignore me forever?” His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—something simmering. You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.” He stood abruptly, and before you could react, he was in front of you. His hands gripped the blanket, ripping it away in one smooth motion, leaving you exposed to the cold air. You flinched, instinctively curling away from him. “Mark—”

“I don’t like being ignored,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost a growl. “Especially not by you.”

You glared at him, ignoring the way your pulse quickened. “What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?” Your fingers dug into the mattress. “That I understand? That I’ll just—just go along with what you want?” His eyes darkened. “I want you to listen.”

“To what?” you snapped. “To you telling me that my baby—our baby—doesn’t deserve a chance? That you get to decide whether it lives or dies?” Mark exhaled sharply, shaking his head like you were being difficult. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” You sat up, gripping the sheets beneath you. “I’m not her, Mark! I’m not the woman you killed, and I’m not going to let you kill this baby, either!” His jaw clenched. “I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t die!” you shot back. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He was losing patience. “You think you know that?” he said, voice eerily calm. “You think you’re different?”

“I am different.” Your voice wavered, but you held your ground. “And I’m keeping this baby whether you like it or not.”

Mark’s expression twisted, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might lash out. That he might end it right then and there.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You really think you have a choice?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent chills down your spine. You shuddered. “Yes.”

Mark inhaled deeply, then—just as quickly as he had approached—he pulled back. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Leaving you alone. Leaving you breathless. Leaving you afraid.

The fights never stopped. Every interaction was a battle, every word laced with venom. The house, once eerily silent, now echoed with their arguments—shouted threats, desperate pleas, and the ever-growing tension that coiled around them like a vice.

Mark was growing impatient. And your stomach was growing right along with it.

Each time he saw it—each time his eyes lingered on the curve of your belly—his expression flickered. Just for a second. A hesitation, an ache he would never admit to. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. And the anger remained.

“You think this is cute?” he sneered one evening, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. “Playing house? Pretending this is something good?”

You glared at him from across the room, one hand instinctively cradling your stomach. “It is good,” you shot back. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you’re incapable of seeing anything beyond yourself!”

Mark’s jaw clenched, his fists at his sides. “You’re going to die if you keep this up.”

“You don’t know that,” you hissed.

“I do,” he snapped, stepping closer, towering over you. “I watched it happen!”

You flinched but stood your ground. “Then watch me survive.”

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained frustration. He wanted to shake sense into you. He wanted to tear this idea—this delusion—out of your head. But he couldn’t. And worse, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest tightened every time he looked at you.

Every time he saw the growing swell of your stomach, proof of something real. Something his. Something he swore he would never have again. The next time he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. “I should rip it out of you,” he murmured, almost to himself. Your blood ran cold. But instead of fear, something else took over—rage.

“Then do it,” you challenged, stepping even closer. “Do it, Mark. Kill me. Because that’s what you’d have to do, isn’t it?” Your eyes were wild with fury, with desperation. “I will not give up this baby.”

Mark didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to call his bluff. Because that’s what it was. A bluff. And you both knew it.

With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your belly, feeling the faintest of movements beneath your fingertips. A reminder that you weren’t just fighting for yourself. You were fighting for them. And you weren’t going to lose.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees hugged tightly to your chest, your body wracked with silent sobs. Another fight. Another screaming match that left you hollow and exhausted.

Mark had stormed off, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the house.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring blankly ahead, your tears drying on your cheeks.

Then, your eyes landed on it. A bottle of wine, sitting on the counter. Mark never touched it. It was likely from his mother’s collection, forgotten and collecting dust. Your fingers twitched.

One glass won’t hurt.

You rose to your feet, moving on autopilot as you made your way over, uncorking the bottle with shaky hands. The first sip burned, but you welcomed it. It was warm, numbing. Comforting. Then another. And another. By the time Mark found you, the bottle was empty.

“Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, filled with exasperation.

You just giggled, leaning against the counter for support. “What’s the big deal?” You slurred, blinking up at him through hazy eyes. Mark sighed, running a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”

“Very drunk,” you corrected, stumbling toward him. He caught you with ease, his grip firm but not rough. Your fingers trailed up his chest, your lips pressing against his jaw. “Mmm… missed you.”

For the first time in days, you were touching him willingly, clinging to him. The tension between you had been unbearable, each fight driving a deeper wedge between you. And now, you were finally his again.

A small smirk tugged at his lips—until he felt something warm drip down his leg. His brow furrowed. He looked down. And his stomach dropped. Blood. Your blood.

It stained the floor, pooling at your feet, soaking into your clothes. Mark’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, stop—listen to me—”

But you weren’t listening. Your lips were still trailing along his jaw, your hands tangled in his hair. All you wanted was him. A distraction from the pain, from the helplessness.

He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepping in with you, his clothes quickly getting drenched.

You hummed against his skin, not noticing the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes were glued to the blood mixing with the water. He peeled your soaked clothes away, his own following soon after.

It wasn’t until you finally looked down, hoping to see the effect you had on him, that you saw it. The red spiraling down the drain. Your smile vanished.

“Wait… blood?” Your voice came out small, weak. Your dazed mind struggled to process it, but deep down, you already knew. Mark tensed, his hands tightening around your arms, holding you steady.

“I’m bleeding?” You choked out, your eyes widening in horror. Panic settled deep in your chest, your breathing quickening, the dizziness intensifying. Mark didn’t let you go. He wouldn’t let you go.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I need you to stay with me.” But you were already trembling, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

“No—no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered, panic rising. “It was just one glass, I—I didn’t—” Your hands shot to your stomach, desperate, pleading—but the pain was already there, sharp and unforgiving. Mark’s breathing was ragged. His heart pounded in his chest.

“You will be okay,” he swore. But as your legs gave out beneath you, the last thing you saw before everything went dark was his face— And the sheer, unfiltered panic in his eyes.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose when you finally came to. The dull beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet room. The world was too bright, too sharp, and for a moment, you had no idea where you were. Then it hit you. The fight. The wine. The shower. The blood.

Your hand shot to your stomach, fingers pressing against the hospital gown covering your skin. Empty. No. Your breathing grew shallow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Good. You’re awake.”

Your head snapped to the side. Mark was sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked tired. More than that—he looked relieved.

You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“The baby?” Mark met your gaze, expression unreadable. Gone. You shook your head. “No—no, I was fine. I—I only had one glass, I—”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know!” Your voice cracked, hysteria creeping in. “I didn’t—”

“Stop!”

His voice was sharp, cutting through your panic like a blade. Your breath hitched, eyes locked onto his. Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.

“You almost died,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Again.” Tears welled in your eyes. This was your fault. You did this. If you hadn’t been so reckless, if you hadn’t let your emotions drive you to drink, maybe—maybe—A sob tore through your chest, your hands clutching at the blanket draped over you. “I—” You hiccuped, shaking your head. “I killed them.”

Your hands trembled, your entire body shaking. “I—I was so stupid, I should’ve been more careful, I—” Mark exhaled through his nose, standing up abruptly. “It’s done.”

You flinched at his tone. He wasn’t angry. Not like before.

But he wasn’t grieving either. You expected him to scream, to throw something, to punish you—because that’s what Mark did when he didn’t get his way.

But he didn’t. Instead, he was calm. Too calm. His eyes flickered to your stomach before meeting your gaze again.

“This is for the best,” he said simply. Your breath caught. “You—”

“I told you,” he cut you off. “I told you what happened to the other you. I warned you.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And look where that got us.” Tears streamed down your face. “You’re relieved.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even hesitate. And that hurt more than anything. You had lost your child. And Mark was relieved. Because in the end, it meant you were still his.

361 notes · View notes

cyberrmusee · 12 days ago

Text

thinking ab meangirl!reader x cocky!satoru

you’ve always been a bitch, that much you’ve known your whole life. always snapped at others over small shit, always having a snide remark or comment. always fucking mean. and oh lord, your mouth? the attitude? good fucking god it was the worst thing about you.

but to him? that was his favorite fucking part.

he loved your disrespectful commentary, the way you rolled your eyes whenever he opened his mouth to say anything. the way you talked down to him like he was a peasant, like he was less than you— fuck, it only fueled him more, and made his dick throb, it was so attractive to him.

you walked around with a permanent look of disgust on your face, for everyone and everything around you. you’re barely spoke but when you did, it was like sex for his ears.

your voice was laced with something dark but sweet, like molasses, layered with venom and spite, and satoru swore he could hear his future being spelled out whenever you shot your rude ass words at him.

“the fuck do you want, you blue eyed parasite?” your words attacked him in the best way, wrapping around his eardrums and spiraling straight down south to his dick, as always.

you stood there, brow raised, a genuine look of boredom and disinterest on your face. one hand on your hip, the other holding your binder and books. lips lined darkly, gloss shining, and your braids, half up half down with a claw clip as the lower half fell by your waist as you stared at, or rather through him.

fucking hell, he thought he could cum right there on the spot just from looking at you.

“i don’t have time for this stupid shit, get the fuck out of my way weirdo.” you sighed pushing past him because he gave you no response. he smirked, grabbing your wrist before you could fully make it past him.

