#DL x reader smut

[cinnamonest]

Beleaguer

"Failed escape attempt" yandere series - Diluc

WARNINGS: dark content, fem reader, noncon, captivity, belting/spanking, manhandling, humiliation, darling has a somewhat defined personality, hair pulling, implied forced impregnation at the end, forced fem/housewifization + thinly veiled if not wholly unveiled misogyny, swearing, there's a lot going on here and none of it is holy

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‘Fill cap to line. Causes intense drowsiness and loss of motor function within 5-10 minutes. Soluble. Do not operate heavy machinery if taken within the last 24 hours.’

You blinked a few times, focusing your vision. Your mind could be deceiving you, after all. But when you looked again, the vial in your hand read the same words as it did moments before.

You'd merely gone to set the oil back into the cabinet when the force of pushing one knocked over another further within, coming across the bottle in the very back in the process of fixing the mishap.

You grasped it firmly in your hand, merely blinking in disbelief as you read over the words again and again.

“Oh my God.”

You spoke aloud to yourself, standing alone in the spacious kitchen, the words slipping out on their own in a low whisper.

Daily life as you now lived it brought a sort of mind-numbing stillness to it. Life was repetitive and uneventful. You woke at the same time, performed the same mindless tasks, the same chores, the same interactions. You said hello and good morning to the same maids every morning (you'd lost the willpower to continue being cold to the staff a long time ago), you came down and went through the same routine, wore the same clothes, had the same conversations.

The only thing that ever changed was a few different foods on rotation from week to week and the names and faces of the strangers that came in and out of the lower rooms - although they were all one and the same to you, their attitudes and the way they treated you and looked at you was as though each was the same individual with merely a different face.

And consequently, you'd reached a state of numbness, you went through the tasks mechanically, without thinking, perhaps intentionally shutting down your mind to make acceptance easier. Disconnected, unreal, everything melted together and the days and the people were all one long continuous sequence of occurrences.

It was easier that way. Resisting brought anger, frustration, tears, misery. Allowing the numbness to take over allowed some escape from the reality itself.

Which was likely why reading the words themselves felt like a shockwave through your body, as if suddenly the world regained its colors, you could feel your heart beating and your lungs fill with air. Like a sharp and sudden awakening from an endless, empty, dreamless sleep.

You felt a sudden wave of shame immediately following the shock, chastising yourself for even allowing that numbness to take over, like you might have felt angry with yourself in the past for oversleeping or spacing out and missing something important.

You recognized the handwritten label stuck to the bottle, having gone to the same place for something or another in the past — the alchemist’s lab in the city. That essentially meant it had to be highly effective.

Not only that — the fact that the seal was broken and about a third of the liquid gone, would mean it was very likely the same substance used on you more than once. If so, “drowsiness” was an understatement — it would knock you out cold for hours at a time.

You heard yourself breathing in ragged, quick breaths, you stumbled and steadied yourself against the counter, looking up and around you, suddenly aware of the world around you, everything felt real. The emotions came flooding back — humiliation, resentment, fury.

This was a way out. A miracle.

In your sudden awakening, your mind, sprung back to function, as if the wheels were once again turning, took only a mere minute to formulate a plan. It wasn't really difficult at all — in fact, there was perhaps not a single moment more perfect for you to have stumbled across this opportunity. You were, after all, just about to fill glasses, the final step in your meal preparation.

You set the vial down and ran over to the other cabinet — wiping your hands on your apron to rid them of any residue from cooking — and opened it up, swiping a bottle of juice and returning to the center of the kitchen. The corners of your mouth pulled upwards beyond your control into a grin as you went about the process.

Have a taste of your own medicine, bastard.

You smirked even wider, practically beaming as you popped a tablet out of the packaging, dropping it into one of the glasses. It made a fizzing sound as it grew smaller and smaller, and you watched with wide eyes as it disappeared. Just to be certain, you bent your head down and gave it a sniff, but there was no distinguishable smell or color that would give it away.

And you were certain that, if this was in fact the same drug that you'd consumed, there was nothing about it that tasted unusual.

And once it was complete, for yet another moment you merely stood, staring, grinning and trembling, processing this sudden turn of events. It would be easy, right? The sun was already about to set, the staff were no longer in the fields except for a few security guards that patrolled here or there. It would be easy to spot and avoid them.

You just had to get Diluc to drink this, wait for him to pass out, and run, right? Sure, traversing the road barefoot might be difficult, but that would probably be the extent of your hardships, provided you could get out.

Get out, get on the road, make a straight shot for Mondstadt, go straight to the knights and tell them everything that had happened to you. Maybe you could steal one of the horses they kept for plowing to make your getaway. Your chest burned at the thought of getting your revenge — no, your justice. You deserved this, you deserved freedom — and he deserved whatever consequences would come his way.

…No. You realized, albeit with frustration, that getting revenge wasn't really an option. He had power and money, and you knew all too well how good such people were at evading consequences.

You would just have to run. Staying in Mondstadt certainly wasn't an option. You'd just go… somewhere. Specifics didn't matter as long as you got away from here.

And sure, you'd made a few attempts to get out before, quickly foiled and harshly punished. But you'd never had an advantage like this before. He couldn't chase you down if he was out cold.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It would all be over soon.

You finally managed to wipe the mischievous grin off your face. You knew you couldn't afford risking him getting suspicious if you were too outwardly giddy. Instead, you tried to maintain only a small smile, the numb, dopey smile you'd trained yourself to wear. Nonetheless, you shook your head and settled the plates and glasses onto a tray, carrying them out to the little table that sat tucked away in an alcove in the hallway connecting the main hall to the kitchen. He preferred to eat here when it was just the two of you, with plain cups and plates, rather than the massive dining room with all its ornate tableware — that was only for formal occasions, you'd discovered, whereas this was out of sight from the constantly-bustling staff.

You set the food and drink out — careful to be mindful of which cup was which — then stood, returned the tray to the kitchen, then the vial to the cabinet and, with a spring in your step, turned and made your way down the hall.

You were careful to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Straightened your posture, ran your hands down the front of the dress to smooth it out.

You began the short journey from the kitchen to the study, footsteps light and soft, short steps that slowed your pace. No heavy steps that thumped against the hardwood, no letting your weight fall onto each foot all at once, and no slouching. Nor any other such improper, inappropriate behaviors.

It really was a beautiful building, though, so you thought to yourself as you glanced up at the ornate windows. You'd been here before, on your own volition, back long ago, of your own volition. You'd walked by it plenty of times, and once or twice had taken a moment to stroll around the vineyard, figuring it would do no harm, as you were never noticed.

Now, it was a sort of beautiful prison, such an elegant architecture for such a suffocating place.

Upon reaching one particular door, you raised a hand up and gave a gentle knock. A voice came from behind the door.

"Mm?"

You took another deep breath, calming yourself down, trying to mentally switch the ‘on’ button for your sweet obedient wife act you hoped you had mastered well enough by now, complete with an upward shift in octave and sing-song-y touch to your voice. "It's me."

You heard a chair scoot backwards, heavy footsteps, and the door opened. "...Hey." A hand rested on your head. "Food ready?"

"Yes sir." You gave a soft smile.

"That's good... thanks." He patted your head, and seemed to stifle a yawn. His voice was drained, nearly a mumble.

"Are you ok?" You tried your best to make your voice sound soft and concerned, furrowing your eyebrows in a way you hoped looked worried, pushing your lower lip out a bit.

"Just tired. Lots of work today. I'll just eat and then we'll go to sleep."

Oh yes, you will.

Fighting the urge to grin, you slowly made your way back together down the hall — remembering to keep your footsteps light, forcing a sort of soft, feminine gracefulness to your manner of walking, lest you be reminded to do so.

Every little second, every step, every word was practiced and poised. Now, having reawakened to your resentment and defiance, just acting it out made you feel sick.

There was, nonetheless, a residual sense of dread, a nagging pit in your stomach that went deeper than the surface-level nervousness.

There was a major disadvantage — this would not be the first time you tried something like this. Granted, not with this particular substance, but you had once managed to make him horribly sick for well over a day with rat poison, and once again with liquid pesticide meant for the vineyard. Both incidents were purely for the purpose of amusement and spite, which you’d reveled in despite the unfortunate consequences you’d suffered.

The first time, he'd been totally unsuspecting, and the second time he'd been too distracted and busy to notice anything even if you had let something slip. You could curse yourself now in hindsight — if you hadn't committed those first two offenses out of sheer spite, you'd be able to pull this off much more easily. But now, he’d learned you would do something like that, and if the slightest thing was wrong in the taste or appearance of it, he'd get suspicious immediately. You weren't even sure if a single sip was enough to do anything, considering how diluted the substance now was. You’d just have to hope he’d drink the whole thing.

You did your best to make idle conversation as you walked, talking about whatever you did that day, as if it was ever any different from any other day. Your nerves felt electrified, your body tense and stiff as you sat back down and took a bite of this and that, trying to contain your anticipation, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye rather than directly. He didn't say much, but that wasn't abnormal, only slowly taking in bites of this and that. It felt like an eternity of waiting.

Come on, get thirsty, drink it...

Finally, his hand reached out to the juice. You felt your breath hitch.

Come on, come on!

You stopped moving, anxiously waiting for him to drink.

So caught up in your excitement that you didn't realize you were letting it show on your face, that you had ceased your own motions to stop and stare intently.

It took him stopping and looking up at you with confusion in his expression, for you to feel a spike of panic as you realized the mistake.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm?" You immediately tried to correct the behavior, going back to cutting at something on your plate with a smile, hoping the way you stiffened wasn't visible. "Sorry, I just… I spaced out a second, what did you say?"

He was silent for a moment.

"...Nothing."

Ok. Good save.

You popped a bite of food into your mouth. Besides, despite being an overall intelligent man, he had a tendency to be rather dense sometimes, surely he wouldn't pick up on something like that.

You were fine for now— what is he doing.

You noticed an odd look spread across his features, eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if thinking something through.

Then, he stood up, glass in one hand, and grabbed yours with the other.  He swapped your drinks and sat back down, looking up at you with a neutral, cold stare.

Oh.

His gaze didn't falter. He set his elbows on the table, and rested his head on interlocked fingers. "Is there a problem?"

Oh no.

"N-no, I was just... why did you...?" You felt your body go cold, and try as you might not to, you knew panic must be showing on your face.

"It's the same thing, isn't it? So it's fine."

You couldn't miss the suspicious tone to his voice even if you'd tried to ignore it.

"...Right." You smiled, but you felt your lips tremble a bit. You could save this, for now, even if it didn't work out in your favor. You looked at the food, but you could still feel his gaze on you, so, hoping to pacify his suspicion, you brought the cup up to your mouth and tilted it as if you were drinking, closing your upper lip to the glass so that none of the juice actually got in your mouth. Then, after a moment, you pulled it away, swallowing to further the deceit.

He seemed satisfied by the action — right? It looked like he bought it, right? — and looked back down, resuming eating. There was a tense, awkward silence, so you attempted to fill in the empty space.

"D-did you, um, do anything fun today?"

"I wouldn't call anything I do 'fun,'" he muttered. "Just met with a bunch of people, one after the other... there's lots of business partnership contract renewals around this time of year, so they have to come here for that process."

"Mhm." You couldn't care less, but feigned interest. You knew Diluc well by this point, and knew how to appeal to the things that would soothe him the most. One of the most important factors in that was listening to whatever it was he had to say, no matter how boring (which, really, most things having to do with his work were). He liked to feel listened to, didn't have anyone else to go to, you supposed. Lots of stress, high expectations, and no solid support figure probably was the root of his psychological issues. — said issues were something you had spent a lot of time contemplating and trying to figure out in your spare time, given their now inherent effect on your own life.

But you presumed that most men without stress and some kind of serious issues generally did not go around abducting women they barely knew and forcing them to live in their homes. At least, not to your knowledge.

You had often wondered why someone like him wouldn't choose someone who was already that ideal, someone who already exemplified those traits… but as time went by you began to understand that that simply wasn't good enough.

That there was an allure to someone like you, to someone like him. That your very existence as you were on your own upset the man — you'd noticed that within the first few minutes of interacting with him, back when you first started coming to that damn bar you now wish you’d never set foot in. The displeased expression and dismissive tone at your vulgarity and defiance and aggression. You'd thought, back then, that the man disliked you —and he did, in a way.

But for someone who seemed to have such distaste for you, he sure did fail to ever leave you alone. There was some impulsive need to say something to you at some point in each encounter, as if he couldn't allow you to go about your night without at least one look of disdain or passive-aggressive comment. The only thing that seemed more irksome to him than your existence, was the fact that you always bit back, always said something in return, and thus your interactions had only fueled your and his disdain for each other further and further.

The mistake you'd made in your original assessment of him, that you’d slowly come to understand with time, was that he was not a person who simply avoided things he disliked, like most people — he was hellbent on fixing whatever irked him, remediating whatever was perceived as wrong.

You had not been an exception.

Now in the present, as you tried to focus on maintaining your calm act, he kept on talking about this or that. Some people who came by today, some guy who keeps trying to get him to sign some agreement he doesn't want to, this isn't a particularly good crop this season, but he's seen worse, blah blah, nothing you cared about.

You continued eating, which soon turned out to be a mistake — your throat was dry, food wasn't helping, and you desperately wanted something to drink, but you could do nothing but raise your glass up and pretend you were actually drinking your juice. You thought, for a moment, he seemed to look at the glass, and fear he realized the amount wasn't going down ran through your mind, but you tried to calm yourself. If you started imagining things in your paranoia, you'd only increase the chance of him noticing your panic.

There was obvious suspicion a few minutes ago, sure, but there had been plenty of times he had falsely suspected you of things in the past, and was generally willing to believe you once presented with contrary evidence, even once becoming, albeit reluctantly, apologetic when realizing you'd done nothing wrong.

Finally, although you were suppressing the urge to cough at the dry scratchiness of your throat, you finished eating, and, like you knew you were supposed to, stood with a forced little smile and grabbed your plate, extending a hand for him to give you his as well, and took them both back to the larger kitchen area through the open doorway, barely hearing his ‘thanks’ as you scurried off.