“c’mon gorgeous, don’t be like that.” he mused sweetly at you. though he really wanted you to be exactly like that, if not worse. he loved it, you were borderline evil, and he swore up and down you were the love of his fucking life.

“be like what? get the fuck off of me.” you spat out meanly, snatching your wrist out of his grasp, rolling your eyes along with the motion. you looked him up and down, irritated, your fuse had always been quite short anyways.

he only grinned, and i mean a shit eating grin at your words, leaning against the wall in the corridor of your colleges english building, staring down at you.

you sighed deeply, already knowing where this was headed. it was the same thing with him every time you saw the white haired menace. he’d been begging you every single day, all semester to go on a date with him, but you always refused.

“let me take you on a date.” he smiled.

“i’d rather play in traffic.” you deadpanned.

“c’mon one date beautiful, and if it’s that bad, i’ll never ask you again” he smirked as he folded his arms across his chest.

you pinched the bridge of your nose and screwed your eyes shut as you head dropped, a long and almost pitiful sigh leaving you.

you were so tired of this shit, so tired of him, so so SO fucking tired. so you did the only thing you thought would get him to shut the hell up and leave you alone—

“fine. friday, 8pm, the bistro downtown. i’ll meet you there.” you gritted out through your teeth.

he stood up straight, eyebrows shooting up and jaw dropping at your answer “what?” he said confused, you always said no, it was his favorite part of this whole thing he always did, you ashing yes had actually left the blue eyed beauty stunned.

you looked up to see his expression, one of shock, and rolled your eyes “close your fucking mouth you idiot.” you sighed rubbing your temple, this conversation was creating a headache for you at this point.

“the bistro, friday, 8pm. i’ll meet you there, and if you’re even one fucking minute late, im cussing you out.” you deadpanned as your eyes bore into his.

he quickly schooled his expression, masking his flustered state with a smirk. “yes ma’am, i’ll see you on friday.” he smiled.

you only rolled your eyes at him, clearly unimpressed as you pushed past him “whatever. now leave me the fuck alone.” you bit out at him as you left him there by himself.

and god it felt like the heavens had opened up and shined the warmest light on him, he was high on the entire interaction with you, and friday couldn’t come fast enough.

334 notes · View notes

currentloser · 2 months ago

Text

! MDNI !

prove your worth

pairing: CEO!kwon ji-yong x reader

word count: 4503

summary: You work as an unpaid intern for your strict boss Ji-yong, the dynamic completely changes when he offers another form of payment.

tags: explicit smut, power imbalance, boss/employee relationship, dubious consent, descriptions of intercourse.

( ao3 link )

The clock on the wall ticks tauntingly in your mind, well past midnight. Your schedule dictated you should’ve been gone by now, but of course you weren't.

Your cheap desk was finally empty, the papers you had been grueling through pushed forward onto your boss’ desk. The other interns and employees left hours ago, escaping this stuffy office. Meanwhile you remained trapped, sparing a glance to yourself against the glass wall, not missing the tired look in your eyes as well as the CEO, Kwon Ji-yong, was already musing over your paperwork. Unpaid, overworked, and stuck beneath a man who didn't remember your name.

Ji-yong famines seared across from you, his hand clasping over the stack you slid his way. His face remains casually neutral as he grabs onto the edge of the paper and starts to thumb through the stack of documents. He hadn't spoken to you the entire time you'd worked on this stack. He kept quiet, assessing you while you worked.

Without looking up, he sighs, “You made another mistake.”

The words send a cold shock through you, “Where?” You straighten instantly, your fingers tighten around your pen.

Instead of answering you verbally, he grabs the paper in question and slid it toward you. He moved to stand, hovering above you and pointing to a single line of text. You squint at it for a moment, confusion plaguing you as you read the line over again. Finally, you make sense of it, barely an error- a comma misplaced.

“Sloppy,” He muses, leaning back and running a hand through his slicked-back hair, “If I gave this to a client, do you know what they’d say?”

“That I wasn't paying attention,” You swallow as you meet his dark and unreadable eyes.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “Wrong answer. You aren't taking this internship seriously.”

Finally, he leans back in his chair and sighs, grabbing a cigarette from a pocket inside his jacket. He didn't care if you were in the room with him, he still lit the end and placed it in his mouth. He let the silence hang as he took a breath of it, deliberately pointing towards you and blowing the smoke your way.

“You want to stay here, don't you?” He asked, his voice smooth as smoke flowed from his lips.

Beneath the desk, your fingers curl into the edge of your skirt, “Yes, sir.”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, but despite it he smirks, “Then try harder.”

Reaching across his table, he grabbed another stack of papers. Your eyes widen as you take it in- twice the size of the last stack. Realization sinks in as he takes one off the top and puts it where you’d been working on the previous paper. Your head pounds just gazing over the text. The first one you started with.

“Redo them. From the beginning.”

“But-”

His eyes flick up, cutting you off before you can try to speak, “Did I hire you to complain?”

You shake the heat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer. Ji-yong hums, pleased. He sets down his cigarette onto his ash tray and picked up his pen instead, returning to his own paperwork. Your eyes twitch as he dismissed you.

Sleep teases behind your eyes the moment you close them, but you sigh and accept your fate. Again, the silence stretched thin punctuated by the soft scratch of his pen and your own. Every so often he'd blow a waft of smoke in your direction if only to pester you further, and you could’ve sworn you caught him smirking when it forced you to wave the cloud away. His gaze is all-encompassing, stopping you from any shifting or distractions from your work.

As you finally begin to reach the end of the pile, he speaks again, “Are you nervous?”

Your throat bobs and you squeeze your own, “No, sir.”

At that he gives a quiet chuckle, finally stubbing out the bud of his cigarette. He glanced out the window, the dim glow of the dusk casting shadows across his face. His already dark and leering expression only became worse.

“You're a terrible liar,” He mutters, glancing toward your finished paperwork.

“I only want to do a good job,” You hold firm, squeezing your pen as you finish off what you can only hope is the last correction.

He hums, considering you, “And yet, you keep making mistakes.”

You flinch involuntarily. The words strike a nerve deeper in you, even if you tell yourself and you know he does it on purpose. All of this exhaustion and taunting merely to humor himself. He enjoys dangling approval just out of reach, to watch you scramble to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

“Tell me something,” Ji-yong tilts his head, his gaze dragging over you slowly, “Are you the type who needs praise to stay motivated?”

You hesitate, “No, sir.”

“Good,” He smirked, sharp and cruel.

Without further warning, he rose from his chair. He moved smoothly, a fluid grace more fitting for a dancer rather than your stuck-up boss. He rounded the desk, coming to a stop just beside you. He stood much taller than you, his scent enveloping you. A clean, crisp cologne flirted with the sharp smell of smoke, nearly suffocating you.

Over your shoulder, he grabs the paper from underneath your hand. The last you finished. You refuse to look up at him, instead studying the grain of the desk beneath you. All at once the paper lands in front of you again, lazily floating down from where he dropped it.

“Better,” He muses, “But not perfect.”

Heat crawls up your face, flushing your cheeks. You duck your head before he can catch the way your shoulders rise in response. Ji-yong leans in closer, enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, “Do it again.”

“You just want to see me squirm,” You mutter, your jaw tightening.

Ji-yong straightens out, returning to his chair and drumming his fingers against his desk, “You're an intern, so you do as I tell you.”

Your nails dig into your palm, to stop yourself from screaming and to keep yourself awake, “How long are you going to keep me here?”

Ji-yong looks surprised at how straightforward you were. He rested his chin under his knuckles, glancing from your paper back up to you. Expectantly, silently instructing you to get back to it. He holds that silence, his eyes twinkling with something dark.

“Until I get bored,” He shrugged simply, then smirked yet again, “Get back to work.”

Your hand starts to tremble as you get to writing again. Each stroke of the pen sends a little jolt of pain through your hand as you painstakingly rewrite it, again. At some point you're not even sure if the words have meaning, or if they'd gotten any better from the first two times you've written it. Improving wasn't the point, torture was.

He spelled it out to you. As you finish you push the paper forward over your desk onto his. He doesn't acknowledge you at first, at some point he'd begun scrolling through his phone and serenely ignoring your work. Just as you're about to knock on the table to divert his attention he grabs the paper, slowly.

He skimmed the contents, his dark eyes flickering over your writing. His expression remained unreadable, yet after an eternity he finally set it down with a small nod.

“Looks like you can learn after all,” He admits, absentmindedly.

Relief floods through you, suddenly that pain and exhaustion lifted and was replaced by it. You grab onto your chair and push it back, glancing to him for approval before you run off. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head in your direction.

“Since you're so eager to prove yourself, I hope you won't mind one more assignment.”

“It's so late,” You try, keeping your voice low, “I have other assignments-”

“Now you have mine,” He tapped his fingers against the paper, pushing it forward before looking back to you, “Unless you'd rather go back to coffee runs and filing paperwork.”

You don't want to argue you might rather be doing that instead of facing this strange torture hes concocted. You can't read whatever he's calculating, the wood echoing the pattern he taps out. You swallow hard and shake your head before you can think better of it. For once his expression changes into something more domineering than the flat grin he'd put on before.

“Good, let’s make you've really earned this internship. Come here.”

Pushing your chair back, you step around the desk and close the space between his own desk and yourself. Still too shy to completely come around it, glancing at him. He tilts his head as he studies you, his gaze raking over your form yet again.

“You've been working so hard,” He purrs, his tone becoming something darker, “It would be cruel of me not to reward such dedication.”

Your stomach twisted in response, heat rushing to your cheeks. He'd never given you a reward for anything before. You're not sure whether to brace yourself or to courteously accept, maintaining your eye contact with him. Waiting for him to speak up first.

Ji-yong finally moved and reaches into his desk drawer. There’s a moment of shuffling through paper before he pulls out an envelope and slides it across the surface toward you. He looks up at you, and your fingers twitch at your side.

“Your stipend,” He says, “You've been waiting for it, haven't you?

Your eyes bug slightly. You've been working weeks on end with the understanding it would be entirely unpaid. It doesn't look like a lot of money- maybe a check?- but the wording makes you hesitate. You aren't sure what he means. You swallow and nod, not sure how else to respond and start to reach for it.

“Tell me,” His hand lands atop the envelop, interrupting yours, “What do you think you've done to deserve this?”

You straightened your shoulders, meeting his gaze with an edge of defiance underneath your corporate façade, “I've been working for weeks, unpaid. I think I've more than earned something.”

“So does every one of your colleagues,” He clicks his tongue, unimpressed and shakes his head.

Your gaze meets the smiley-face tattoo on his hand as he runs his hand through his hair yet again. “I've put in extra hours, stayed late to finish your work, given my all to this company. It warns me something, wouldn't you agree?”

“You’re being awfully bold,” He murmured, tilting his head, “Is this confidence, or desperation?”

Your lips parted but you hesitated- just long enough to make his smirk deepen.

“I asked you a question,” His voice was smooth, expectant and low. Just enough to make you shiver.

“Confidence,” You managed, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Impressive… but I'm still not convinced, confidence alone doesnt cut it here. As I keep repeating- I want to see proof.”

“How am I meant to do that?” You finally ask, breaking the tension holding in the room.

Pushing his chair back, he pats his lap and nods you over. Slowly, you go around the edge of his desk. You weren't sure what you expected besides the image of your boss leaned back in his chair, his legs splayed out. His hand still rests in his lap, teasingly covering over himself. He manages to look powerful, even when sitting.

“Here’s a trick I could teach you: Down, girl,” He motions with his pointer finger, right between his legs.

You step closer, unsure of yourself. He nods to you and keeps motioning, the way a trainer might handle a startled animal rather than a faithful employee. As you get closer he glances down to your feet and nods, fully expectant on your cooperation. You glance around the room.

Inwardly, your eyes flicker from his form to the door just out of sight. Without a paycheck, this job was only for the sake of experience. The size of the company, and the notoriety wouldn't be forgotten on your resume, though. You battle the options in your mind, and you decide on lowering yourself to your knees.

“So you know your tricks,” His smirk widens, patting his lap again.

You can't imagine how face your red has become as you crawl between his legs, stopping in front of his hand. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head, keeping your gaze ducked to where his hand kept over himself. Slowly, he moved it to the side. You could see his hard-on straining his slacks.

Above you, he hums, “You wanna treat don't you? So get it.”

Your shakes shake as they come up to his lap and grab onto his belt. Slowly, you lift your head and meet his gaze, seeking his approval. He gives a curt nod, his eyes sparkling yet again. You look back down to work on his belt, tugging it off of him and leaving it on the floor beneath you. You slowly pop the buttons- one, then two.

The back of your mind tells you that you shouldn't play into his games, but his sweet words of approval and his gaze were enough to keep your hands moving. Beneath it are plain dark red boxers, matching his tie dangling just out of your vision. Sensing your hesitation, he reaches between the two of you and opts on pulling himself out of his pants instead.

His cock waits for you, hard and already leaking precum. He slowly strokes over himself, and you could still feel his gaze squared on you.

“I've never… done this before,” You admit, your voice barely coming out as a squeak.

Ji-yong scoffed, letting go of himself and caressing the back of your hand instead, guiding it to the base, “Don't worry. I expected that. I'll show you how.”

He guides you along a vein that pokes out from the bottom, squeezing there and slowly rubbing over himself. He lets go of your hand once he's shown you the motion, his leg shifting from your side to between your legs. You finally dare to glance up at him and give him a questioning eyebrow raise, before you feel it.

His smooth shoe raised up between your legs, pressing over your clothed cunt. The toe of his shoe pressed up against you, teasing over your sensitive heat. You whine despite yourself, your thighs clamping down around his foot and looking at him with a wild, desperate expression.

“It's a treat for both of us. Don't look at me like that,” He teased, his hand finally moving to cup the side of your face.

His pinky finger hooked beneath your jaw, forcing your gaze up to his. You could feel him buck his hips up into your hand as you moved with the pace of his foot. Slowly dragging over you, teasing where you were most sensitive. Every time he brushed against it a rush of pleasure sent goosebumps up your spine.

Your face was burning up, panting in response to his teasing as it took everything you had not to fuck yourself against his foot. You could feel his cock begin to twitch, his hips lifting off the chair beneath him.

“Ahh-” Ji-yong panted, “Yeobo, keep going.”

It was the lightest he'd ever spoken to you, breathless and leaning into your hand out of pure desperation. Watching his mouth draw open and drool lazily drip down the side of his face, you decide to take revenge. You let go of him, instead letting your hand slide down to his inner thigh.

Panting for a few moments, Ji-yong shook his head in confusion before looking down to you, “Huh?”

“I don't want to be on all fours like a dog,” You point down to his shoe, still pressed up against your heat, “Sir, allow me to sit with you?”

Still caught in the heat of his cut-off orgasm, Ji-yong dumbly allows you to sit with him. It's an awkward fit in his rolling desk chair, sliding yourself into his lap. You spread your legs, hiding your face from him again as you go back to rubbing over him. Slowly, he trailed his hand up your thigh and hiked up your skirt, teasing over your wet panties.

Ji-yong’s grip tightened as you shifted in his lap, teasing him enough to make his breath hitch, “Careful, keep that up and I won’t be so patient with you.”

You smirked, hiding your need with a daring expression, “Who said I wanted you to be?”

“You really are confident, aren't you?” His hand hovered over the fabric, his touch leaving and merely teasing.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, enough to drive you further into a desperate madness. His gaze lowered, lingering on the way your chest rose and fell as he held you so close to what you wanted.

“Come on,” He coaxed, “You can do better than this.”

His words stuck you, sharp and quiet like a challenge. Suddenly a fighting spirit gave you every intention of standing your ground, but of course your body seemed to have a mind of its own. Every slight shift, of trying to hold your breath only furthered your own desperation.

His hands rested just on the insides of your thighs, his thumbs drawing little circles on the sensitive skin there. Just enough to feel the slight tremor in response to when he teased at the edges of the fabric, never quite touching. Amusement flickered in his eyes at your reaction.

“You try so hard to act unaffected,” His thumbs caught on the fabric again, then wandered away again, “But your body’s telling me everything.”

You grit your teeth in response, trying to keep your composure. The scent of cologne and smoke pulled you in. The warmth so close to your own made it impossible to think clearly, attempting to press forward and just force his touch where you needed it.

“You're not going anywhere,” Ji-yong’s voice was low but firm, “Not until you admit it.”

The teasing was unbearable. Every second stretched into eternity, stuck with the feeling of teetering on the edge of something so thrilling yet terrifying at the same time.

“Admit what?” You whispered, though the words barely escaped you.

“That you want this,” Ji-yong breathes a velvet rasp, “That you want me.”

You couldn't speak. You couldn't do anything but feel the heat, your body fighting for control. Every last inch of you screamed to face into him, but your own stubbornness stood in the way. It only worsened when his thumb flicked over you through the fabric, teasing you yet again before his touch wandered away.

“You want me too,” Ji-yong added, his voice darkening, “I can feel how wet you are. Don't lie to me.”

For a moment, your mouth felt forced shut. You were frozen in place, stuck between the push and pull. As his hand slid over you, the tiny undeniable shiver that ran through you couldn't be hidden any longer.

“Damn it, Ji- sir,” You breathed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission, “I want this. I want you.”

Ji-yong’s lips curled into a victorious smile. The sparkle in his eyes said it all. He won this battle between the two of you. His grip tightened on you ever so slightly, a silent promise he would make you pay for making him wait.

“I knew it,” He whispered, his voice soft and pleased, “I knew you couldn't resist me.”

Your boss rubbed over your soaked underwear, a low snicker you nearly didn't catch with the shock of the direct pressure to your folds, gently rubbing over you. You whined as the fabric caught against you, shifting your legs and attempting to close them around him.