You set the plates down, immediately turning on a faucet and cupping water in your hand, before drinking it down to soothe your throat.

Alright, so things didn't turn out quite like you were hoping, but that was ok. There was plenty of the substance left. Just wait a few days, do it again, and control yourself better next time so as not to strike any suspicion. Easy.

The maids would take care of washing plates off, but you needed to dispose of the remainder of your drugging attempt just in case. There was only droplets of juice left in his, and, of course, yours was full. You washed his — well, originally yours — out first, running some water over it, thinking it would be odd if one was washed out and not the other, and you didn’t want to take any chances.

You heard him walk into the kitchen behind you, and unease creeped back up into your chest. But that wasn’t so bad, right? He’d think you were trying to help the staff out, and he’d think that was good, wouldn’t he?

You hummed a bit, and set his glass upside down in its proper place, reaching out to yours and preparing to pour it down the sink drain, when his hand latched around your wrist. You went stiff.

"You should finish it."

Any confidence that you had successfully eased his suspicions might as well have been poured down the drain as well.

"...Hm?" You forced a smile, albeit twitching. “O-oh, I just didn't... finish all of..." You were painfully aware that your voice trembled, and, in a last effort to appear like you weren't nervous, forced yourself to turn your head and look at him.

"You didn't drink it at all." His face was flat and cold, eyes ever so slightly narrowed, but his voice was dark, quiet, knowing. "It's good for you. Don't let it go to waste."

You couldn't argue that you didn't like it — it was the same thing you drank every single night. Nor could you confess why you didn't want to do so. Of course, drinking it was technically an option. You'd just pass out and be forced to deal with the consequences once you woke up — although the cynical part of your mind thought maybe passing out wouldn't be too bad right about now.

Now, the expression on his face grew darker, fully obvious as a look of accusation, and the tone that followed matched.

“Unless there's something wrong with it.”

Your mind scrambled, unable to think of a way out. Your smile widened and twitched, and your body shivered, trying and failing to force a look of happiness, but the crushing feeling of defeat was beginning to settle in. "I... ah, hah, I, um..."

His expression and voice didn't waver, in contrast to your cowering. Looking down on you with something like frustration, perhaps disappointment. There was the slightest edge of a quietness in it, as he continued, "If there is, then tell me."

The last two words came out firm. A command.

"I... I..." You swallowed, visibly shaking, no longer able to hide the fear on your features. You bit your lower lip, and, feeling your eyes burn, your resolve broke.

You hung your head, and replied in a quiet voice, wavering on the verge of tears.

"...I'm sorry."

He released your hand, but snatched the glass out from it, immediately dumping the mixture down the sink. You reached up, wiping away the watering in your eyes that were threatening to become tears.

"Where is it?"

You stiffened at the firmness in his voice. You tried your best to look up, questioning in a pathetic whimper. "...Hm?"

"The— I don't know, whatever you put in there. Where is it?" There was a rising frustration in his tone.

You hadn't thought about that part. Of course, how could you not realize he'd do that if he found out? There wouldn't be another opportunity to try again. That realization left a sting of despair in your chest, you chastised yourself for not saving a smaller portion hidden away. If you'd been smart, you would have prepared for this possible outcome, and saved some so that he would think he'd taken it all. Dammit.

For a moment, you were silent.

"Tell me."

You tensed up, biting your lip.

You were afraid, but it also made you angry. The commanding, authoritative tone, as if he owned you, as if he had any right to tell you what to do. There was a time where you would have responded to anyone who spoke in such a way to you with equal aggression, if not outright violence. Your pride swelled in your chest, digging its heels in at the thought of being obedient, sickened by the notion of giving in.

At your hesitation, he said your name.

It was a low tone, a clear warning in response to your defiant silence. You jolted, and scurried over to the other side of the kitchen, trying to bite your lip, hands trembling as you opened the cabinet and pulled out the container and turned around, hanging your head and standing stiff with fear and humiliation as he took it from your hand and read the front of the package.

He sighed, but as he did, some of the tension seemed to roll off his frame. "...Oh. That." He caught the confused expression you had at those words, and elaborated. "I thought it would be—” he cut off and took another heavy breath, whether out of exasperation or relief or both, you weren't sure. “I thought you were trying to poison me again… or kill me.”

"No," you shook your head rapidly. “I wouldn't… do that…” Granted, you may have very well have chosen take the chance if it was an option, but such honesty would be ill-advised when your current objective was to deescalate the situation you'd landed yourself in, and hopefully quell any further anger before it emerged.

Yes, this was practical, you told yourself — and more importantly, told your wounded sense of pride. You were just being practical, strategic.

Besides, the sedative was the only thing you had available, anyway… well, had had available, since it was now certainly going to be taken from you.

You stood perfectly still as he moved, pulling a key out of his pocket, mumbling something about how he had no idea how that even got there, as he unlocked what you had come to refer to in your mind as the "forbidden" cabinet  — where all the various dangerous things lay, such as knives, skewers, rat poison (moved there after the previous incident), bleach even.

You were aware that he and all the staff members possessed a key, as you'd sometimes catch maids or other workers accessing it for various purposes, so you assumed it was there solely to keep those things out of your reach. It had started out as a few knives, but the collection had slowly built over time due to your creativity with what remained at your disposal.

“And here you were actually starting to improve,” he mumbled. The words were heavily laden with exhaustion, frustration.

You clenched your fists. The words crawled under your skin, bothered you viscerally, knowing there was truth to them. Thinking back, over the past few weeks, you'd become more complacent and behaved than you'd ever been prior — part of it had been an act, sure, but a creeping dense of paranoia made you wonder if you’d been settling into it, if it had been starting to become natural. You rejected the thought, insisting otherwise to both him and yourself.

“That's— that's only because I've been here so long… you're wrong…”

Even though the words were spoken weakly, the mere act of disagreement was not within the boundaries of complacency and acceptable behavior. It was not normal for your good wife act. The defiance was slowly bubbling up to the surface, and you could tell from the way you say you saw his jaw visibly clench, that he noticed that as much as you did.

He narrowed his eyes as he turned his head towards you, before shaking his head and returning to putting the offending substance away. He was moving some of the things around to make space for the new object, placing it inside before locking the doors shut again, back turned to you.

But then, there was only more silence as he reached up to rub at the side of his temple with one of his hands.

You hoped for the best, that perhaps the lack of murderous intent on your part would serve to significantly lessen his anger, or that due to contrast, he would view trying to sedate him as a petty offense. Trivial. Overlookable.

“But why would you even want to knock me out…?” He trailed off, looking to the ground in pensiveness. And then, the worst thing you feared happened — the exact intent seemed to click with him.

Your gaze cast to the floor, you could just see him move out of the corner of your eye, walking back towards you, but in fear, you couldn't bring yourself to look up. You saw his feet facing yours as you looked down, and a shadow cast over your hanging head. He was standing right in front of you, and, perhaps out of pride, or perhaps accepting it was inevitable anyway, you forced yourself to look up, eye-to-eye, his own narrowed with disdain.

“…You were going to put me to sleep so you could run off again.”

You stiffened. “No,” you immediately rushed to your own defense. “I just—”

“Yes, you were. Don't—” he huffed, finishing his sentence with gritted teeth, “don't lie to me.”

“I'm not!” Your words that time came out more angry than fearful, your own frustration with everything beginning to balance our your fear.

“I just said—” he cut his words short and took a deep breath, reaching up to rest his face in his hand in a gesture of exasperation. His next words were not as intensely angered, more of a tired frustration laden in them. “You really never learn, do you.”

The words, simple as they were, had a strong effect.

Your fear and anger dwelled in your heart in a state of coexistence — you’d been tamed enough that avoiding pain and consequence was your usual priority, with the anger, the inherent defiance in your spirit, taking a secondary place. But with the right choice of words, the right circumstances, that same defiant spirit that he so very much hated, that he worked so hard to erase, would come bouncing back. A routine you’d been through more than once by now.

That same spirit of defiance had slowly been rising, had been your whole reason for your attempt, but with that, the switch flipped. Your hands balled into fists at your side.

“Learn what?!” Your voice came out louder than before. “Goddammit, I—”

The irritation on his features grew. “Don't raise your voice. And for the millionth time, watch your mouth.”

“I'll do what I want!” You leaned your upper body forward in exertion. “You’re the one that never lets me go anywhere! I wouldn't have done it if you didn't keep me locked up like an animal!”

His head snapped up fully at your voice, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Don't get an attitude with me.”

Your eye twitched. That was one of your many rules that you so despised, the one you were most frequently found guilty of violating. Commands you were held to for no other reason than the desires of someone else, a projection of an ideal you were so brutally forced to conform to. Don't raise your voice, don't get a bad attitude, don't walk so loud, don't slouch, don't curse, don't make that face, don't talk back. The “don't” commands were bad enough, but the expectation of the inverse, the image you had to conform to, was even worse. To be nice, to sit there and smile and do whatever was instructed without so much as a complaint. Those were the good traits that you were supposed to have, that you were to be instilled with — as if a wild animal to be caught and domesticated.

A dam holding back your emotions seemed to break. You finally raised you voice fully, nearly yelling.

“It's your fault for making me stay in here in the first place, you bastard!” You snarled. “You keep acting like this is normal and it's not! You kidnapped me, dammit! You're mad at me for breaking your stupid rules when you're the one committing a fucking crime!”

You were speaking with such forceful anger you leaned forward with the exertion, panting heavy breaths, hands curled into fists. Your fury reached a peak, throwing aside all regard for whatever line your next words may cross.

"And you know what? I don't belong to you, I'm not your — I'm not anyone's goddamn dainty little fucking housewife! I don’t have to listen to a damn word you say, you bastard, you—”

You hesitated to finish your sentence, about to deliver another onslaught of curses, but stopped short when you tilted your gaze up, and your eyes met.

His eyes narrowed, staring at you with something like abject disgust, irritation, exasperation, but the silence was what amplified your dread the most. A single second of heavy, tense quiet passed, and then you saw him reach down to his waist, grasping at the front of his belt and unfastening it before pulling the other end, rapidly pulling the whole thing out of the loops.

“Come here.”

A very firmly-spoken command. Your stomach felt as if it flipped over on itself, a sudden cold feeling across your flesh, a learned response. You took a step back, drawing your hands up to your chest in a defensive reflex.

You hesitated, feet spread apart as if to move, but in what direction you weren't certain. Your eyes darted to the left and right, and froze as your gaze settled on the arch leading to the hallway.

Which he must have noticed, given the look he shot you. His voice grew quieter, more foreboding. “Don’t you dare run. Come here. Now.”

You had not yet fucked up quite this badly before, not done something to this magnitude — poisoned him, yes, and had outbursts, yes, but never back-to-back, the offenses stacking on top of each other. That outburst just then was the most vicious one you'd had since you woke up here, and you would be given far less lenience now than then. The thoughts of past punishments for even mild transgressions crossed through your mind. The blood drained from your face, your heartrate picked up faster.

It was stupid, really. So, so stupid, so futile, and had you really thought about it, you would know how pointless it was. But in the moment, you weren't operating so much on reason, so much as the dread in your gut and instinct.

For that reason, you turned in the opposite direction, bolted through the door to the hall, and took off running.

"Wh—” You heard the sound in his throat cut off as you bolted, clearly taken aback by the choice of action, but soon followed by a throaty groan of frustration you could hear all too well.

You didn't even really know where you were going. Nor what you planned to accomplish. The building was large, there were plenty of hallways to run down and turns to take — you turned left at the end of the room, then took and immediate right, unable to remember the structure enough to coordinate any plan of action as to where to run, just following the need to run away.

The doors were always locked from the inside and out now, one set of locks to keep intruders out and the other to keep you in. Breaking glass windows was a risk you didn't want to take, and it would alert anyone nearby to your location immediately and would only serve to greatly increase any potential consequence. Thus, for the time being, perhaps you were looking more for a place to hide. Maybe if you could just do that, find a place to cower and wait out the brunt of his anger, he would calm down by the time you came out.

Well, really, you knew that probably wasn’t doable, but it was nice to at least think for a moment.

And a moment was all you got.

You hesitated as you reached a spot where the hall split into two different corridors, and that one moment of hesitation was enough to close the gap between you. You squealed and flailed as a hand forcefully grabbed at your hair, pulling you back.

“Ow!” You squirmed, the balls of your bare feet thumping on the hardwood as they stumbled to regain your balance. “Let—let me go! Ow, ow, that hurts—”

“Hold still.” The command was firm, a foreboding voice that made your heart race.

The fabric around your torso pulled taut against your skin as he took a fistful of the back side of it, other arm harshly wrapping around your waist before you felt your weight lift upward, feet leaving the ground.

You thrashed, but even doing so to the best of your ability had no effect. His grip didn’t budge.

You grunted as you were effectively slung over his shoulder. He started moving forward, footsteps heavy and frustrated. “Gh!” You squirmed, flailed, all to no avail.

Your resistance began to falter in realization of the futility of fighting the now-inevitable, groaning in miserable anger and weakly bringing your clenched fists down on his back as you were, with seemingly little effort, carried down the hall, taking a turn and ascending up the staircase. It was only a short distance from the top to the bedroom door, which opened in a swift, furious motion, likewise slamming shut behind you.

You grunted as you were thrown down onto the mattress. You put your hands down and pushed yourself upward, beginning to try and crawl away, but a hand caught you by the back of your shirt again, pushing your upper body down. You made a rough, irritated noise in the back of your throat as you squirmed, but soon your hands were pinned behind your back, leaving you face down with your hips in the air.

You inhaled a sharp gasp of air and stiffened when you felt the skirt end if the dress hike up, the waistband beneath pulled down, cool air on your bare flesh.

“Wait wait, no, I'm sorry—”

You instinctively jerked forward, squirming, heart beginning to pound in your chest. You had had enough experience to know that this was far more painful on bare skin, as if the humiliation ritual of it all wasn't bad enough.