“I didn't know you had this in you,” He murmured, his finger curling beneath your panties and tugging them to the side.

A single finger pressed between your folds, rubbing up over your twitching clit then teasing your waiting hole. With a dexterity you didn't expect, he shifted his thumb over your clit and pressed his pointer inside you. You gasp as it pressed inside you, you could feel yourself dripping over him.

Your hand stopped moving, completely forgetting to help him as he curled his finger up right against the spot that made your knees buckle.

“Sir,” You whine, letting your head fall forward against his shoulder, “S good, feels good…”

“If you want something, you should ask for it properly,” He murmurs against your skin, his breath warm.

Dumbed down by the pleasure you dumbly moved with his fingers, trying to get what you needed, “Please sir. Please fuck me.”

He answered your pleads by closing the distance between you, his lips connecting with yours. His lips were soft and so warm, kissing you with a sense of urgency you hadn't felt before. It made your head spin, every brush of his fingertips inside you sent heat crashing through you. Your breath hitched, your heart racing with the chaotic rhythm of your chest rising and falling.

More fingers join inside you, opening you up further. Ji-yong’s warm breath ghosted your cheek as he leaned in close, pulling you forward into his lap. He bucked his hips in response to your pretty moans, his fingers filling you. He panted from in front of you, giving his own groans in response to your noises.

“I knew you wanted this,” His voice dropped down low, his touch almost revenant, “I knew you couldn't keep pretending you didn't want me.”

His words made you dizzy, his fingers hitting that sweet spot and driving you wild.

“You’re making it so hard to be gentle,” Ji-yong huffed through his nose, squeezing where he held onto you.

Just your performance was enough to keep him going, curling his fingers up into you until all his fingers fit inside you, rubbing over your clit again. The pleasure building up inside you finally all came to a rushing haunt, bucking yourself forward against his thumb and muffling your moans as you came around his fingers, clawing at his shoulders.

“You look good like this- completely at my mercy,” He teased, even if you were still too far gone to hear him.

You lean back, your face fuzzy from the rush of it all. His finger still hasn't stopped rubbing over your clit, forcing more jolts of pleasure through you as you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm. He was still half-hard, forgotten as he focused on taking care of yourself. You could feel his heartbeat rushing through his fingers.

You nod dumbly and press yourself down against his fingers, restless after everything, “Thank you, sir.”

Ji-yong noticed your desperation and smiled, “You still want more, right?”

“Wha?” You pant, rubbing your eyes to meet his gaze, your gaze still unfocused.

“You haven't earned it all yet,” He purred, grabbing your hips and pulling you up, hovering you over the flushed tip of his cock, “That's what you're thinking, isn't it?”

His voice has dropped lower, something more dangerous. You glance down at him, then grab the side of his face for purchase. Getting his fingers was one thing, but this…? You only find yourself wanting more, your cunt dripping over him with need.

Without speaking, you nod slowly and lower your hips. Grinning, Ji-yong reaches brown and guides himself into you. He pressed until his cock pressed into your hole, holding you down until his cock slowly slid into you. The fit was tight, but dizzyingly hot.

“Wow. You take it so well,” Ji-yong praises, slowly thrusting up into you, “There you go. Earn it.”

“Ji-yong, I can't…” You whine.

His words drew you in despite it, each slow thrust filling you to the damn hilt. Leaning back to watch you, sweat slid down the side of his face as he thrust into you. Even if as he instructed you he happily took control over you, guiding your hips as he pressed up inside you. Each thrust hit that spot that made you melt.

You quickly felt yourself melting under the treatment, attempting and failing to move with him. He moaned in approval, letting his hand wander up to your chest and squeezing at you, freeing you from the top of your shirt. He purred at the mess he made of you, undone and messy from his touch.

“Sir,” You moan, “Ji- Ji-yong, please-”

Obliging you, Ji-yong cooes at your pleading, his pace getting more brutal. He forced himself in as deep as he could get inside you, burying himself with each rough thrust. The feeling of the rough fabric against your thighs drove you mad, rustling as he started to get closer. His hips bucked off his chair beneath him, the plastic squeaking beneath you.

“Is this what you wanted?” He murmured, his voice husky with pleasure.

His dark eyes snap something inside you, a silent order making you nod along with him. Heat pooled in your stomach as his cock hit deep inside you, grabbing your leg and pulling it over his waist.

“Tell me to stop,” He pants, a warning as a bruising grip squeezed your hips.

Despite yourself, you find yourself nodding along, “Don't stop, please-”

“Let go,” Ji-yong whispered, his words strung out yet commanding, I want all of you, now.”

With all the permission he needed, he finally let go of what little bit of control he still held onto. His hands lose their purchase on you, for only a moment as he gets closer. Forcing the contact of your bodies just that much closer, he moaned as he came inside you. You squirmed as he filled you, wiggling as he filled you, his cock throbbing as he rocked his hips slowly through the waves of his orgasm.

“You're shaking,” He chuckled through harsh pants, struggling to catch his breath as much as you were, “I can feel your heartbeat. It's so fast.”

Letting yourself slump against him, you gently hit your fist against his chest, “You bastard- was too good. Too much.”

Humming, Ji-yong grabbed the bottom of your chin and guided your gaze to his again. He tilted his head, teasing at a kiss. He leaned in close, admiring how much he’d made you flush and drool with his rough treatment. He closes the distance with yet another sloppy kiss, his own drool mixing in with your own.

You kiss him as best as you can, his tongue pressing into your mouth and claiming every last part of you. He finally pulled away with a short breath, leaning back to gaze over you yet again.

“Mmmh?” You demand, trying your best to make sense of yourself.

Ji-tong grins at you, “You have no idea how long I've wanted this. So much better than a paycheck, isn't it?”

Oh, this asshole.

taglist: @loveesiren

#bigbang x reader #gdragon x reader #big bang x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #g-dragon x reader #kpop x reader #18+ mdni

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

Text

on my telly, kyle "gaz" g. - cool summer evening. kyle was enjoying a beer with his feet up on the coffee table. a beer in one hand and visibly relaxed after being away for almost six months.

he missed this, much better than the muggy hell he was in across the globe. he could watch the football game, enjoy a cold beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and of course, his favourite activity. watching his girl give him the messiest oral sex she could muster.

he exhaled smoke out of the corner of his mouth and tapped the ash off his cigarette into the ashtray that was rested on your back. he said in that honey-sweet voice of him, "careful there, lovie. i'd hate to make you clean up all the ash."

you loved his cock in your mouth. it felt perfect just like that. kyle's cock wasn't porn star levels of huge, but it was big enough for you. you once told him that you liked his cock because it fit just right and wouldn't end in an emergency room visit. you had been trying to deep throat him and the way that your throat would constrict when you tried to go too deep.

you felt tears prick your eyes and you'd whimper. you wanted to pull your head away to gasp for breath, but it was a balancing act. you couldn't tumble over the ashtray and ruin your lover's evening. he had been in peru for a mission and without your pretty plush lips around his cock. he didn't need to stop to clean up a mess you made. and while he loved when you played maid for him, he'd rather you service him in another way.

he took another drag of his cigarette and the heavy smell of cigarette smoke filled your head, it only added a level of pleasure to your needy core. you were soaked, evident by the wet spot in the crotch of your pretty pink panties. panties you gave to him as a gift for his deployment and it took two wash cycles to wash all the cum out of it. now the soft pink fabric was stretched across your fat ass as you sloped your back to near drool all over kyle's cock while you choked on his cock. fuck, you looked divine.

"pretty girl." he mused after he had another exhale, "letting me come home to a proper meal, a proper wife, and a nice night in. eh, think it's about time i bring home a ring. make you my bride. you'd like that." he put the smoke in his mouth and patted your behind then gave it a swift smack. he chuckled when you moaned. he spoke around the cigarette in his mouth, "can't be letting some idiot waste your talents. got all the makings of a good wife." he slapped your ass again as you continued to bob your head quickly. he took the smoke out of his mouth and held your ass. he made sure not to burn his girl with the lit end, "no other man knows how to handle you the way i can." his voice was smooth and you shuddered, "careful with the teeth, i know you're eager."

you were mindful, for a moment you got too lost in the feeling. your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on making him feel good and not letting the ashtray fall off of your back. it was like a performance and kyle was going to give you rave reviews once the match was done. you teased the tip with your tongue. nudged it against the slit and kyle tensed up for a moment before he had a sip of his beer.

"i see you've been learning." he mused, "i feel like i should be worried you've been stepping out of the relationship. but you sent me more than enough videos to show that you've been a good girl for me." he said lowly before he stamped out the cigarette in the ashtray. that was enough smoking for tonight.

while you still orally pleasured him, he was generous enough to get the ashtray off your back and onto the table. once he was relaxed back into the couch, he slapped your ass with his wide palm and your back arched as the wetness between your legs grew. the feeling was immense, the pleasure was overwhelming. you felt like such a whore, but it was hard not to when kyle made the word feel like a badge of honour.

"such a pretty thing on my cock. bet you thought about him every night. thinking about bouncing on it until the walls shook from those screams of yours. you'd get us in trouble with the landlord again, right?" he slapped your ass again before he slapped your ass and palmed the skin under his palm. he loved the feeling and he knew that you did too. you were soaked right now and kyle knew he had a long night ahead of him.

he relaxed and played with your hair while you continued to move your head up and down his cock. he loudly exhaled and tugged your hair a little. he said without looking away from the game on the screen, "careful there, watch your teeth." then felt you adjust yourself so you took him so much better. he felt the tension out of his shoulders. nothing quite like a smoke, a beer and some head.

tomorrow you'd go out on your dates and be the sweetest couple in the entire country. but tonight, it was about feverish sex. any way you could get your body on kyle's. he cursed under his breath while you picked up momentum and were able to sink down a little further. he held onto your hair tightly and tensed up. he swore a little louder as he clutched his beer can a little tighter.

you were quick with your movements and moaned with his cock shoved into your throat. kyle pressed you a little further down and he raised his hips to he could finish down your throat.

"fucking hell, love. all mine, missed you." he said as he watched you pull your head away from his cock and looked at him with a blissed out gaze. he reached for your and stroked your soft cheek lovingly.he smiled at you, "look at you. someone's needy."

you swallowed and nodded, "yeah. i need you." and then flung yourself at him with such force he almost dropped his beer. the kiss you shared was sloppy. you tasted like cum and he tasted like cigarettes.

but by morning you'd both be reeking of reunion sex. <3

a/n: feedback is lovely <3

#bunny writes #bunny drabbles #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz smut #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick smut #call of duty #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty drabble #cod drabble #cod mw2 #cod x you #cod x reader #call of duty gaz

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alwayssassydreamer · 2 months ago

Text

Between Two Beasts

inspired by this art

A/N: because of my weird brain that seems to be crushing on these handsome bastards, and the amazing @lxshoxk drawing i got inspired to write this strange combination, sorry this got kinda long if i hadn't stopped myself this would've been even longer Word count over 5k

Plot: you are one of Crocodiles most trusted and loyal agents and been in a relationship with him for some time and when the cross guild meets the red hair pirates you catch sight of shanks' handsome first mate and tease crocodile about how you would love to seduce Beckman and Crocodile giving you the go though not without warning you and soon you find yourself between two dominant beasts

Warnings: kinda "mean" Beckman, teasing, edging, oral (give and receive), voyeurism, p in v, threesome, age gap (or at least that'swhat i had in mind while writing), everything consensual, not proofread, ⚠️ MDNI ⚠️

Characters: Beckman x F!Reader x Sir Crocodile

The Cross Guild’s arrival at the Red Hair Pirates’ territory was nothing short of a spectacle. Buggy and Shanks had already fallen into their usual chaotic banter, their voices carrying across the deck like the echoes of an old married couple. Shanks even managed to drag Mihawk into it all, though the latter tried to pretend he wasn’t involved in any of this.

But you weren’t paying any attention to them.

Your gaze had settled on Benn Beckman, the Red Hair Pirates’ first mate, lounging a short distance away with a cigarette perched between his fingers. He was watching the chaos with lazy amusement, broad shoulders relaxed, an air of quiet confidence wrapped around him like an old, well-worn coat.

Something about him caught your interest maybe it was the way his sharp eyes held intelligence, or the roughness to his features that made him look like he’d seen more than his fair share of life’s ugliness. He was older, rugged, his gray hair slicked-back only making him look more refined.

You took a slow sip of your drink and smirked. “Damn,” you mused just loud enough for Crocodile to hear, tilting your head as you admired Beckman shamelessly. "He's almost as attractive as you"

A scoff beside you. “Hn.”

Crocodile barely looked at you, his cigar resting between his fingers, eyes flicking toward Beckman before settling back on the horizon. Unimpressed.

Your smirk widened. “What? You jealous?”

His gaze slid to you now, sharp and unreadable. “Hardly. You just seem to have a loud mouth.”

"And you love that mouth" you teased.

He took a drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke in a slow, measured breath though he couldn't hide the small smirk. “Go ahead. See if you can charm him.”

It was a challenge, laced with amusement and something darker beneath the surface.

Your lips curled as you leaned against the railing. “Oh? You think I can’t?”

Crocodile chuckled low, shaking his head. “I think he’d fuck you, sure.” His voice dipped into something dangerous, something possessive. “But you wouldn’t last a day with him AND me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re blind to what’s beneath that quiet charm.” He tapped ash from his cigar, eyes glinting. “Beckman isn’t what he seems, little flower. You know how bad I can be and that man is just as much a predator - he’s just better at hiding it.”

You blinked, glancing back at Beckman. To you, he looked relaxed, calm perhaps a little amused by Shanks’ antics, but otherwise indifferent. Gentle, even.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right. Seems more like you're a little jealous and afraid that I might try something and now you wanna scare me off” you said sheepishly as you turned towards him your finger tracing over his shirt.

Crocodile chuckled again, but this time there was something knowing in it, something that made your skin prickle. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he put his hook under your chin and made you look up to him.

“You think he’s all soft words and charming smirks,” he murmured, “but put him in the right situation, and you’ll see what he’s really like.” He tilted his head, exhaling another slow cloud of smoke. “And trust me, little flower he wouldn’t say no to you.”

The way he said it sent a strange thrill through you. You had never really thought of Beckman that way. Sure, he was attractive, but you hadn’t considered that underneath his laid-back demeanor was something more, something just as dark, just as consuming as what you had with Crocodile.

You turned back toward Beckman, your eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

And then Beckman looked at you.

It wasn’t a fleeting glance. It wasn’t dismissive.

His eyes met yours, steady and unreadable, and for a brief moment, something flickered in them, something that made your pulse quicken, as he gave you an almost knowing smirk.

Crocodile dragged his cigar to his lips as if he could already see the wheels turning in your head.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “See for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t last a day with him and me.”

You had laughed, brushing it off. Beckman was attractive, sure, but he wasn’t Crocodile. He didn’t carry that same raw, overwhelming presence, that coiled danger thrumming beneath his skin like an unspoken promise. Beckman was smooth, relaxed, casual in a way that had fooled you into thinking he was just another man who knew how to charm a lady.

So when you made your move with flirty smiles, teasing words, just enough touch to test the waters, you thought you were in control.

Oh but how wrong you were.

You realized it the moment Beckman’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in with effortless strength, his cigarette-stained breath warm against your ear.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” His voice was slow, deep, amused. But there was something else there, something Crocodile had warned you about.

You felt the shift in the air before you fully processed it. The moment the game you thought you were playing flipped on its head.

Beckman wasn’t chasing.

He was hunting.

Before you could say anything, he had you pinned against the nearest surface, the full weight of his body pressing into yours, not crushing, but holding you exactly where he wanted you. His knee nudged between your thighs spreading them, his hands warm and firm as they pinned yours to the surface behind you.

His grip on your wrists was unyielding, pinning them above your head as he held you in place. Every move you made only reminded you of how much control he had over you. You couldn’t escape his grasp - not even a little.

You gasped, and that damn smirk of his deepened.

“You come looking for trouble, and you find it.”

You shivered, a thrill of something familiar crawling up your spine. This wasn’t the playful seduction you had in mind. Beckman was slow, methodical - patient in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. He didn’t rush, didn’t let you pull away, but he also didn’t let you fully catch your breath.

And then, when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, you heard Crocodile’s low, dark chuckle. He sat there like a king his cigar between his lips and a glass of whiskey in his hand as he watched with unconcealed amusement.

“What happened to all that confidence, little flower?” His voice was thick with enjoyment.

Your breath hitched, your face burning as you turned your head, glaring at him. “You—”

Crocodile exhaled a long, slow cloud of smoke, watching the way Beckman’s hands skimmed over your body with practiced ease. “You ignored my warning,” he murmured, voice like silk and sand. “Now look at you.”

Beckman hummed in agreement, his grip tightening slightly as his lips brushed just below your ear.

“I gotta say,” Beckman mused, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

The words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, and the smug bastard knew it.

You wanted to reclaim even a sliver of control, but Beckman wasn’t letting you. And Crocodile? He was enjoying this. Shamelessly. He made no move to intervene - not yet. He just sat there, watching, letting Beckman have you for now.

Beckman’s grip on your wrists shifted until only one of his hands held both of yours. His fingers trailed down over your lips and throat, his voice dipping lower. “Still think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

You had walked into this thinking you could seduce him but instead, you had become the prey. And god how much you loved it.

And Crocodile knew it.

The way he sat there, legs spread lazily, cigar smoldering between his fingers, drink in hand was infuriating. Amusing himself at your expense, watching you squirm under Beckman’s hands, under the weight of your own miscalculation.

You wanted this, don’t pretend otherwise, his eyes told you.

And Beckman was taking his time.

“I don’t think she realizes what she’s gotten herself into.” Beckman’s voice was a slow drawl, filled with something dark, something knowing.