You felt like a petulant child, begging and whimpering. You tried to move, but the hand pushing down and your knees being positioned right on the edge of the bed effectively forced you into holding the position, with no way to move.

“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to do what you did.” There was no trace of mercy or empathy in his voice. “This is entirely your fault.”

“But I—”

You cut off with a squeal, body lurching forward as sharp pain came down on the sensitive skin on your ass, the smacking sound echoing in your ears. Your jaw clenched, muscles tensing. He wasn't holding back either, one strike was enough to make your eyes begin to water.

“This wouldn't have to keep happening—”

Another strike on the enunciated word. You hissed a sharp breath through clenched teeth and groaned, hips reflexively jerking forward in an attempt to pull away, to no avail.

“—if you could just—”

Another strike. You winced and stiffened, groaning and straining your muscles pulling against the firm hold forcing you in place.

“—give it up—”

And yet another.

“—and learn to behave.”

Another and another and another, three in quick succession. You yelped and jolted at each, a miserable sound coming out of your throat. Unable to maintain enough pride to hold them back, tears streamed down your face.

“Stop, stop…” you whimpered. “It hurts…”

But the only reply you got was calloused and merciless.

“It’s supposed to.”

The next strike was harder than the previous ones. You squealed, taking deep, gasping breaths. Your legs trembled.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I won't do it again—”

“You said that last time.”

Your heart sank. You didn't have any reply other than to whimper in misery and anticipation, turning to a throaty cry of pain as you were struck again.

“It's for your own good. You would be happier if you just give in. But you insist—”

The leather came down hard. Your shoulders wracked with a sob, completely breaking the last of your resolve to hold back your reactions.

“—on being stubborn.”

The belt came down again, your body jolting and face contorting with the pain once more.

It was the final strike to drive you over the edge.

"I'm sorry!"

You couldn't speak further for a moment, having to take a few heaving gasps. Your shoulders jerked with a sob, sniffling, tears streaming down your face.

The only thing outweighing the stinging, striking pain itself was the tight feeling in your chest of humiliation and bitterness. It was intended as such, of course, to hurt not only your body, but your pride as well.

Your body trembled, heaving breaths and whimpers filling the following quiet. Perhaps your misery was finally deemed worthy of mercy, as despite your tensing in anticipation, no further sudden pain followed, only the lingering, hot sting on your bare flesh.

There was only a heavy sigh.

“Are you done being a brat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head against the sheets. “Mmhm…”

There was a momentary pause, perhaps giving you the opportunity to catch your mistake on your own. After you failed to do so within a few moments, the hand around your wrists tightened, a wordless threat. A brief panic surged through your mind, but you realized where you'd erred within a second.

Still, even though you opened your mouth, taking a breath to speak, some last little spark of stubborn pride flickered up, bitter and spiteful, and for a moment, you refused to give in to it, the one rule you so deeply resented more than any other.

And then he said your name — a foreboding, low tone, a warning.

Thus the brief moment of dignity was extinguished in a single word. You practically blubbered out the words, distorted by your sniffling and slurring.

“Y-yes sir…”

Finally, the grip on your wrists released.

“Good.”

You slumped forward, trembling hands reaching out to pull yourself further onto the bed before you went limp on your stomach and still, head spinning and exhaustion setting in as you came down from the high of the expense of so much energy and stress. As your head cleared, you became aware of the discomfort of wetness on your face, reaching up wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. The sting was bad enough that you didn’t even bother pulling your clothes back into place to cover yourself, not wanting the fabric to brush against the now-sensitive skin.

There was a long moment of quiet. You weakly turned your head, seeing the pensive look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and looking at the ground. Something about it felt ominous, made your stomach shaft to churn.

“This keeps happening in a cycle,” he muttered, a low voice, almost as if speaking more to himself than you. “You start to improve, and then you regress again.”

Had you not been so utterly weary, not to mention bearing the lingering sting to your backside, you might have gotten defensive, snapped at him over referring to succumbing to the spiritual torment of your life as improvement. But now, spirit already broken as it could be for one day — at least, so you believed in that moment — you only closed your eyes, trying to ignore him. Maybe you could rest your body, at least a little, before the inevitable disturbance of a different form of exertion.

But when you squeezed your eyes shut, as always, the thoughts came rushing through your mind, emotions and recollections all at once, too intense for you to bear. Thinking through everything over again, your mistakes that led you to where you were now — not so much the events of the last hour, and more the grand scheme of things, how much you regretted ever making eye contact with him, or ever setting foot in that damn tavern.

Each and every day, you replayed the final conversation you two had had, sitting there in his own bar after everyone else had gone home, with you insisting on drinking more until you were content. After so much time — or perhaps due to the effect of the drugs, or the alcohol — you'd forgotten what the whole of the conversation was even about, only your response to one of those half-muttered comments about how this or that behavior of yours was unattractive, how you'd never get married if you kept it up, or any of the other things he said that irked you so.

You'd glared, snapping at him.

What makes you think you get to tell me what to do?

The only other thing you remembered — no, it was perfectly burned into your memory, crystal-clear despite your intoxication at the time — was the way he'd frozen, the look on his face when you'd said it, the glimpse you'd caught of it for a mere second. Slack-jawed, eyebrows furrowed, staring down at you with some amalgamation of disbelief, fury, and pure, unadulterated disgust.

Well, it wasn't the only thing you remembered — he'd walked away for a moment, you'd nearly drifted off in drunken haze, and something was shoved into your hands, you drank it without question (like an idiot, you often reprimanded yourself) and then, the next memory was waking up in his bed.

It played over, and over, and over, as you lay there shivering, cold and exhausted. As much as you resented him, you couldn’t help but feel enraged with yourself, each time you thought back to each interaction. That you didn’t recognize that something was wrong, that the degree of quiet malice he seemed to hold for you was unnatural, obsessive, dangerous. You’d just shrugged it off as just being his nature. Such an idiot, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy sigh pulled you out of your thoughts.

“…”

Whatever he was actually now thinking, though, he didn’t say aloud.

Instead, predictably, his hands grabbed at your thighs, pulling you back across the bed. The same familiar knot of dread began to twist in your chest again.

You groaned, a sound of combined exasperation, pain and exhaustion. Your voice came out weak. “N-no, don’t… it’ll hurt too much…” Despite your verbal protest, you couldn’t actually summon the will to do much more than a weak squirming with your body as the dress was pulled up. Your attempts to hold your arms down proved futile as they were easily grabbed and maneuvered to allow him to pull the clothing off entirely, throwing it onto the mattress.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” was his only reply, an assured and matter-of-fact tone, like it was an objective, predetermined truth that you were foolish to contest. His hands moved to your hips, pulling on them to pull you back into your prior positioning. “It only hurts because you don’t relax enough.”

You might have remarked that the two back-to-back statements were quite the contradiction, but in the moment you were too lost in a combination of daze and panic to be too sarcastic. The pull jolted your mind back into full clarity. You tried to push yourself up on your hands, but his hand pressed to your back again, holding you in place.

“Wait, wait—”

You cut off in a shrill wail, toes curling and legs kicking out reflexively as the sting of the stretch set in. Your back arched in a reactive attempt to get away from the sudden intrusion that felt like it was splitting you apart, cleaving your body in half.

"Just—just hold still," his grip on your wrists tightened as your hands attempted to jerk back. He moved one hand to the other, taking both your wrists in one hand so he could reach down to your hips with the other, grabbing at one with a bruising grip and holding you still in place before sliding out, then back in, a second time, then a third.

You gritted your teeth, tears forming in your eyes anew as your body tensed up. The friction burned, the stretch ached. "It hurts," you whimpered, speaking through your teeth gritted in pain. "You-you're tearing me apart..."

"Just relax. You’re too tense.”

“I can’t just—gh!”

His arm shifted from pressing you down to wrapping around your torso, pulling your upper body back up from behind, while also preventing you from pulling yourself forward, and instead pulling your body closer against his, bouncing you back and forth on his cock. Each movement brought your ass bouncing back against his hips, a harsh sting on still-sensitive flesh.

"A-ah, ah…” you clamped down on reflex, trembling hands reaching behind you to push him back, but you were so weak it did nothing. “Wait, wait…” Your words came out slurred and strained.

Suddenly, to your surprise, the movement actually stopped. There was a moment of pause, and for that moment, you actually believed maybe you were receiving whatever semblance of mercy the man was capable of.

You heard his heavy breathing in your ear, felt him let his head fall downward for a moment, as if in thought.

Then, his hands moved once more — this time, one grasping at your waist, forcing your back into an arch, the other reaching up, palm against your throat and his fingers curling to grasp your jaw.

“Fight me off.”

With that, he pulled back, and slammed forward again. You squealed, every muscle tensing and spasming at the ripples of sensation it sent through your nerves.

“What? I don't— what are you—”

Another harsh, slamming thrust cut you off.

“Remember what you said before? When you first came here?” His words were spoken in a low, dark tone, dripping with vengeful spite. His fingernails dug into the flesh of your face. “You told me you didn't need anyone.”

The hand on your hip tightened its grip as you pulled your hips forward, jerking you back as his own hips snapped forward, the motion ramming into you in full all the way down to the base, the flesh of your ass pressed up against his hip bones.

“You said you were strong, that you didn't need protection.” The grip tightened, painfully pressing down. “You said you could take care of yourself.” His fingers curled further into your skin. “Remember that?”

Even in such a flat tone, his voice felt utterly mocking. The defiance you'd thought he'd already drained from your spirit began to surge back up in full force, a burning rage filling your chest.

“If you're so strong,” he continued, words muddled with heavy panting breaths, bouncing you back and forth with increasing pace, “then you should have no problem—” he took another heavy breath, next words coming out as half-spoken, half-hissed through clenched teeth, “fighting me off.”

You stiffened, eye twitching, a rough throaty sound of fury coming from your mouth as you began to squirm, to no avail.

“Come on. Prove it.” His voice grew more intense, lower, harsher. “Push me off. Do it.”

You practically growled, an animalistic sound, savagely reaching up to claw at the hand gripping your jaw, pulling your body forward with all the strength you could muster.

But it was nothing by comparison. As if fueled by your resistance, he only slammed into you faster and harder. At that point, the fluids leaking from your body lubricated the movements, the pain ebbing away, replaced by a warm, tight sensation, pressing against the spots in your body that made you melt, the sheer stretch becoming pleasurable.

“Or maybe you're wrong.” He jerked your head back to the point that the side of your face touched his, his heavy panting warm against your ear. “Maybe you should accept that you're weak.”

The grip on your jaw caused his palm to dig into your throat, not enough to choke you fully, but enough to cause discomfort.

“You need someone to— you need me.” His head titled ever so slightly downward, his hair brushing against the back of your neck.

Trying to turn your head away proved futile, the iron grip keeping it just as firmly locked in place as your body.

“You're so naive. The weak are supposed to be self-aware.” He spoke through clenched teeth, intense anger seeping into his voice. “But you had to go and act so tough—”

A harsher thrust than any of the ones preceding it, so hard you gagged on air, unable to even scream.

“—and be so goddamn mouthy all the time.”

Your strained, animalistic noises continued, pulling your body forward with every single ounce of strength you were physically capable of.

You didn't move. It felt as if you were trying to pull yourself out of steel chains, pure futility. Your arms trembled with the strain, and yet you didn't budge.

“As if I couldn't just reach over and break you any time I felt like it.”

Your toes curled, muscles tensing in pleasure-pain, each movement ramming into a spot that sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, whilst also causing the flesh of your backside to slap against his hips, sending jolts of pain through your body all at once.

“As if any of those guys you were such a little bitch to couldn’t have done the same.”

Sweat coated your skin, running down your back. The bed creaked, violently slamming against the frame. He pulled you so close that your shoulder blades pressed to his chest.

“Do you have any idea how easy this is? I'm not even trying.”

The words felt like a knife to your chest. In the past, you'd been irritated by you inferior physical strength, but admittedly you hadn't stopped to really think more deeply about the matter of your inability to free yourself, in the bigger picture of things.

A heavy, cold feeling began to seep out of your heart, through your chest, into your blood. A dawning realization of your total powerlessness, of your weakness. It was harrowing, brutal, and unforgiving.

You took heavy, gasping breaths. The intensity of every sensation was too much, driving you to a brink of what felt like madness. The ache in your body, the chill in your blood, the pleasure and the sting and the despair.

Your resolve broke. You went limp, panting, eyes watering with bitterness and fury, hot tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, weak voice coming out as a blubbering whimper, broken up by the incessant thrusts jerking your body back and forth.

“I-I’m, I'm so, sorr-eee…”

The only reply you got was a single word.

“Good.”

You closed your watery, burning eyes. If you couldn't escape in reality, you could at least escape in your mind, desperately trying to block out the thoughts and the shame and the bitterness, trying to focus on sensation, feeling, the way you trembled at the pleasure. The way the sharp sting and the heat of the pleasure began to blur together, the pain itself only intensifying the rising tight, warm feeling inside.

You threw your head back to rest against his chest, whimpering like an animal. Your hands now only weakly reached behind you, grasping at his torso, neither pulling nor pushing. Each movement grew move intense, somehow even harder and harder still, inhumanly fast, flesh slapping against flesh, the sound amplified by the slick and sweat that coated the skin where your bodies conjoined. Your body began to quiver.

The climax that came over you was not the strongest you'd ever had — your body was far too exhausted and pained to even summon such a thing — but the high shot through your body nonetheless, waves of intensity rushing throughout. You let out a long, high-pitched sound as it peaked and ebbed away, mind slipping into a state of nothingness, a fog so thick you might as well have been unconscious.

You barely felt the motions stop, the way you were lowered down to rest on your stomach. Your attention was only briefly pulled to the surface of your consciousness with the sudden sensation of emptiness, the way your insides spasmed to clench on empty space, the chill that set in as the sweat began to cool over your body, and finally the shifting of the mattress as weight settled onto the other side, sitting beside your limp form.

And then, as your consciousness swayed, one faint little thought kept you from slipping away.