Crocodile, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Oh, she does.” His gaze burned through you, drinking in the way your breath hitched as Beckman pressed you tighter against the wall. “She craves this.”

You wanted to deny it to throw something sharp and biting at Crocodile, to wipe that smug smirk off his face. But Beckman’s hands - large, calloused, patient - were making it impossible to think.

“You’ve been playing with fire, sweetheart.” Beckman’s lips brushed your jaw, deceptively gentle. His fingers skimmed over your sides, gripping your hips, holding you there as his knee nudged up higher between your thighs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you what happens to girls who tease too much?”

Your pulse thundered. You swallowed, but no words came.

Crocodile hummed, tipping his cigar between his fingers. “They get put in their place.”

The heat in your gut twisted violently. Crocodile had done this to you before, had made you crumble under the weight of his control, had torn you apart just to put you back together again. But this—this was different. This was both of them.

“You could’ve stopped me,” you managed to say, voice weaker than you wanted.

Crocodile grinned, slow and cruel. “Could’ve.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, watching you fall apart in real time. “Didn’t want to otherwise I'd have missed this show.”

Beckman’s fingers traced up your spine, curling at the base of your neck. “I can see why he keeps you,” he murmured, lips just barely grazing your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering. Every nerve in your body was screaming, caught between the ruthless attention of them both.

Crocodile took a sip from his drink like a king surveying his entertainment. “Go on, then,” he purred, voice thick with amusement. “Let’s see if you can handle him.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you because from the way Beckman’s grip tightened, from the way his breath fanned against your throat, from the raw, hungry look in his eyes -

You weren’t sure you could but hell you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted.

And Crocodile was going to enjoy every second watching you.

Beckman’s hands let go of yours and they roamed with slow, predatory ease, mapping out every inch of you, his body pressing firm against yours, caging you in. His scent - smoke, salt, and something deep and masculine - was intoxicating, dizzying even.

Your own trembling hands reached for his shirt skittering over the muscules beneath it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured teasingly against your skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Beckman was relentless. Every touch, every word, every slow, teasing drag of his fingers was deliberate testing you, stretching you to your limits. And Crocodile, the bastard, just sat there, watching, reveling in your unraveling.

“You wanted this,” Beckman reminded you, voice slow, low, dark. His eyes flicked past you, toward Crocodile, before returning to yours with something sharper, something dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

He took his time, dragging his fingertips down your ribs, forcing a shudder from you. Then, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice silky and deliberate. “You wanted to play, sweetheart. But you’re not in charge here.”

Crocodile watching from the sidelines, with eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A slow, deliberate puff of smoke curled from his cigar, and he leaned back casually.

You gasped as Beckman’s thumb ran over the curve of your waist, a soft, gentle pressure that made your breath hitch and your back arch. You needed more. But he wasn't giving you more not yet and your body trembled with frustration.

And then, just as your frustration reached its peak, his fingers traced the edge of your collarbone. You gasped, biting your lip to stop from moaning.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beckman whispered, as though reading your mind. “Like being pinned down, unable to do anything but take it.”

His hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, thumb tracing lazy circles against your pulse and your breath hitched and your knees buckled when his teeth bit down on your collarbone

Crocodile laughed, deep and rich, the sound sending a sharp spike of heat through your core. “Look at you,” he mused, eyes glinting with pleasure. “Fucking ruined already.”

"Am not" you breathed though you didn't sound very convincing.

Beckman’s hand moved from your throat down to the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath it making you shiver visibly as it at first gently caressed your belly before moving higher but stopping before he got where you wanted him making you whine.

You could feel the heat radiating from Beckman’s body as his hands moved to your sides, fingers brushing your skin lightly. It was almost cruel how gentle he was, his touch so calculated it sent waves of tension rippling through your entire body.

"You’re so sensitive," Beckman murmured, his voice rough and low in your ear. His thumb traced the curve of your hip, barely grazing it, but the sensation made your heart race. He felt your breath hitch, and a smirk curved on his lips. "Can’t even stand a simple touch, can you?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, his hands moved lower, tracing the waistband of your pants, and the tension in your body spiked.

“Does it feel good to be this helpless?” Beckman teased, his voice a hushed growl that made you shiver. His hands roamed, slow and possessive, pushing you towards the brink of madness.

Crocodile watched intently, his eyes flashing as he leaned forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Let him have his fun, but don’t forget who you belong to." His words settled over you like a weight, reminding you that your submission to Beckman didn't mean you were his, no you belonged to Crocodile.

As you arched your back Beckman’s hand slid up your spine, feeling the tremble of your body under his touch. He pulled you closer to press his lips against yours in a rough, possessive almost punishing kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth as his hand gripped your hair, tilting your head to give him better access.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the heat of his kiss and the need that built inside you. Crocodile chuckled softly, and it sent a shiver through you.

Beckman’s fingers curled against your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I think she’s close,” he murmured, amusement laced in every word.

“You love it don't you sweetheart. Being put in your place.” He leaned forward slightly, watching your lips part, your eyes flutter. “Look at you. A mess already.”

Your nails dug into Beckman’s arm, searching for something to ground you, but all you found was the steady, unrelenting strength of a man who wasn’t letting go.

Your breath hitched again as Beckman’s hand trailed lower, fingers rough and teasing your inner thigh and his lips attacked your neck with soft kisses and blissfully painful bites.

Beckman smirked against your skin, his voice a low, husky murmur. “Still think you’re the one in control, sweetheart?”

And then you moaned. Not too loud but you still did .

"Looks like someone is a little needy" Crocodile taunted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on, beg for it."

A small whimper escaped your lips "please"

Crocodile smirked. “Louder.”

"Fuck I need you." you gasped.

Beckman’s lips curled into a smirk. His fingers slipped into your pants tracing over your cunt before teasing your entrance. His movements were slow, controlled—each one calculated to make you ache for more, to make you crave the release he was so deliberately withholding. He let the palm of his other hand rest against your ribs, pressing firmly enough that you couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, just forced to feel the control he had over you.

“So wet already. Tell me you want it,” Beckman said softly, but his words were an order as he teasingly let one finger slip inside you. “Tell me you need me to touch you properly.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse was racing. You were panting. Begging for the release that was just out of reach.

“You heard him,” Crocodile’s voice was like a whip, sharp and demanding. “Say it, tell him how much you want it. You know you want to.”

Beckman withdrew his fingers and pulled his hand out of your pants only to have his thumb trace circles on your inner thigh inching closer to where you wanted him again, his touch like fire, but never where you needed it most. “Say it,” he repeated, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The pressure of his body against yours was unbearable, his form completely blocking your escape. Every part of you ached with need, yet you were still held in place and denied. Your mind was starting to spiral, but you couldn’t help it. You could feel how much you needed to surrender, how you were breaking under their combined presence. As Beckman coaxed moan after moan and whimper after whimper out of you.

Until your voice cracked, the words spilling out of you like a whispered confession.

“Please... touch me... properly.” you moaned.

Beckman chuckled softly, and Crocodile’s dark chuckle joined in, like a predator savoring a kill.

“Good girl,” Beckman murmured his fingers ghosting over the waistline of your pants, before pulling them down letting them fall to the floor leaving you in your underwear.

His fingers moved closer to your center teasing you through the fabric and just when you thought he might finally give you what you needed he pulled back. Making you whimper in frustration.

And Crocodile was watching it all unfold, enjoying your torment. “You should’ve known better,” he sneered. “You’re not in charge here. Not anymore.”

Beckman’s grip on you was firm, unyielding, holding you in place with the same effortless control he used to steady his rifle. His touch was rough where it needed to be, teasing where it could drive you mad. He was patient - too patient - drawing every reaction from you like he had all the time in the world to play. Enjoying the way you squirmed underneath him.

Meanwhile Crocodile's eyes never left you, and though he remained in his seat, his entire body betrayed him - the way his fingers gripped the armrest, how his jaw tightened at every moan you let slip, every way your back arched, the growing tension in his posture. You knew exactly what he was thinking - he was dying to join in his possessiveness taking over.

At one point, as Beckman’s fingers slipped inside your underwear again teasing you making you moan and grip Beckman's shirt tightly Crocodile leaned forward, eyes gleaming, and his voice barely more than a dangerous whisper. “I don’t know how much longer I can watch you enjoy this, hear you make all these sweet sounds, little flower.” His words were slow, deliberate, like a promise, but the tension in his voice made it clear that he couldn't hold back much longer.

The heat in the air was palpable, thick with unsaid things. Crocodile’s smirk was devilish as he rose and stepped behind you hand teasingly tracing over your back. The tension in the air thickening.

Beckman’s fingers continued to graze your skin, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to leave you breathless. The heat of his touch was relentless, each passing second made you ache for more, yet he refused to give you what you craved. His voice, low and dark, came in a whisper near your ear.

“You’ve been so patient,” he said, his words dripping with mockery and lust. His finger traced down to the hem of your shirt and with a swift motion pulled it over your head revealing that you were bare beneath it.

"Naughty girl" you heared Crocodile whisper in your ear from behind and sending a shiver down your spine. Beckman was now tracing a finger from your collarbone down between your breasts to the waistband of your underwear, just barely grazing your skin, sending a jolt through your body making you shiver, the sensation maddening as Crocodile held you in place.

The heat between your legs was unbearable. Every breath felt heavy, each word from them adding weight to your chest, making it harder to breathe. You were trembling, unable to escape the pull of their dominance.

As Beckman’s hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of your waist, Crocodile let his hook trace over your neck down to your breast while his hand gripped your hair tilting your head back.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” His voice dangerously calm. “You’ve got so much fire in you - so much confidence. But now, you’ll see what happens when you’re caught in the middle of us."

You wanted to answer but all you got out was a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s lips trail a path from your chest down to your underwear. He knelt down before tugging your underwear down ripping the fabric in the process. He looked at your naked form, held in place by Crocodile before he gripped your thighs to spread your legs a little wider and placed a warm kiss on your center making you moan loudly.

Meanwhile Crocodile shifted his attention to your breasts teasing one nipple with his fingers the other carefully with the tip of his hook.

Your head was spinning. Your body felt like it was on fire, stretched thin between the two of them.

"Oh fuck" you moaned as you felt Beck's tongue between your folds and his thumb circling your clit while Crocodile kept teasing your nipples mercilessly.

"That's it love, let me hear you, tell him how much you love this" Crocodile murmured into your neck his lips sucking on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck Beck, I.....I love it. I'm gonna......gonna cum" you gasped your back arching his mouth driving you crazy and Crocodile's teasing touches making you tremble. You threw your head back but without warning, Crocodile’s hand withdrew from your nipple and closed around your chin, forcing your head to look down to Beckman who had his eyes fixed on yours from between your legs his lips and tongue bullying your center relentlessly.

"Look at him, little flower. How he devours you, makes you feel so good" Crocodile grumbled in your ear his breath brushing against the side of your neck. As you had no choice but to look down.

“You wanted to tease us, didn’t you?” Crocodile’s voice was calm, but with a dangerous edge. He held your chin tightly, forcing your mouth to part slightly, tracing the line of your jaw before he slipped one finger inside your mouth for you to suck on it making him grunt lowly in your ear. “Now, look at him. Look at what you’ve caused.” His grip on your chin tightened, pulling your gaze back toward Beckman.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You answered him with a moan against his finger. You were trembling, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. The way Beckman looked at you and Crocodile's verbal teases and grunts sent you over the edge and you came hard.

Crocodile pulled his finger out of your mouth as you gasped for breath, heart racing. When Beckman got up he kissed you to let you taste yourself and wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you while Crocodile made his way to the bed.

You felt Beckmans warmth pressing against you. His lips grazing your ear as he saw you look at Crocodile. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice low and almost playful, but laced with a dangerous edge, “you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” His hand slid around your waist, pulling you into him with an iron grip.

And in the next moment, you were utterly lost, your body betraying you as Beckman moved with precise, calculating intent, forcing you to your knees.

“That's it,” Crocodile purred from the bed, his voice low “Crawl to me. You like it, don’t you? How it feels when someone takes control.”

You looked up at him still exhausted from your orgasm yet you put your middle finger up. "Still so feisty" Crocodile mused. Yet you did crawl over to him, pushing him back down onto the bed straddling him and kissing him hungrily, ripping his shirt open. Crocodiles hand tangled into your hair pulling you closer his hook gracing your side, while your hands roamed his chest.

You gasped and flinched as Beckman’s hands teased the soles of your feet not outright tickling you but the touch still maddening, reminding you that he's still there and then moved up to the back of your thighs and the curve of your butt before he smacked it making you squeak into the kiss with Crocodile. His hands moved teasingly up and traced along your spine firm and possessive making you shudder. His fingertips making your skin burn and then another smack on your ass that made you squeal all while you continued your heated and passionate kiss with Crocodile his tongue sliding inside your mouth.

When you broke the kiss teeth pulling at his lower lip Crocodile smirked. "You didn't think I'd watch you without getting my own fair share did you?" He growled and you smirked.

"Of course not, you're still my number one" you purred into his ear giving his earlobe a bite before moving down to unbuckle his pants pulling them down. He was already hard.

“You sure you can handle both of us, sweetheart?” Beckman, still behind you, murmured lowly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You looked over your shoulder and smirked smugly at him.

Before giving Crocodile's shaft teasing kitten licks moving on to focusing on his tip. Smirking up at him as he growled almost animalistic. How you loved that sound.

Meanwhile Beckman grapped your hips and adjusted you for him making sure your ass was up. You were so focused on Crocodile's cock that you didn't even hear when Beckman unzipped his pants until you felt him aligning himself with your cunt.

Beckman’s tip was teasing your entrance while you slowly put Crocodile's cock in your mouth getting used to the stretch, making him grunt the moment he felt your warm lips around him, instinctively grabbing your hair and guiding you.

And as you began bobbing your head Beckman pushed inside you making you moan against Crocodile the vibration against his cock sending a shiver through him.

Soon the room was filled with low grunts, muffled moans and the creaking of the bed.

"Fuck love you're doing so good, I'm close and you better swallow it all" Crocodile grunted as his grip on your hair tightened the tip of his hook gracing your back.

You were moaning against him one hand playing with his balls while Beckman pushed into you from behind making your heart race, your body tremble and your eyes water from the pleasure. And then you felt the warmth in your mouth, Crocodile’s grip on your hair loosen.

"I'm cumming" he growled and you swallowed it all before slowly pulling away only to let out a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s hand reach for your clit rubbing it. His grip on your hip tightening surely leaving a bruise.

"Taking me so well sweetheart" he grunted increasing the pace, while Crocodile, still panting, moved his hand to fondle your breasts and tease your nipples.

It didn't take long for Beck and you to reach your own orgasm and when you did you screamed out in pleasure and collpased on your back on the bed.

You were spent. Every inch of your body felt like it was floating in a haze, limbs heavy and tingling with aftershocks. The heat still radiating through your skin. Your clothes were scattered across the room in a chaotic trail, discarded in the frenzy of passion and control that had washed over you.

Your body felt like lead, every muscle overworked and trembling because of what just happened. You barely registered the sheets against your skin, your mind too fogged with exhaustion and pleasure to focus on anything but the deep ache left behind.

Crocodile was the first to move, his broad frame resting beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching you with that slow, satisfied smirk he always had when he pushed you to the edge. His hand, still warm from everything before, was gentle as he cupped your face, wiping away the sweat from your brow with the back of his hand before he let it drift down and over your stomach, an absentminded touch, possessive even.

Beckman, still catching his breath, stood at the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the remnants of indulgence. His sharp eyes flickered down to you, amusement dancing in them as he took in your completely spent form. He chuckled, reaching for his cigarettes, the rasp of a match breaking the silence.

“Well, sweetheart,” he murmured, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, “I’ll give you credit, you aimed high. But you really thought you could handle me?” His smirk deepened as he leaned down, his fingers barely ghosting over your inner thigh, teasing, but without any real intent behind it anymore.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice still deep, a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. He placed a kiss on your thigh, slow and lingering, like a promise. You let out a soft, shaky breath, the sensation of his lips against your skin making your entire body shiver, even in your exhaustion. You were overwhelmed, your senses still spinning.

Crocodile’s grip on your waist tightened slightly - not possessive in an aggressive way, but just enough to remind Beckman, and you, of where you belong. “You thought you could play with both of us,” Crocodile mused, his voice rich with amusement. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice laced with something softer now. “Completely wrecked...” He tilted your chin up with his hook, forcing you to meet his gaze, even in your dazed state. “..completely used up.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, exhausted but still needing him.

Beckman hummed in agreement. “And she thought she could seduce me.” He grinned around his cigarette, eyes locked on you, knowing damn well that he had been the one in control the entire time. “Cute.”

You were too drained to even argue, your limbs too heavy to move, your mind still swimming in the haze of everything that just happened.

Crocodile watched you for a long moment before exhaling. He shifted, letting you rest against him, fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. “Hope you learned your lesson,” he muttered, amused and satisfied. His touch was still possessive, but there was an undeniable love to it - a deep affection that made your heart race even as your body ached.

Beckman chuckled again and stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed his coat. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” he said, though there was still that teasing undertone in his voice. “Next time, sweetheart, just remember I don’t say no to a beautiful woman, though i doubt he will let us have a next time.” he added looking from you to Crocodile.

With that, he turned to leave and as the door closed behind him Crocodile gave you a knowing smirk. “You're lucky I gave in to your desire and let him play with you.”

His fingers brushed over your shoulder, his voice low and smug as he murmured, “Next time you get a stupid idea like that… I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to without letting anyone else have a taste. You belong to me, only me.”

You couldn’t help the weak, breathless smile that tugged at your lips, even though your body felt like it could barely function. You still felt that same fiery rush of desire, despite the exhaustion. Your mind was still a bit foggy, your limbs like jelly, but you were content—more content than you’d ever been.