Something was different. You were limp and numb from the stupor, mind lost in a haze, but a faint sense of alarm slowly drug your consciousness back to alertness. Something was different, something was wrong.

You shifted, muscles reflexively clamping down on the now-empty space, and stiffened as you felt something fluid ooze out of your slit, drooling down your flesh and onto your thigh.

“Did… did you… cum… inside me…?”

You turned towards the figure blurred by the residual tears and dizziness. You could make out him sitting there, the bright red hair and the flesh tone of his unclothed upper body, see him running his hand over the top of his head, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair back.

Your stupor had left your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but they immediately snapped back fully open as the next words registered with your ears, spoken in a fully nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone.

“This will be good for you.”

You sat up — a movement that took effort, nearly falling back down on hands still trembling with aftershock, and looked up at him with panicked confusion plastered on your face. “…Huh… what?”

Now you could make out his eyes, looking into yours, continuing on in the same blunt voice, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

“…I was waiting. I thought it would be a bad idea to give you a kid before you showed some improvement.” After a moment of pause as he sat more upright, he continued, “But thinking about it, that could be part of the reason you're so badly behaved to begin with. You're… imbalanced or something.”

He held a hand out palm-up in a casual gesture.

“So, it will calm you down.”

You stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in disbelief and horror.

“That's—” you twitched. Your voice was hoarse, each word hurt, as if dragging broken glass down your throat. “You're insane. You can't— you can't do this to me. I can't do that!”

“You're being overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?!” You pushed the heels of your hands into the mattress to propel yourself backwards, crawling away from him as if it would do any good. “No, you don't understand, I… I can't…!”

Your breathing began to speed up, right alongside your heart rate. Panic consumed your train of thought. The implications of the very notion were, for you, world-ending — it would change everything, it would debilitate you and any hopes you had of ever leaving. Even beyond that, just the mere thought, the mental image the idea created, made you shudder.

You looked down. Between your legs, some of the cum had begun to ooze out onto the sheets.

Right, you could extract it all, to the best of your ability, and hope for the best. Your legs were trembling so badly you weren't certain if you could support your own weight, but nonetheless, you tried to make your way to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, I… I need to go wash off—”

“No, you're not.” His hand latched onto your arm, roughly pulling you back. You fell onto your side with a grunt.

You stiffened and whimpered as you felt two of his fingers wipe the inside of your thigh, collecting the semen that had slipped out with gravity and your movement, and pressed the fingers back inside of you, not wanting any to go to waste.

“Don't move around so much.”

Panic turned into aggression, like a cornered animal. Your nose wrinkled up with the furious expression that crossed your face.

“There is no way in hell I'm—”

Your words cut off once more as his hand latched onto your jaw, eyes narrowing.

“…Do you want to do this over again?” He tilted your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Because I have no problem with that, if you keep mouthing off.”

You froze up again. The despair took hold. You didn't have any more fight left in you. It wasn't worth it, you couldn't handle another round with the belt.

You bit your lip, shaking your head. It wasn't until he sighed, and gave you an irritated look that you recognized your mistake once again.

“…No, sir…”

He closed his eyes, seemingly content with the rectification. “Good.” He pulled you down further, until you were lying on your side. “It's late enough to go to bed. You need sleep.”

You lay motionless, aside from the still-lingering shivering, watching as he shuffled off the remainder of his clothes and turned off the nearby lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, before laying back down, turning back towards you, pulling you close.

His arm wrapped around your back, keeping your body pressed to his. Your face rested against his collarbones.

He shifted a bit, causing his hand to just barely brush over your backside — you stiffened, sucking a sharp breath in through your teeth.

“Mm, sorry.”

The half-hearted, sleepy mutter was all you got — an apology you knew was only for the momentary accidental touch and not the pain itself. That would be deemed deserved and justified, should you ever complain, and would probably earn you the same punishment again.

Your face scrunched up with misery, as if about to cry, but your body couldn't produce any more tears.

“Night.”

You felt the rumbling in his chest against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

“…Goodnight…”

There was still a little bit of light coming in through the window — it wasn't even really fully dark yet, the last few rays of purplish twilight visible in the sky.

You wondered if you'd ever see it from any other view than the estate ever again — but pushed the thought away, as you didn't like what you thought might be the answer, nor the way it made you think of the conversation that transpired moments prior.

You closed your eyes, shifted around a bit and — wincing at the fluid that drooled down your leg — tried your best to rest.

[violetsaffron5]

Dirty Little Secret (1)

Taglist • Ao3 • Social Media • Discord 18+ • Masterlists • Chapter 2 →

↳ 1 | Unholy

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Gojo Satoru is many things: family man, politician, someone the public believes they can trust. It’s how he’s gotten where he is in life. Hidden beneath the façade is a man with many guilty pleasures – you being one of them.

words: 7.3k

cw: explicit drugs use, mention of alcohol, infidelity (not on reader), vaginal fingering, rough sex, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding kink, degradation, dacryphilia, exhibitionism

an: This was just going to be a oneshot based on the song "Unholy" by Sam Smith, but then I had an idea for a small part 2

an2.0: if you would like to read part 2, that one got tagged with a community lable. Please make sure you have those on, this post will tell you how to enable that as well.

His wife probably thought she was the luckiest woman in the world when he got down on one knee, professed his love and said he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side.

She probably felt even luckier, everything going according to their life plan when she found out she was pregnant with his children, starting a loving family with one of the most prominent politicians Tokyo has to offer.

She’d kick him out if she ever knew the way you stand between his legs, moving your shoulders, chest and hips to the beat of the bass blasting in the club. The way his eyes watch your hands trailing the length of your body before putting his own on your skin.

She’d divorce him on the spot if she knew the way you grind on his hips, the way his fingers caress every inch of your skin when he comes to see you.

She would never let him touch her again if she knew how he touched you, in all the ways she won’t let him do to her, in all the ways he really wants, the ways he enjoys.

Of course you’re aware of the wife - it would be impossible not to be. The picture-perfect family, an ideal trophy wife, two children. That’s his spiel, how he got into office and maintained his position over the years. He’s a father, a family man; understands the struggle and just how hard it is to maintain a happy healthy family - just like the average working person.

A politician you can trust because he’s just like you.

You’ve never seen or met her, steering clear of anything that has to do with Satoru during the day, but from your understanding he spends a lot of time with his kids when he has free time in the mornings and afternoons.

In the evenings he finds himself with you. Long legs spread wide as he sits back on the plush couch, you dropping your hips down onto his, grinding on him until you feel his cock harden from your touch.

It’s a miracle she hasn’t found out about the shit Satoru does behind her back; it’s a miracle nobody has. Sure he tries to be as discreet as possible, entering clubs through the back, paying for private rooms, private dances all the while spending thousands on sex, drugs and alcohol.

That’s how the two of you met. You were on stage, twirling, spinning and sliding your way down and around a pole in the most provocative positions. Satoru walked in with his three best friends; a man with long raven locks, one with a scar over the right side of his lip, and another with several tattoos over his face.

Satoru immediately caught your attention, with his messy hair, white as freshly fallen snow hanging over his eyes, eyes that were covered by dark square sunglasses, shielding them from your view. You watched him lick his lips, talk to your manager and head to a room in the back with his friends.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel his gaze burning into you with every flip of your hair, shimmy of your waist and hips in his direction.

You didn’t realize who he was at this point, not that it has ever really mattered.

It started with him coming to see you, paying to have you as the lone private dancer - sometimes for just him, sometimes with his friends. He’d tip you an exorbitant amount each time, enough of you to buy the Gucci handbag you’ve had your eye on for some time.

Eventually, when he realized you figured out who he is and weren’t talking about the shit you’ve seen him do, he easily charmed you with his honeyed words and wicked ways, inviting you to continue to the party elsewhere when your performances had ended.

Satoru likes to spend money, always seems to have too much of it, if the tips he leaves you with are anything to judge him by. Always enough to buy the latest Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Versace without batting an eye.

All because you’re so good to him, he says.

He likes to get his hands on the finest white powders money can buy; likes to snort lines off your tits before rolling the remaining into dainty joints for you to smoke; likes to watch you with his own lazy, crooked smile as the smooth burn fills your lungs.

You’re consistent, staying out of his life and daily affairs. It’s part of what he likes so much about you.

You never ask for more, knowing he’s not willing to give it. It’s why he keeps coming back to you, there’s no desire to be a part of the drama that would ensue if anyone outside of his circle of friends ever found out about you.

It’s why you had no problem signing the NDA he presented on your first night out together.

Satoru knows when he needs it, you’ll be there; when he wakes in the morning, you’ll be gone. Not wanting any part of the lives you lead outside of the clubs and hotel rooms you frequently find yourselves in.

The bright lights from the city faded from the rear view mirror some time ago. Things are different tonight, seemingly calmer than you’ve ever experienced before with the man sitting to your right over the year you’ve been seeing each other.

He shifts gears while humming along to the tune playing softly in the background as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. 

The car is extravagant. It suits him and you wouldn’t expect anything less to be honest. It’s the kind of car where the doors open up, rather than out, the leather seats are a dark black while the exterior is a stark white matching his hair.

The small space smells like a mix of his cologne, bergamot and honey, along with the perfume you always put on before going out with him.

This is the longest you’ve ever spent in his vehicle, unless he’s pulled off to the side of the road or in an abandoned parking lot either with you on his lap or spread out in the back seat as he fucks into you. 

Satoru hasn’t spoken a lot tonight, just asked if you wanted to hang out after work and ushered you into his car on an empty street like usual. Obviously he’s taking you away tonight but you’re not sure where and trying not to care too much, so you don’t ask.

Doing that would change the aloof nature of your relationship and you’re not ready for any of those dynamics to be different, nor do you think he would be receptive to it.

“I can’t stay long,” he breaks the silence first, pulling into a hotel roughly forty five minutes away on the outskirts of Tokyo, “and I need to be sober. But, you can have fun and I’ll drive you home later.”

Satoru’s never taken you home before, though with his connections and power you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew where you live regardless. When you’ve stayed the night together before, you’re always up early and make sure to leave before he wakes up. Not only because you shouldn’t be with him, but also because you’ve never been one to stick around for awkward morning conversations or expectations.

You nod with a quiet “okay,” while he hands you a basic black face mask while putting on his own. He also takes off his tie, throwing it in his pocket and undoing a few of the top buttons on his shirt before putting on a matching black sock hat to cover his hair.

Stepping out of the car, you adjust your tiny black dress and hair before looping your arm in with Satoru’s making your way into the glamorous hotel, past the concierge and to the elevator.

Even when trying to be discreet, Satoru and his friends can’t help the luxuries they like to surround themselves with. He says he can’t stay and has to be sober, but that didn’t stop any of them from choosing a hotel with chandeliers, gold decor and marble floors covering every inch of the lobby.

When you get to the top floor of the hotel, there are only a few doors in the hall. Satoru knocks on one a few times before it’s quickly opened, allowing the two of you in. The space is more akin to an apartment than a hotel room - a small kitchen off to one side, a large bedroom with its own door separating the space from what serves as the living room.

There are floor to ceiling windows covering every inch of wall space, overlooking the small, lively city below. Chandeliers hang in this room too, the bathroom has similar marble flooring to the lobby with a shower that could easily fit ten, along with a jacuzzi.

Suguru is sitting on a chair reclined back with a woman who could easily be a model on his lap. He has a joint between his fingers, bringing it to his lips and taking a drag before holding it up to hers. She accepts with a grin, hand on his chest while the other fiddles with his hair.

Toji and Sukuna are sitting on a love seat next to Suguru, doing what they always seem to be doing - cutting too many lines of a soft white powder on a mirrored plate with a credit card before rolling one of their bills and inhaling, taking turns.

There are several other women in the room with a few other guys you don’t recognize - they’re all busy grinding to the beat of the music playing, glasses of champagne in their hands.

You never know who Toji and Sukuna are going to have with them - it’s seemingly a new girl each time you’re around. Aside from yourself and the girl on Suguru’s lap you’ve seen a few times, you’re the only constant.

Then again, you don’t know what goes on, on the other nights of the week that Satoru doesn’t come to whisk you away. You’ve never bothered to ask, never wanting to know how many other women he has, just like you, waiting to have his attention for the night.

Toji walks over, the mountain of a man that he is, emerald green eyes gleaming with mischief as he looks you up and down, biting his scarred lip before saying, “lookin’ great, as always.”

You’re smiling, unable to help the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from his intense gaze, but don’t respond because Satoru has moved his hand to your waist, pulling you in closer to him.

“Can you fuck off and leave my girl alone?” Satoru says without a trace of humor and you’re reeling more from his words than you should be.

His girl.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about it. You know what this is, what it always will be.

What it can never be.

You’re shrugging as Satoru pulls you away, moving his hand from your waist down to your ass, grabbing a handful before removing his hand completely, sitting on the couch next to Suguru, across from where Sukuna was before, who is now missing.

Satoru likes it when you wear the things you buy with his money - showing him you appreciate what he’s given you. Every once in a while you’ll buy a new handbag or jewelry to show off but mainly you spend it on little dresses to flaunt around in front of him, something easily accessible and removable, the way he likes it.

Sitting on the couch, resting your head on Satoru’s shoulder listening to the way his voice reverberates through his chest as he talks with Suguru, you absentmindedly draw little shapes on his chest wondering why he brought you with him tonight. The only thing you’ve been doing since you got here is listen to them discuss things you’re not interested in talking or hearing about, things that have to do with their work.

A soft quiet sigh leaves your lips as you watch Suguru pack and roll another joint for himself and his guest. Satoru hears and cocks his head in your direction before capturing your lips with his own quickly.

“You can join them. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

“It’s not fun without you,” you’re running your thumb across his lower lip, wiping away the lipstick that’s smeared on the corner. He grins before biting the tip of your thumb, swirling his tongue around it.

After a few moments, you pull your thumb away and he clicks his tongue before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and a little clear plastic baggie with a white powder that was embedded deep within, “this would be fun for you. Just need a little.”

Your brows are furrowed; it’s a different soft crystalline powder than you’ve seen him have before, “what is it?”

“A stimulant,” he replies generically, his grin is wide as he puts his wallet back in his pocket. Satoru tells you to take the water bottle that’s on the table beside you and drink it because you’ll want to stay hydrated and then to wet the tip of one of your fingers with your tongue.

You grin, looking up at him through thick lashes before putting your index finger in his mouth. He chuckles before rolling his tongue on it a few times. Listening to his instructions, you dip your finger into the baggie and suck the powder off - it doesn’t taste like anything. All you’re able to taste is the slight spearmint flavor from his spit.

After dipping your finger back into the baggie you hold it up for him. He watches you, eyes dark, stern and unamused. Satoru sees the way your shoulders slump slightly when he doesn’t accept it and the way your lower lips juts out slightly, pouting - it’s barely noticeable, but he sees it.

You’ve never asked for more from him over the last year, and you’ve been so good to him during that time too.

“Fuck, okay, but this is it.”

“Okay.” You reply quietly, the corner of your lip tugging upwards.

The boys continue their conversation and you’re not sure how much time has passed but as you watch Satoru’s sharp jaw as he speaks, the planes of his cheeks and slope of his nose you also realize his pupils have dilated tremendously. They’re more black than blue at this point.

You’ve also noticed you’ve been drawing little circles on the palm of your hand this entire time - the touch of your own skin feels so good that you can’t help but reach for Satoru and run your nails up and down the length of his arm. He tilts his head towards you, smirks and pulls you closer so your legs are resting atop his as he follows suit on your bare legs.

The contact feels incredible, like little tingles of electricity each time his nails run up and down the length of your legs slowly. Every once in a while he moves his hand up your thigh, towards the hem of your dress which makes you gasp, more and more slick pooling in the center of your panties with each pass of his hand.

“So, the wife is finally suspicious about where you go at night, huh?” Suguru asks smoothly as Toji and Sukuna come back over and sit on the small couch across from you.

Sukuna lights another joint, taking a long drag before adding, “everyone is suspicious about what we’re up to. That’s nothing new.”

Satoru sighs before leaning his head against the back of the couch, “just need to make sure nothing gets out. It’ll affect more than just us and our families if it does.”

“Awe,” you coo, “trouble in paradise?”

Satoru is snide with his remark as he glares at you from the corner of his cold blue eyes, “why? Wish I was married to you?”

You grin, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “you wish.”

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, “hiding me from anyone?”

Satoru grabs the little bag of powder and opens it again, so you do the same as you did last time; lick the tip of your index finger, dip it in and place a little on your tongue before doing the same for him.

“Nope, not worth it.”

This is the first time either of you have really acknowledged your lives outside of what you do when you’re together, typically avoiding any and all topics that have to do with personal lives.

Tonight is different and you don’t know why though you’re not exactly putting in any effort to change it.

Satoru has never worried or cared if his friends made a comment about how good you look or showed interest in hooking up with you but tonight he’s more possessive of your interactions. Holding you closer, letting details of his family and day to day life slip in conversation like he never has before.

“This feels so good,” you rasp out, taking in the feeling of his hands moving along your legs and mostly thighs at this point, so you move to straddle him. Satoru runs his large hands up your thighs slowly and under your dress to your ass, gripping hard as you press your body up against his chest, “need you.”

“I can’t tonight,” it’s a whisper filled with desperation because he wants to.

Satoru’s grip on your hips tightens as he lowers you down onto his lap so you can feel just how badly he wants you too. A whimper leaves your lips when he guides you to roll your hips on top of his before moving his hands to the insides of your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He hisses when he feels your arousal running down your leg and quickly loses his resolve, moving your panties to the side and running two fingers through your soaked folds.

It’s easy to forget, with the way he’s easily able to insert two fingers into your pussy and find your sweet spot, that the two of you aren’t the only ones in the room. Foreheads pressed together, mouths agape as you cup his cheek, rutting your hips in time with his hand as he brings you closer and closer to the brink of your release.

Satoru moves a hand from your hip to your throat, squeezing gently at the base while your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure. Each touch, each pass of his fingers on your g-spot is euphoric.

There’s slick coating his hand, up to his wrist - you’re wet, wetter than you ever have before and you’re doing everything in your power to move your hips with his hand so his palm stays tightly pressed against your clit. You’re mewling, whimpering, never wanting this feeling to end, almost ready to beg him to keep you like this forever.

You’re so taken back with each others touch, the way you hold him close, card your fingers through his hair and drag your nails through his undercut; the way your breaths are mingling with one another as you’re so overcome with desire and pleasure you can’t even warn him that the thread barely keeping you together is about to snap before you’re moaning out his name and he’s whispering “fuck, that’s it,” as you absolutely gush on his hand.

Capturing your lips again the kisses are messy and needy until you’re both snapped back to reality by the sounds of Toji laughing, “damn, that was quite the show. You gonna need some help with her?”

Satoru sighs, running his thumb across your lips before moving you off his lap and standing, entwining his fingers with yours, “fuck off, Fushiguro. Find someone your own age to hang out with.”

He leads you out of the room and back down to the lobby of the hotel. You’re sure you’re about to leave for the night, before he lets temptation ruin him but rather than leading you out, he stops at the receptionist's desk, where a young man is standing, asking for a room.

There’s a smile that spreads across your face and you can’t even help it, a feeling of superiority spreading through your body that he’s choosing to spend the night with you, rather than whatever obligation was holding him back earlier.

“Hi,” you smile and wave at the receptionist while biting your lip. His eyes are flicking between you and Satoru as he looks for an open room.

It’s thrilling, being out with Satoru - there’s always that underlying thought, the excitement around potentially getting caught, even though that isn’t something either of you actually want.

Your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest, either because of the reality of the two of you being caught due to a snap decision on his part to stay the night or because of the drugs you took earlier, you’re not sure but you don’t let yourself dwell on it.

Satoru tilts his head in your direction, eyeing you up and down with a frown, “don’t fucking flirt with another man in front of me.”

“Oh, jealousy is not a good look on you.”

Before Satoru is able to reply, the receptionist cuts in, handing Satoru the keycard to a room along with a pamphlet of information about amenities the hotel provides. When the receptionist finishes his spiel Satoru carefully looks him over.

“If anything leaks from here, I’ll know it was from you and I will make your life a living hell. I will take anything and everything you hold dear to your heart and ruin it. You will be nothing but a broken man by the time I’m done with you. Understood?”

The man stands with wide eyes as he replies in a hurried, shaky voice, “o-okay. Understood.”

And then Satoru grins like an angel before pulling you along with him, to take you up to the room and fuck you like the devil he truly is.

He pulls you into the elevator, hiding both of your faces from the camera by pushing you into the wall of the confined space, lips latched while your tongues glide against one another, hips rutting into the other looking for stimulation.

When the elevator dings, he stumbles backwards dragging you along with him, keeping your lips connected until right outside the space where he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist while he pulls the keycard out of his pocket. You busy yourself with kissing along his jaw and neck while he finds the room you were assigned, swiping the card and kicking the door closed once he’s walked through the threshold.

The room is large, and grand but nowhere near as extravagant as the one you were in earlier, not that it really matters considering the only focus is the plush king size mattress he lets you softly fall onto.

Satoru doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning his shirt and slacks, throwing them haphazardly across the room while you slip the dress off, along with your panties, waiting in the center of the bed for him to join you.

And he does, with a salacious grin spread across his face crawling over to you, pushing you further into the mattress while you spread your legs, feeling his long, thick cock press against your soaked entrance.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp out, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek, “condom.”

He stares at you like you’ve just shot him square in the chest before furrowing his brows, “No. We’ll- I’ll- fuck- I’ll pull out, I have to feel you.”

Satoru doesn’t have many rules - first and foremost, above all else, stay out of the limelight and his family's business and do not talk to anyone about the details of your relationship with him without a lawyer present if anyone should find out.

After that it’s simple, really only two other rules to abide by; take your birth control pills on time and wear a condom. And he’s been adamant about that until tonight. He’s always stated he didn’t want to risk getting anything and passing it to his wife because that would be a fucking nightmare to try and explain his way out of, but it would be an even bigger problem if he were to get you pregnant.

All of that seems to be out of the window tonight because he effortlessly pushes in past your entrance. He moans sinfully at the feeling while your eyes roll to the back of your head and arch your back, “you’re so wet, this- oh fuck- fuck, you feel so good.”

“What about your wife?” You manage to gasp out, mouth open, eyes half lidded, nails digging into his shoulder as he moves so painfully slowly that it’s amazing.

The heightened sense of touch, the feeling of him with nothing in between is intoxicating, makes your head a little dizzy, feeling every inch of his length as he pulls out and pushes back in.

“You jealous, baby?” He mutters, eyes hazy with lust, “want me to fuck you the way I do my wife?”

He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips back into yours causing you to stutter out, “fuck, n-no, no.”

“Think I’ll leave my wife, leave my family for a stripper?” His cock twitches at his words but he doesn’t move his hips again, doesn’t give you what you need so you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him the best you’re able, “I’ve fucking thought about it, having you like this every day.”

His large hands span your hips, halting your movements as he sits back up and pulls out to your dismay.

“Beg me.” He demands, running the red tip of his cock across your hypersensitive folds, nudging your clit a few times in the process just to watch the way you squirm below him, “beg me to fuck you.”

He takes a handful of your tits massaging them roughly before leaning down, swirling his tongue on your hardened nipple. He tweaks the other at the same time he tugs the other between his teeth.

“S’toru,” you whine needy and shamelessly, “I- fuck- please, please fuck me. Just- want to feel you, need you, please.”

Satoru watches you through his lashes the way you wriggle and writhe with your nipple tugged gently between his teeth. Cock is straining, leaking precum from the slit on the sheets of the bed - he’s just as needy as you, dying to be touched, to get the stimulation he’s craving just as badly as you but he’s being incredibly patient tonight.

His length is longer, harder and thicker than usual, twitches with your words and every whimper that leaves your lips but he still doesn’t fuck you - he’s waiting. Waiting for you to say he can fuck you, unimpeded and raw.

“Please, Satoru, baby,” tears are forming in the corner of your eyes, threatening to break free if he doesn’t work to extinguish the fire that’s burning in the center of your belly, to give you the release your body is screaming at you to have, “fuck me, please- so hard- always wanted to feel you-”

He can’t hold back anymore, not when you’re laying so pretty on the bed, tears streaming down your cheeks and begging him to give you what he knows only he can. Before you’ve realized what happened, he has you flipped over lining his cock with your entrance before slamming his hips flush with yours.

You cry out his name as he moves his hips with reckless abandon, finally, finally feeding the flames of desire burning in your core. His crystalline eyes are hooded with lust and desire as he grabs your hair at the roots and tugs harshly, other hand on your hip helping keep you in place as he pumps his hips faster and harder.

“You take all of me so fucking well,” he moans, “nobodies ever taken all of me.”

Wet, lewd squelching noises fill the space of the hotel room. You’re so wet from the jolt of electricity that thrums through your body with every touch and every time the tip of his cock grazes your sweet spot, and you’re only getting wetter as he continues to fuck into your rougher and rougher.

You know he’s comparing you to his wife when he babbles aimlessly like this, but you’ve learned to not let it bother you, not to think too much on it. After all, he’s spending his free time with you.

Sex with Satoru has always been good, he always seemed to know what you needed before you did, but tonight is different. Better somehow.

It’s all so much, so euphoric that there’s no way you’re able to hold back your impending orgasm; unable to help the way your thighs shake when the tip of his length kisses your cervix so deliciously you know it’ll ache in the morning. 

The moment Satoru drapes his body over yours, fingers drawing small tight circles on your clit is the moment the flames erupt, warmth and pleasure coursing through your veins as your walls spasm and constrict around his cock so hard he has to slow his pace and take a deep shaky breath in order to not follow along right beside you.

He lets go of your hair, kissing your shoulders and center of your back several times before sitting back on the balls of his feet before taking both of your wrists in one of his large hands and holding them behind your back.

Satoru moves his hips slowly a few times before pulling you up so your back is flush with his chest. 

“Like it when I fuck you like the filthy slut you are?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before hooking his fingers in your mouth turning your attention to him. Your tongue immediately finds his fingers, swirling over them as you look up to him, eyes so dark and filled with lust you can barely see any of the color anymore. He lets a tail of saliva fall from his mouth into yours and you moan the moment it hits your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He lets go of your wrist, splaying one hand over your stomach to feel the bulge from his cock each time he recklessly fucks into you, while the other finds its way to your breast, squeezing and gripping as he looses himself to pleasure inside of you.

There’s a mirror across from you, above the dresser in front of the bed - Satoru’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink, down his neck to the top of his chest. Lips parted with eyes on you as he watches and listens to the way you moan and whine from each stroke of his long cock.

“Satoru, cum in me,” his hips falter at your words, “fill me up, please.”

“Baby, I can’t.” But he absolutely wants to.

He pushes you back down on the bed, hand in the center of your back keeping your face pressed against the silky sheets. He takes the opportunity to grip your ass and spread your cheeks, watching the way you take all of him down the base without complaint. He lets his spit fall from his mouth, and watches the way you jolt when it makes contact with your other entrance unexpectedly and slides down to his cock, mixing with your arousal.

Satoru feels the way your pussy has a death grip on his cock again, knows you’re about to cum and he can’t bring himself to pull out. Not when you look and sound so pretty for him, not when you were literally begging for him to cum inside you earlier.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” he’s moaning at the thought, getting lost inside you, “I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you so fucking full of me.”

His words are enough to set you off, having your pussy tightening around him like a noose as he paints your walls white, letting out a guttural groan as he rocks his hips back and forth, working you both through your releases.

There’s so much dripping out from between where you’re connected that his efforts to keep it all inside are fruitless. The view is absolutely obscene, cum mixed together and dripping onto the bed sheets below, the sounds are vulgar but it doesn’t stop him from fucking it deep and deeper inside, rolling his neck and head back through the hypersensitivity of his his tip.