His words sent a final shiver through your exhausted body. You knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t just a lesson—it was a warning. And next time, Crocodile won’t be so generous.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

#one piece #benn beckman #beckman x reader #benn x reader #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile one piece #sir crocodile x y/n #crocodile x reader #crocodile one piece #red haired pirates #red hair pirates #cross guild #spotify

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suspiciouslackofclowns · 2 months ago

Text

After everything, Billy cuts his hair.

He passes it off as a style thing. A rebrand, which people question often when they see him (if they even recognize him to begin with), and he just grits his teeth and forces a smile every time.

Because he’s not going to tell anyone that, no, he didn’t want to cut his hair. That he simply sustained too much nerve damage from the accident, and he doesn’t have it in him to scrunch product into his hair and press down on the nozzle of a hairspray can every morning anymore.

It hurts too much.

So, he cut it.

It’s less curly now. More wavy, and fluffier than he’d like. Really dulls his edge and doesn’t turn as many heads as it used to.

Well, heads still turn, but not for the reason he’d like.

“God, did you die in that mall, or what?” Steve muses. He has a cigarette dangling from his lips as he tugs Billy’s pants up around his waist, admiring how the fabric spreads over his thighs. “Acting like a damn ghost.”

Billy huffs. Waivers on his feet and grabs onto Steve’s biceps for stability when he starts tucking his shirt in, shoving his hand down his pants on all sides.

“I think I could pay for an actual butler. Would be less bitchy,” Billy mumbles.

Steve takes a handful of his ass, and Billy grunts from surprise. Smirks when the brunet fastens his jeans and pulls the zipper up, setting his hands on his waist thereafter.

“I like seeing you in something other than sweats.” Steve admires his work, smile widening when Billy plucks the cigarette from his mouth with a shaky hand. “How do you feel?”

He takes a drag. Still has a hand on Steve’s arm as he shrugs, squeezing softly. Subconsciously, like his brain is worried that he’s going to topple over any second.

“Has denim always been so scratchy?”

“Unfortunately,” Steve chuckles. Tilts his head to the side, rubbing gently at Billy’s hips. “It doesn’t feel bad, though?”

Again, Billy shrugs.

His skin has been regrettably sensitive ever since he started the healing process. No amount of gentle lotion or castor oil can make the subtle burning dryness go away, and he gets flushed and itchy from coming into contact with anything.

If he wears jeans for too long, they’ll begin to chafe the bottom of the puckered scar on his stomach.

Not like he can button them himself anyway.

Steve chuckles, which pulls him from his thoughts.

“Why’re you grabbin’ me so hard? Y’okay?”

Billy removes his hand, fingers curled. Knuckles white. He sighs, taking another puff from their cigarette and making note of how Steve’s expression dulls.

“Mm,” Billy hums.

“Hey,” Steve coos, much quieter now. “Are you alright? Your face is really red.”

He reaches up and cradles Billy’s cheek in his palm, smoothing his thumb softly back and forth.

Again, Billy simply hums, and Steve chews his lip. Encourages him to take a couple steps back until the backs of his legs meet the bed, and he sits down.

“Y’know, I thought maybe you were just checking out my muscles,” Steve muses. He clasps Billy’s hand like they’re about to do some stereotypical bro hug, but instead he smooths his other palm over the back of Billy’s hand, rubbing softly in little circles. Brings it up and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“Always hurts,” Billy huffs.

Steve nods. Kisses each one of his fingers, looking perfectly happy to do so.

“I know, hun, I’m sorry.”

Billy presses his lips into a line.

“How hard was I squeezing?” he asks.

His voices comes out somewhat raspy, which has Steve’s brows pinching up in concern. The brunet hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Not hard,” he admits. “I could tell your hand was locking up, though.”

“‘M sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?”

Billy shrugs. Clears his throat and glances away.

He wants to say something like for being pathetic or ruining the moment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he taps the ash off of the cigarette into the tray sitting beside him on the bed.

The only time he gets to smoke these days is when Steve’s over, so he takes full advantage. Doesn’t waste a beat to have his boyfriend spark one up for him nearly as soon as he walks through the door. Or two. Or three.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when a kiss is pressed to his forehead. And then his temple. And then Steve is just nosing fondly at his hair, placing more kisses as he sees fit. Still cradling his hand in both of his own.

“Have I told you how pretty you are yet today?” Steve wonders.

A new heat dusts Billy’s cheeks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just checking,” Steve says. “‘Cause you’re so, so pretty, and I gotta make sure you know it.”

The blond chews his lip. Stubs the cigarette out in the ash tray before he rests his free hand on Steve’s hip. Threads his middle finger through the belt loop there and closes his eyes.

“You ever think about getting married?”

His voice is small. Distant. There’s a subtle sting in his eyes that he wills away.

Steve chuckles.

“Why, are you proposing?”

“No, ah, I mean… to a girl,” Billy says. Blood rushes in the shells of his ears and all he can hear is his heartbeat for a moment, during which he makes note of how Steve falls completely still. “You think you’ll ever… want a wife? Kids?”

When Steve leans back, Billy peaks his eyes open. Sees the way his eyebrows are drawn together as he begins to gently flatten Billy’s hand between his own. Still rubbing his palm in circles over the back.

“Billy Hargrove, you better not be breaking up with me,” Steve warns.

The blond sighs.

“It’s just, you don’t wonder if there’s something better out there for you than this?”

He wants to add more. To paint a more vivid picture of the severity in his mind of where they’re headed, but he pinches his lips together instead.

Billy’s been confident for a while that, if he didn’t have Steve, he likely wouldn’t make it to see 30.

Especially when 20 feels like a stretch.

Maybe his face, his demeanor, says enough, because Steve’s expression shifts to something closer to concern.

“Do you want to break up?” he asks softly.

A lump gathers in Billy’s throat.

The only time he’s happy is when he’s with Steve. Even just the thought of not seeing him every day has a pain stringing through Billy’s chest, and hot tears prick his eyes despite his efforts at keeping his composure.

“Yes,” he rasps.

Steve tsks. Turns his attention to Billy’s hand, no longer curled into a semi-fist, and begins gently massaging his fingers one by one.

“No you don’t,” Steve muses. “You’re such a bad liar.”

“Steve, I—“

“Say my name right.”

Billy stares for a moment, watching a smirk rise to his boyfriend’s face.

“Stevie,” he corrects.

“That’s better.” The brunet lifts his hand and presses one last kiss to his knuckles, like a knight to a princess, before he guides Billy’s hand to sit on his other hip. Then, he steps closer, between Billy’s legs, and hugs him against his chest. “You’re a cutie for trying to dump me. Makes me wanna love on you even more.”

A few tears slip down Billy’s cheeks, and he huffs into Steve’s shirt. Grips weakly at his sides.

“I’m serious.”

Steve rubs his back. Cradles him close, not letting go.

“I think you’re tired, is what you are.”

“Steve—“

“Let’s take a nap,” Steve suggests. Threads one hand into Billy’s hair, scratching softly at his scalp. “I can order a pizza and we can put a movie on, get comfy and cuddle. Does that sound good?”

It sounds great, but Billy can only manage a shaky breath and a hushed sob. He presses his face into Steve’s chest, chin wobbling as his eyes overflow with tears, and an ache thrums through his head.

Steve simply keeps tending to him with gentle touches and a soft squeeze.

“Y’know what I think about?” he asks. When Billy doesn’t answer, he hums. “I think about having our own place, just you and me. Maybe a cat, too, and a little fish tank. Sleeping in the same bed every night. Getting to kiss and cuddle you any time I want.”

Billy sniffles.

“I’m gonna get worse,” he rasps. “It’s gonna get harder for you.”

“If stuff being harder on me makes it easier on you, that’s a path I’m more than willing to take.”

For a handful of moments, Billy’s overcome with sobs. Cries and huffs shakily, no doubt dampening the entire front of Steve’s shirt.

It doesn’t take very long for a wave of exhaustion to hit him like a brick wall.

“Can’t even do my own hair or wear pants…”

“You’re wearing pants right now.”

Billy huffs.

“Can’t button ‘em, dick.”

Steve chuckles, patting his back softly and nosing another kiss into his hair.

“So angry.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you won’t let me dump you.”

“Damn straight.” Steve tugs lightly at a lock of Billy’s hair, twirling his finger around a limp curl. “You think you’ll ever grow your hair out again?”

“You gonna style it for me, pretty boy?” Billy snarks.

Steve smooths his hands to his shoulders and very gently pushes him back a handful of inches, just enough to get a look at the scowl on his tear-streaked face.

He smiles. Taps a knuckle under Billy’s chin, very transparently admiring what he sees.

“Of course I will, if you want me to.”

The blond’s expression softens at the words.

For a few beats, he just stares. Lets his face be caressed and his hair petted when Steve raises his hands to do so, smoothing tears away from Billy’s cheeks and holding him so, so gently.

All the blond can do is close his eyes and succumb.

“Okay, Bambi.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #fluff and angst #hurt/comfort #disabled billy hargrove #my writing #ficlet #unedited

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