Eventually he rolls you over onto your back, both panting, trying to catch your breaths. He’s still half hard, both hissing at the sensation when he runs his cock up through your puffy folds, dragging his wet, heavy cock on your stomach when he leans up and places several languid kisses to the center of your chest.

He licks a strip from your chest to jaw before sucking several small red starbursts on your neck, shoulder and down to your tits. Your nails are on his shoulder and back digging into his skin - he groans, loves the feeling, the sharp to dull pain that comes with it.

There’s been an unspoken rule between the two of you, no marks. Not on him at least. It’s more important his body be free from any unknown scratches and little red marks, should the press decide to have a field day seeing them and decide to investigate.

“Love leaving marks on you,” he whispers, voice low, gravely with desire again. “Everyone knows you belong to someone else, don’t they?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Tell me baby, who do you belong to?”

“You. Satoru, I’m yours.” You answer a little too honestly, holding his face a little too lovingly. He groans at the confirmation, knows he shouldn’t have made you say it but couldn’t resist hearing it.

You place several kisses on his lips and cheek. Everything is getting progressively sloppier, starting to come down from your respective highs. Satoru’s eyes are half lidded, not only from lust but from a tiredness that’s starting to seep through.

He returns the kisses languidly before you kiss along his jaw, sucking a small spot just under his jaw, nipping at the skin playfully a few times in the process. He doesn’t stop you because he knows that despite not being able to give you all of himself, he’s yours too.

Probably even more than he’s his wifes.

Slowly, he presses his tip against your entrance again, easily slipping past the ring of muscles while you wrap your legs around his waist. He hooks one of his arms under your knee, pushing it up so he’s able to get deeper.

Satoru fucks into you hard and fast like this. It’s messy, wet and sticky with your mixed arousal and cum connecting the two of you. Slick wet sounds fill the room again until you’re both on the brink of another imminent release.

“Think I might fucking love you.” He admits, voice low, filled with lust.

You want to say it back, but you know it’s not true, the shit he says when he’s buried ten inches deep in your cunt, cock bruising your cervix as he fucks into you.

“You’re so wet, already so full of me,” he moans at the thought of cumming inside you again. “G-gonna give you a baby, gonna give you part of me.”

“S’toru,” you gasp at his lust filled desires and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want that too so you move your hips up wantonly, eagerly, “yes, please.”

It’s a bad fucking idea, to let him say these things, to agree with him. But you let him move your knees back to your shoulders, holding the heels of your feet for leverage as he presses his hips into you until you’re both cumming again.

He collapses on top of you, heavy breaths fanning your ear. You lay like this, chests rising and falling against one another until you’re overcome by sleep.

There’s light peeking in through semi-closed curtains, a beam of light hitting your face at the perfect angle, right into your eye. Knitting your brows together, you stifle a yawn before stretching out, feeling a warm body pressed into yours.

Your eyes flutter open, focusing on the dim light of the hotel room. It’s the same as it was last night, pristine, perfect. All except the sheets and blankets that are askew on the bed from your passion filled night.

The silky white sheet is covering most of you, but only on Satoru up to his hips. He must have gotten hot last night, threw everything off him in his sleep.

Looking up to him, his eyes are still closed, eyes moving slightly behind his lids. Soft white lashes flutter slightly with each movement while his arm that’s wrapped around your waist twitches slightly.

Your naked body is pressed against him, skin to skin. One leg is tangled between his while one hand is on his chest.

You let yourself take in the sight, not something you allow yourself to do frequently, but last night was indulgent, so this morning might as well be too. Satoru looks peaceful when he’s asleep. He’s always so calm and collected when you’re with him but never quite like this.

Truly without a care in the world with his eyes closed. No stress about someone finding out about you, exposing his lies and his secret life.

You stay like this for too long, watching him sleep, letting your index finger run along the scar on his chest. He says your name quietly, and you smile, just slightly at the thought of him dreaming about you.

You’re still high, you can tell, feeling light and airy and great about everything, but you know better than to let it last. You’ll be coming down again soon and everything will feel mundane, pointless, bothersome.

So you go to move, push yourself away from him to do your normal routine of getting ready for the day, pretending you were never here with him. His grip around your waist tightens, halting your movements.

“Stay…” Satoru whispers so quietly it’s barely audible.

Pursing your lips you look up at him, eyes still closed, no identifying feature signifying he’s woken up and is really, truly asking you to stay by his side, despite all the shit that would come along with it.

Your heart is beating fast, irregular, but you’re sure it’s from the stimulant. It has to be. Any other reason would be less than ideal.

After all, he probably thinks you’re his wife right now. Laying next to him, snuggled in close like she probably is every other day of the week.

You let out a single low wry chuckle at the morbid thought, licking your lips and shaking your head and whispering, “that’s not a good idea.”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and you mentally kick yourself for leaving the incredibly obvious fucking hickey just below his jaw. Satoru’s grip loosens just enough for you to wriggle out of his grasp.

Something you quickly learned after getting involved with Satoru is to have a bag packed at all times. That way in the mornings you can shower, removing the sweat and scents of not only the alcohol or drugs but also his cologne from your skin. It’s important to make it appear like you were never with him, to never leave in the same clothes you’ve arrived in.

After showering, you do your normal daily routine. Moisturizers, hair products, make up. You bring it all and you do it all - it would be no different if you were sitting at home, getting ready for your day.

That’s all this is, isn’t it? Just a routine. Meet a man, party, have mind blowing sex, act as if you’ve never met each other afterwards. Over and over again.

When you step back into the living space of the room, Satoru is no longer lying on his back, but rather his stomach, face buried into the pillow you used last night. His own overnight back is open, evident he had rifled through it for some reason when you were in the shower before climbing back into the bed, ignoring your presence.

Sitting on top is a black Versace sweatshirt. Looking back over to him, he’s unmoving aside from his back raising and falling slightly with each breath. Pursing your lips you quickly decide to grab it out of his bag and throw it into yours.

It’ll smell like him, even if only for a few days.

Picking up your garments from last night, you throw them into your bag before pulling out oversized sunglasses to hide your obviously still blown pupils and throw them on before turning the knob of the door to exit the room.

You don’t bother turning around, checking to see if Satoru watched you walk out. There’s no point. You know he didn’t. This is all routine.

After ensuring the door closes completely, you take a few steps down the hall while the elevator dings and a woman steps out of it.

She’s tall, in a pressed black pencil skirt and blazer. She looks classy with the way her ebony hair falls over her shoulders in soft curls.

She heads down the direction you’re coming from. Neither of you acknowledge the other as you pass by, on your own separate missions. Your breathing picks up, and the air feels tense after noticing the scowl spread across her features. And you all but jump at the sound of her banging on the room door you just walked out of moments prior.

You press the button to the elevator a few times, palms growing more clammy by the second, afraid the two of you might have been caught, that the boy from the front desk didn’t heed Satoru’s warning.

You watch from the corner of your eye as Satoru groggily opens the door, complaining about the loud sound. At least he had enough sense to put on a shirt beforehand, hiding the marks you left across his chest and back.

“You missed our counseling appointment. Is this some kind of joke to you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes adjusting to the bright light of the hall and you could swear his eyes flicker to you for a split second before finally speaking.

“No, of course not. I went out with the guys last night and lost track of time. You know how it is.”

“All too well.”

She pushes past him into the room and you know he didn’t have enough time to do any clean up of his own, that the room still reeks of alcohol, sweat and sex. And if she even bothers to look around, he’ll have to explain why the shower is wet from having been used when he clearly hasn’t washed up.

“Good lord. What have you been doing here? And what is on your neck?”

His hand goes to his jaw instinctively to try to hide the mark you left last night, “uh, cigarette burn. The guys were messing around last night and I got mixed up in the fray.”

He doesn’t seem to be too worried about his wife’s line of questioning because he looks over to you, just as the elevator dings, giving you a smirk.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, biting your lip as you return the sly smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open knowing he can’t and won’t stay away from you for long.

Taglist: @petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin

[thepunkranger]

Carlos Oliveira K!nk Headcanons

(Obviously 18+ only. Written by an active member of the k!nk community. Character is written bisexual w/ gender neutral reader. TW for brief, ambiguous mention of character’s negative past experiences)

Carlos is a switch with a sub lean. He didn’t get to explore his submissive side until his late teens-early 20s, but once he did he fell for it hard. Boy had a full-on sub frenzy phase. He’s definitely gone cruising more than a couple of times, and unfortunately did not have a great starting point for ethical BDSM, though he came out of it mostly unscathed and with some very strong opinions about his personal aftercare needs.

As a sub, Carlos is first and foremost a service sub. Whatever his partner wants or needs, that’s what he’s doing. In full subspace it’s basically his life’s goal. He’ll wait on them hand and foot and love every minute of it. He surprised himself by having a crossdressing kink. He doesn’t like sissification, and definitely isn’t about to shave his body or be caged 24/7, but women’s clothing? It’s a rush, to put it simply. Maid dresses with cat ears, long flowy skirts, and silky panties are some of his personal favorites. He also fucking loves bottoming. Please plow this man. Dick, strap-on, fingers, he doesn’t care. Loves the experience of being fucked in every goddamn position. He will, however, be a fucking brat to get himself punished and/or fucked harder. Steals your shit and puts it on a high shelf where you can’t reach, sticks out his tongue during meaningless arguments, and loves to very literally push your buttons with tickling and doing dumb shit like pretending to steal your nose or poking you in the stomach.

Carlos is both a puppy sub, and little, though the two don’t crossover much. As a pup Carlos is very much a guard dog type. Sticks close to his handler and likes to make sure they’re taken care of before he gets up to any puppy shenanigans, throws his weight around at moshes, and likes to generally just be on and around his handler at all times. He’s a good boy as a dog though, and will go out of his way to follow any commands he’s given. Likes eating out of his dog bowl on the floor and wearing his leather full-body harness. Has a thick-ass tail plug (think the MSL Woofy tails) for play at home and a faux fur show tail for moshes, along with a strappy leather hood and a spiked collar with a bone-shaped tag. Likes being called “dog” and “doggy” more than “puppy.”

Carlos is a fucking handful as a little. Big, loud, bratty little boy energy 100%. Loves making a mess of both himself and the space around him, and absolutely will not sit still long enough for you to wrestle him into the bath. Make sure to give him a booster for his diaper, because you’ll have to catch him if you want to give him a change, and he can run fast. Good news is, when he finally runs out of steam he’s the sweetest little boy ever. Curls up in his Caregiver’s lap and just wants to snuggle forever while getting read to or sung lullabies. Has a comfort stuffie that he clings to for dear life and takes everywhere with him, and you’d best believe he’s making you treat it like a living person with kisses goodnight and a place setting at the table.

Carlos pretty much lives for verbal aftercare. Got used as a fuck toy by too many bad doms early on and now gets bad sub drop if he isn’t well taken care of in the aftermath. Make sure you tell him you aren’t mad about his bratting (or have a constructive conversation about it after he’s out of headspace) and love him as a person and not just a plaything. Warm drinks are great, especially warm milk or hot chocolate (make sure to add cinnamon for best results), and lots of cuddles in your arms with his comfort stuffie.

As a dom, Carlos is a Daddy Dom through and through. It’s doesn’t have to specifically be in the context of ageplay, but damn if that man doesn’t love spoiling his sub. The kind of Daddy to fall for puppy dog eyes and a “pleeeeeaaasse?” every goddamn time. Yes he’ll buy you the plushie, yes you can have an extra cookie, yes you can watch one more episode of Bluey, he’s a pushover for his baby. Speaking of Bluey, Carlos gets big Bandit Heeler energy when in Dom mode. Literal playing with his sub is almost always gonna be a little rough, because this man grew up with six brothers, what do you expect? He’s big and strong enough for picking you up and tossing you in the air, or holding you down for tickles until you can’t breathe, but will also use his powers for good and carry his baby around the house, or even when you get tired out and about.

He’ll happily go rough during sex - manhandle his sub, spout dirty talk that would make a booktoker blush, and leave you with bruises that last for days. Speaking of bruises, Carlos loves getting to see his handiwork on his sub’s body. Prefers using his hand for impact just to see the prints he leaves behind. He goes hard on impact too - anywhere that can safely be hit and isn’t a limit is getting smacked until a yellow is called. Especially loves the jiggly places like his sub’s ass and thighs and/or tits. Grabs them hard just to see the skin press out around his fingers. He also isn’t afraid to use toys to his advantage. Vibrators, dildos, clamps, sleeves, spreader bars, he’ll use them all just to try and see how squirmy and whiny he can make his sub. As soon as you’re done he’s right back into soft and doting mode though, carrying his baby to a hot bath or shower, showering you with kisses and making sure to give you a massage with arnica to take care of any places he went too rough. He’ll cuddle for hours and just talk and decompress for as long as you need. He’ll also take care of anything that comes up afterwards as well like walking the dog or getting dinner.

[kiestrokes]

Geonbae Pt.2 | NSFW

Pairing: fuckboy!Park Jimin x Reader/You/Yn Rating: NSFW! Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 4,594 Genre: three part mini-series, smut, a smidge of fluff, friends to ??? Warnings: drinking, cuddling, the seductiveness that is Jimin’s libra sun, idk let me know if I missed anything.

Sexually Explicit Content: marathon sex, sexual intercourse, vaginal penetration, penis in vagina, fingering, kissing (making out), biting, marking, ear biting, nipple stim, clit stim, overstimulation for both parties, missionary, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, mild choking, multiple orgasms for both parties, condoms, one small creampie slip-up.

Summary: Looks like that bootycall to the one Park Jimin has worked out in your favor, just don't expect to walk straight tomorrow…or for a week basically. He has a notorious fuckboy reputation to uphold still, can't let you leave without at least four orgasms.

🗝️ Note: listen, it is finally here, and I am satisfied with it. Not just satisfied, but overjoyed, elated, all the dopamine chemicals screech in rejoice. Hasn't been beta-ed!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

DLS Masterlist ⭒ Santa’s Dirty Little Secret ⭒ Geonbae Pt.1 ⭒ Read it on Ao3!

“I’m ready.”

Jimin's fiery gaze meets yours and you raise your knees to give him better access. His hips tremble as he rubs himself between your damp folds before allowing himself to sink gradually into you. A low groan leaves his parted lips as your entrance stretches to accommodate him.

“Fuck, sorry, it’s been a while” Your fingers tighten on the back of his neck, while the other fists his hair.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jimin grunts.

His hips snap up once he is fully nestled inside, causing your body to flex up against his, the sensation echoing across your skin.

“Habit” you pant, pressing your knees into his sides as your pussy adjusts to him.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” His hands rustle up the sheets coming to rest on his forearms on either side of your shoulders. “I want you to just enjoy yourself tonight. Can I enjoy you?” His tone simmers to a low on the question and you nod.

Jimin’s grin catches you off guard more than the kiss does. The crinkling of his eyes under the rise of his plush cheeks, a quality you have adored from the beginning of your friendship. Combined with the way his sumptuous lips are soothing the stirring of your nerves, how they blanket your mouth like your favorite sweater.

Jimin hips start an unhurried rock into you, and you mirror the movement. Feeling the familiar warmth begin to flame out across your body from your core. Each stroke brushes deep into every muscle, the sensations lighting each corner of your skin.

Jimin moans your name into the crook of your neck, chased by each of his grunts. Just as lost as you are in the feel of him. His hands have found purchase on your body, digging into the back of your thighs at the summit of your ass. Lifting your hips into his thrusts, so that he is entirely submerged in you at each advance.

“Shit, you feel so good,” his lips skim across your cheek, blackened eyes meeting yours.

“So do you,” Your voice pitches as he ruts into you hard, his width spearing you open. Causing your cervix to flare against the tip of his sheathed cock.

Jimin's eyebrows pinch together as you squeeze him internally and he groans, throwing the rest of his weight into your joined sexes. Seeking more of it, more of you.

You claw at his back, head falling back and gasping as the stretch nearly consumes you. Jimin cries out, his body shuddering into yours, and then he's gone and you’re clenching around nothing.

“Fuck that was just…too close.” He stares down at you, hands in tight fists and pretty dick standing at full attention.

“I want on top.” You lift up onto your elbows, gaze devouring the very nude Jimin who is still standing stiffly at the side of the bed.

He gives you a tight nod and you exchange positions. Jimin sits at the edge of the bed before tugging you into his lap from behind. Your legs slip to the outside of his thighs and you glance over your shoulder to center yourself.

Jimin palms your ass open, to give your cunt an easy path to his swollen cock, and for a moment your brain short circuits at the intimacy of this. How your other partners had to beg for this view, and yet you’re giving it to Jimin so easily. His eyes jump to yours when he feels you freeze.

“Hey, you ok? Still want to do this?” His hands leave your ass instantly and smooth up your sides.

You nod eagerly and Jimin blinds you with another smile, forgetting the penetration and tugging you down into his lap for a kiss over the shoulder.

His hand presses into the valley of your ribs and the other cups your jaw as he hums into your mouth. The vibrations soothe your anxious mind, tossing them away like waves in the ocean, getting rolled down into the undercurrent.

Jimin pulls away, his eyes still closed, “we can go slow.”

You nod, nose rubbing his, and lift your hips just enough so that you can take him in your hand. The motion causes Jimin’s lashes to flutter open, and his eyebrows to converge as you rub him between your folds. Your own body jerks when you bump his fat tip against your clit.

Jimin’s hands drift to your hips and he laughs breathlessly against your moan when you finally sink onto him. He has the perfect dick, and you just know that he knows it. Not too long that you have to worry about impaling your cervix, but deliriously thick. How his broad base stretches your entrance and tugs at your g-spot with every rise and fall.

“Jimin,” You moan against his mouth once fully seated.

Jimin whimpers your name in response when you kick your ass back, rubbing him audaciously all those previous nerves having sunk away. His eyes drift open and close as you begin to draw him in and out, your pelvis tilting forward and squeezing him mid-length before slowly pressing his dick back into your slick walls.

You nudge his cheek, lips seeking his and he moans a compliance. His mouth devouring yours as you pick up the slightest amount of speed.

Jimin’s tongue rolls across yours, before sucking it into his mouth. The motion causes your speed to increase, and Jimin grunts in response into the depths of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips earning a shudder from you as he dives impossibly deeper into your mouth, one hand returning to your jaw. You let out tiny whimpers in between the movement of lips.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you mumble as he kisses you harder, nibbling at your bottom lip.

He breaks with a gasp trailing kisses down your neck, until his nose is pressed between your shoulder blades and he's bouncing his hips in time with you, driving right into the front wall of your cunt.

“Oh fuck” you grasp at his hands, one on your hip and the other between your cleavage with his small fingers spread at the base of your throat holding you tight into his thrusts. “Jimin,” you whine.

His breathing is heavy as he places a kiss on your shoulder, “You ok?”

“Yes, deeper.”

Jimin lets out another breathless laugh and slips his arm across the fold of your thighs and hips. Pressing you into his lap with a drawn-out moan of his own as you swirl your hips. You do it again and feel his body tighten.

“Fuck,” your name and the curse are hissed together through Jimin’s clenched teeth.

You moan in response, bracing your hands on your calves and bearing down as hard as you can on Jimin’s thighs. Relishing in the new, strangled version of your name that escapes his lips. Tossing your head back at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you at this tight angle.

“Oh Jimin, you feel so good” you breathe.

He stutters your name again, you don’t know if it’s from your praise or the fact that you returned to your previous motions. Slamming your pelvis down with a tight squeeze of his cock each time.

“Jimin,” you moan and his hands clench against your skin.

Lights scatter across your closed eyelids suddenly and the distant sound of more fireworks startles your eyes open. You watch the fire blaze against the stars and the inky night sky.

You pitch forward slightly to get a better view causing Jimin to cry out at this shift, his hands dropping from your body. You huff a laugh and bring your palms up to your thighs, bobbing up and down with newfound leverage at this angle.

There's a soft thud as you feel Jimin collapse behind you, “s-shit.”

You moan a laugh, looking over your shoulder catching Jimin watching you with hooded eyes, his eyes jumping to yours from your ass when he catches you staring at him.

“You’re fucking amazing” he breathes, gone is the warmth of his chocolate irises and in their place is the darkness of his spread pupils. Heat radiates up your chest at the sight of him so fucked out and all for you.

“Jimin,” you whisper almost as a beg.

“As soon as you come I’m right behind you,” his hands drift to the outside of your hips.

You nod, body already tightened on itself. You sit back, hands bracing beside Jimin’s torso and slip him in and out against the front of your pubic bone.

“Ohhh shit,” Jimin’s body stiffens almost instantly. “what are you doing?” Jimin moans underneath you, relaxing again.

“Coming” you pant, hips thrusting erratically, you press a hand to his cock squeezing the half that isn’t buried inside you.

“Fuck-shit” Jimin stiffens under you as you climax, entrance squeezing his tip tightly.

Jimin’s hands are on your breasts, suddenly squeezing each globe firmly, before pinching your nipples.

“Shit, Jimin!” your body snaps forward and Jimin sits up with you, his resolve lost. His hips drive up into you as your hands skid on your damn thighs, slick from sweat and effort.

Jimin groans and suddenly you're on your knees and Jimin is pounding into you from behind. He presses you down into the bed with one hand on your shoulders, the noises coming out of his chest almost savage.

“Jimin,” you cry and his front folds over your back, abs rippling at each curve and pull of his spine.

“That's it love, come for me, please come for me” Jimin groans through clenched teeth. Burying himself deeply in you with each slam of his hips and so deep it nearly consumes himself.

His hand slips up to the nape of your neck and fists tightly into your hair. That’s it, that's all it takes for your walls to seize around his cock, your moaning intertwined with his voice as Jimin repeats your name like a prayer.

“Coming so pretty on my dick,” each word punctuated with a rough drag of his swollen member.

Until you’re squeezing your thighs together as hard as you can, in an attempt to ease your own orgasm as it rolls through you in waves, drowning you in overstimulation.

Jimin finally stills as your pussy squeezes him tightly, his release spilling into the condom with a throaty groan. Your ragged breaths are a soft backtrack for the fireworks continuing to explode outside.

“Fuck Jimin,” you whimper as a familiar lightness fills your bones, like your marrow has been replaced with helium and you could float away at any moment.

You shift your hips forward, in an attempt to escape Jimin’s cock that is still embedded in you. He gets the idea and pulls out with an intake of air.

While Jimin is busying himself with discarding the condom you move to drag yourself to the other side of the bed. But Jimin catches you, pulling you back by your waist. Rolling the two of you over onto your sides and spooning his naked body against yours in a way that is so painstakingly intimate, but so very Park Jimin.

“I told you to quit avoiding me,” he trails the pads of his fingers over the curve of your hip.

Laying skin-dimpling kisses across your shoulder blades, up to the crook of your neck.

“I'm not avoiding you now, you just finished so I thought-”

“We aren't done yet,” Jimin nuzzles into the junction of your shoulder, fingertips curling into the soft skin of your stomach. “Do you think after a decade of friendship, I’m going to let you go so easily?”

“You’ve fucked all of our friends,” you say casually, with a blasé shrug all the while your mind is racing at the thought of what Jimin was promising; more orgasms.

“But you held out the longest, why is that?” Jimin’s tone is flooded with candid curiosity.

“I was always content in my relationships,” you glance over your shoulder at his face, but his eyes are downcast, watching his hand glide across your sweat-glazed skin.

He hums, “What about when you were single?”

“You know I never remained single for long.”

“How come you never gave me the chance?” His eyes skip to yours finally, his brown irises alight with inquisition.

“Park Jimin, dating? That's laughable,” you can’t stop the actual snort that leaves your nose.

“I have dated!” Jimin flips you onto your back in mild offense, making you erupt into full-bellied laughter.

“And none of them ended well!”

You feel the heat creep into your cheeks as he nuzzles himself between your thighs again, pinning you to the bed with his well-muscled thighs.

“So I’m just good to fuck?”

Jimin’s eyes lid and you know he is feeling the same rush of renewed arousal that you’re experiencing under his touch and gaze.

“And a great thrower of house parties, and to go shopping with, and picker of the best gifts,” you prattle off a short list of his talents.

Jimin lazily circles one of your nipples, his eyes absentmindedly watching the flesh pucker against the scrape of his nails, “Mmm sounds to me like I’m boyfriend material.”

“Maybe rentable boyfriend material,” you laugh, but it sounds wispy and thick, catching in your throat on its way out.

“Fine,” Jimin pouts, “I guess I’ll take what I can get. Consider me yours, and yours only to rent whenever you need me.”

“I’ll hold you to it Park,” you stroke his bangs back from his brow and he turns his face to kiss the palm of your hand, mumbling an ask about how many orgasms you’ve had in one night.

“Maybe two? Definitely no more than that. Why?”

“Our goal is to at least double that amount,” He slants his torso up your body while his other hand dives between your thighs.

Lowering his mouth to hover over yours whispering your name in promise, “god you’re so fucking wet.”

You gasp as he rolls your clit between his thumb and forefinger languidly, before dipping two fingers into your swollen entrance painting your release over the sensitive hill of nerves.

Jimin's mouth seals to yours as he begins to strum, and you anchor yourself to him by tangling your hands in that fluffy chestnut-colored hair of his.

Your moans become lost in the cavern of his throat as his tongue dances with your teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Jimin pulls back, lips kiss bitten, puffier than you imagined they could get when your body starts to tremble with the approach of your next orgasm.

You clutch at his wrist, your hips trembling as you get overwhelmed by not just his touch but his eyes. How his perceptive gaze jumps from your rolling hips, over the rise of your upturned tits, to your face, where he holds your hooded eyes with a fixed stare as you gasp and beg.

“Jimin,” you whisper and he groans, slanting up to kiss you again, a simple but weighted kiss.

Before his digits dive to your core, fingers curling into the front wall of your cunt, you claw at his back and arm. Jimin watches as you arc off the bed under his touch.

Jimin’s brows pinch together and he unintentionally presses his swollen dick into your leg, letting you know he's equally as turned on.

“Jimin,” your hips roll shamelessly into his hand.

Calling him to you both visually and verbally. He's up on his knees, hand still thrusting into your rocking hips as he nudges your thighs wider and you fan them open eagerly.

“Jimin, I’m close, oh please don’t stop” you vocalize your praise, having discovered that kink of his moments before your first orgasm of the night.

“Not stopping love, come on I can feel you, you’re so close” Jimin moans, one hand on you and the other on himself as he sits back on his heels.

You press your head back into the bed at the sight of him fisting himself, his tip swollen and leaking.

Your body arches again and everything snaps, Jimin’s hand is gone suddenly and he's buried in you to the hilt. His lip is bitten between his teeth as you work him, chasing the echoes of your orgasm. His hands firm on your hips as you thrust, he gasps your name as your cunt continues sucking him in harshly. Jimin’s hips bear down on you, unmovable as you continue to come around him.

“Fuckkk, love, oh,” He gasps out.

Jimin’s orgasms right behind you, his hands leaving your hips with one final press. You watch as those hands rub up his chiseled stomach, across his nipples as he spills into you. You understand what is happening; why Jimin is rubbing himself, needing to be touched everywhere as his orgasm twinges each nerve ending. You flip him over, palms pressing hard into his chest as he moans low in appreciation.

Finally the right direction on the bed, with Jimin’s head resting on the pillows. You rake your nails lightly down his stomach, watching as his pupils dilate and he gasps your name.

You stretch to reach for a condom, Jimin slips from your cunt with a shiver as you rifle through his bedside drawer. Sitting back on his sculpted thighs once you’ve acquired what you need. Jimin watches you with wide eyes as you rip the condom open, rolling it over his sensitized length with full intent to ride him again.

He’s more vocal than before, alternating between moans, whines, and grunts the entire time. Thrashing against the bed, clutching you to him, his hands trembling up your spine, digging into the crease of your thighs, clenching your hips and breasts all in deep appreciation as you ride his cock.

“F-fuck,” Jimin stutters out, before breaking off to moan your name.

His head tossing, mussing up his hair even more. You moan at the sight of him, so wrecked and all for you.

“Love, if I knew you were like this in bed, damn.” His body tenses under your spread thighs, “I would’ve kicked everyone out during the Secret Santa party,” he pants out, head pressing back into the pillows as he fights off his orgasm.

You laugh just as breathlessly, as your body pulls taut, “It’s better this way, starting the New Year off right.”

The moan that escapes you, vibrates pre-echoes of your climax through your body and across his.

“Shit why do you feel so good?” You ask as you stroke his stomach again watching his skin erupt into goosebumps and following it with a quick snap of your hips.

Jimin looks more fucked out than ever, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes blazing into yours as he says the next words a firmness that nearly makes you come, “I was made for you.”

You moan, hand pressing between the swells of his pecs and Jimin shudders, “Gonna come for me, Park?”

Your body shakes with effort, just as overheated as his, but determined to ruin the man beneath you first.

Jimin cries your name, rutting up into you as you thrust back, orgasm exploding up his body. His hands seize your waist as he arches into you. You continue to ride him through the aftershocks, your climax dancing just at the edge of your vision.

“Uhh-mmm” Jimin whimpers underneath you, head tossing with each slap of your ass.

His hands flexed helplessly against the outside of your leg. You moan again, and Jimin stiffens under you when your walls give one final squeeze as the band inside you snaps.

“Jimin,” you wail, coming apart, causing the muscles of his thighs to spasm as he looks at you wide-eyed, mouth gasping in a perfect circle.

You slam your ass down, pussy sucking him in as you orgasm.

“Stop, stop, fuck- please,” he gasps.

His body shakes as his cock pushes out another release, an empty one into the condom as you incite a dry orgasm from him. Jimin mumbles your name in a quiet plea as you cease your movements.

You comply graciously, slowly folding over him for a light kiss that he tilts his chin up for before you roll off to lay beside him, your body spent. His own body shudders hard beside you and he groans through the aftershocks of the overstimulation you just inflicted.

While he is catching his breath Jimin asks what you were laughing about earlier.

You huff a laugh, “Namjoon being the king of destruction breaks the door lock.”

Jimin sits up shakily, hands rolling the spent condom off his length, “Oh it doesn’t actually lock, so the only thing he broke was his nose.”

“Park, your bedroom door doesn’t lock?”

You lift up onto your elbow as Jimin ties a knot and tosses the condom into the waste basket beside the bed. He shakes his head, reclining back in the dampened spot next to you.

“No, I had an incident with a hookup. She locked herself inside and I had to call the fire department to get her out.” He winces at the memory before his eyes drift over to take in your horrified stare.

Jimin waves his hands with a laugh,“She’s fine now married, and has a baby I think.”

“Do you keep tabs on all of your hookups?”

“I’m not heartless you know,” he rolls on his side to face you.

The moment thickens but for a different reason. There is a sadness in Jimin’s eyes that you hadn’t quite noticed before, it takes you a moment to realize what exactly it is, loneliness.

“I just haven’t found the right partner yet.”

You nod in understanding and pull him into your body for a hug, fingers tracing up his spine as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Do you want to shower?” He mouths into your collarbone.

“I don't have any clothes,” you laugh softly as Jimin pulls away from your embrace.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “You can borrow some of mine.”

With that, he slinks out of the bed, and you roll on your back to admire his bare ass.

“Playing into the boyfriend act already, hmm?”

You scramble across the soiled sheets to follow him.

Jimin winks over his shoulder at you, “Come on, let's have a shower.”

You shower together, in muscle rejuvenating clouds of steam and tangerine scented body scrub. Jimin diligently cleans you from behind before his hands drift lower to work out another orgasm, kissing the water off your neck

“Jimin,” you whine.

“I want you to come as hard as you made me earlier,” He huffs huskily before nipping the shell of your ear.

Jimin traps you between his body and the cold tile, both nearly equal in their firmness. The porcelain bites painfully and pleasurably into your nipples. He encases your thighs together with his while his hand starts to rapidly stroke across your clit.

The direct touch, the cold tile and Jimin rubbing himself listlessly into your backside have you begging and whimpering in no time. Your head is thrown back on his shoulder, while his hand drifts up from your hip to squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“Oh fuck,” you shudder into him and damp lips meet your neck with a sly laugh.

“I think you can come harder than that,” his hand makes its way to your neck and you bite your lip at the squeeze, trying and failing not to pant.

He squeezes lightly as he rocks your hips into his working hand with a slow roll of his.

“Jimin,” you plead.

“Yes love?” He rumbles against your ear, voice tainted with pride before sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“Ah fuck, harder.”

Jimin moans softly before squeezing your throat harder, a panting gasp escaping you as you rub your hips against his arm. His other fingers move so rapidly that you’ve lost count of the orgasms that have come and gone.

Lost in the dizzying featherlight stroke that he slows to as each orgasm coasts over your body. You whine deeply, everything is so slick and hypersensitive.

“Ahhh” you scream, pressing into Jimin's hand at your throat to cool your forehead against the tile.

Your legs shake violently at this climax and Jimin groans proudly, catching you quickly as you begin to fold.

“Oh damn, I need to sit down” you mumble in belated realization.

Jimin's musical laugh fills your ears as he carefully lowers the two of you to the shower floor, your back resting snuggly against his chest.

“How many was that?” You tilt your face to him, blinking against the misting spray of the shower.

“I uh...wasn’t counting, I was busy.” His cheeks tint at his confession.

You laugh out loud and tug his face to yours for a deep kiss full of appreciation and admiration.

The two of you leave the shower once you gain some sea legs and Jimin has the chance to clean your latest releases from the folds of your cunt.

Swaddled up in fluffy towels you stop short, surveying the damage you both had done to his bed. Jimin quickly slips past you, pulling open dresser drawers to gather you a pair of his briefs, socks, sweats, and a hoodie.

“You get dressed and head to the couch,” He presses the clothing into your waiting hands with a soft peck to your lips. “I will put the blankets in the wash, so we can cuddle up and watch The Holiday.”

“Ok, bring blankets,” You give him another quick peck before turning back to the bathroom with your newly acquired wardrobe.

Once clothed you pad out in Jimin’s thick socks and collect as many of the pillows from his now stripped bed that your arms will hold, and waddle towards his living room.

Jimin is clothed in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweats when you arrive, his hair drying in haphazard waves as he pours champagne into two flutes.

A massive pile of white comforters awaits you. Spread out across his plush, deep-cushioned couch. He retrieves some of the pillows from your strained arms and the two of you pile into the makeshift bed with soft laughter.

All the lights have been extinguished, the curtains open just a smidge and Jack Black’s quick fingers working across the keyboard on the television. Only the soreness between your legs sets this night apart from your usual hangouts with Jimin.

Once you’re settled against each other, Jimin leans forward to pluck the glasses from the table.

His warm eyes meet yours in the dim light as you clink glasses, “to the New Year.”

“Geonbae,” you whisper as the two of you take heavy swigs, Jimin already reaching for the bottle to refill your flutes.

The two of you drift into a gossamer cloud of champagne bubbles, the early 2000s romantic comedy, and fluffy blankets backed by the sound of the washer filling. With every sip of the sweet ambrosia Jimin’s stolen kisses increase in carnality as the two of you drain the bottle.

Your name is spoken like an incantation against your lips between each press of his until he’s nuzzled into the hollow of your throat.

Jimin's breathing levels out to a steady rise and fall and you wonder how someone so angelic looking could be the most careless heartbreaker you know.

Distantly, like a faint echo in the deepest recesses of your brain, you wonder if you were going to let him break your heart too.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[caroldantops]

running home to your sweet nothings || c.d. x reader

ship: carol danvers x little!reader (mentions of platonic monica x reader and wandanat x reader; wandanat x little!kate)

warnings: little bit of smut and a lot of age play (18+ only), daddy carol and princess reader, ddlg, lots of age play things including one little mention of diapers and bathroom control, mostly fluff!

carol actually found out through wanda that you were a little; wanda has a second sense for that sort of thing (and, well, mind reading) and noted to your girlfriend that you wanted to ask her about it, but were too scared of potential rejection

carol's heart ached at the thought of you being so anxious about her rejecting you. you were her whole universe, her precious little star - and that's saying something, considering she frequently traveled through the galaxies

age play wasn't something carol had given much thought to, but with some guidance from wanda, she delved into the world and became more and more eager for you to show this side of yourself to you

after all, you did already frequently call her daddy

but she decided to wait until she thought you were ready to bring it up. she didn't want you to think that she had gone snooping for the information.

but...she couldn't help trying to push you a little. she started buying you cute stuffed animals that you would eye whenever you went shopping. she ordered for you at restaurants. she even started cutting up your food at home when you would make dinner.

you started getting suspicious, but extra attention from carol never hurt, so you let your guard down, letting carol start setting out outfits for you and offering to give you baths after work.

it finally happened after a truly disasterous day. nothing went right, everyone was bothering you, the world was so overstimulating that you could feel an insane pressure beating through your chest like you were bound to explode any second.

when you got home and sulked through the door, carol was still out picking up your dinner for the night, so you grabbed as many blankets and pillows as you could and bundled up on the couch

carol heard your sniffling from the couch and almost spilled takeout boxes all over your counter to run over to you, pulling you to her chest and asking what happened

nothing you say is coherent, and safe in her arms you finally break down, sniffling and sobbing into her shirt. she starts gently rocking you back and forth while she whispers sweet nothings to you.

suddenly, somethings being pressed to your lips, and you instinctively open your mouth to take it. you suckle and look up at carol with furrowed brows as you realize that carol's pulled a pacifier out of nowhere.

"i...wanda told me that she was pretty sure that you were interested in being my little," carol admits finally, trying to hide her elation that you haven't rejected the paci at all. "i didn't want to push you until you were ready. but i think you needed daddy today."

you give a shuddered sigh, nodding and nuzzling deeper into her body, fully content to stay there forever.

"we can talk about it more tomorrow. just let me take care of you for now, okay?"

after long discussions about what you both wanted from this new dynamic, you fell into comfortable routine.

carol spent an exhorbent amount of money getting you tons of new things. you kept telling her that you didn't need a whole dresser full of new clothes, but carol insisted "these onesies are just so cute on you! plus more means we have to do laundry less."

sippy cups, toys, blankets, diapers... carol and you had both been holding back for long enough so you went crazy picking things out.

carol loves to carry you everywhere. when you're in public, she settles for holding your hand tight wherever you go, but around her friends and home, you rarely walk anymore, you're either crawling or being carried.

all of this brings out your bratty side a little more, too. the nickname princess is incredibly fitting, since carol spoiled you rotten at first, now you give her a big pout whenever she doesn't give in.

which ends with you bend over her lap with your ass bruised before carol ruins you, pounding into you while you clutch your precious orange cat plushie that she got you because it looked like Goose.

carol discovers through this that she really likes controlling when you go to the bathroom, as well

when carol has to leave to do some hero business, she either lets monica stay over and watch you, or lets you stay with auntie wanda and natasha (and their little, kate because i cant resist)

all three of whom spoil you even more, and carol comes back to a very happy princess who's gotten a tummy full of homemade treats and at minimum three new toys.

carol always brings you home something cool from another planet, and you two barely leave the bedroom for a good week after that.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

lineup that I hopefully should publish (I have been busy with job hunting and personal affairs):

update on gabiyui modern au

update on my oikawa x oc fanfic (set on timeskip)

kanato x maya dating headcanons

next chap of diabolik lovers x game of thrones series

[violetsaffron5]

Dirty Little Secret (2)

Taglist • Ao3 • Social Media • Discord 18+ • Masterlists • ← Chapter 1

↳ 2 | Confessions

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Both you and Satoru have been keeping secrets.

words: 7.1k

cw: restraints, edging, vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding kink, degradation, dacryphilia, cum play, praise kink, pregnancy sex

an: thank you to everyone who has read this little two-shot, especially those who have liked, reblogged and left comments. Those seriously keep me going. I'm not always able to reply to them, but I do read all of them and love them, so thank you!

The boutique store bell dings loudly as you run your hand through several silk dresses looking for a new one to wear when you see Satoru again.

You sigh as you walk around the store, listening to the quiet, barely audible music playing on the overhead speakers. You stop to look at a simple black dress with a cinched waist, visualizing the way it would accentuate your curves before grabbing it off the rack to try on.

Satoru hasn’t been around the last few weeks after his wife showed up at the hotel looking for him because he had missed their therapy appointment.

Every time someone would come to the club with a similar shade of hair, wearing sunglasses or you’d hear a boisterous laugh from across the building, your hopes would instantly rise - that it would be Satoru back to watch you dance and whisk you away for the night.

It hasn’t happened. You’d gone home disappointed every night you’ve worked.

“Excuse me,” a soft, tender voice rings through the air at the front of the store, “can you tell me where you keep your…”

The voice sounds familiar like you’ve heard it before, in a different tone, but you’re unable to place it until you round the corner of the aisle you’re in and spot her.

She looks the same as the last time you saw her, a spitting image from your nightmares manifested in real life to torture you for the sins you’ve committed with her husband.

The picture of perfection: long raven hair in loose curls, high-waisted gray pencil skirt, white top, and cropped jacket. She has black heels on which make her slender legs look even more elegant and long, accentuating her height as she talks to the store attendant.

You’re frozen in place, just staring as your heart beats so frantically in your chest that you feel like it could jump out and explode onto the tile of this tiny boutique.

And then the overhead bell dings again, almost silently due to ringing in your ears and thoughts racing through your mind until you see a head of unmistakable white hair walking towards the woman.

Get out.

That’s the only thing you can think as you take a few short, shallow breaths and look at the garment in your hands with a furrowed brow.

It’s so pretty, and you were going to purchase it but now you just need to put it back and leave as quickly as possible.

As you try to calmly walk down the aisle on wobbly legs, back to where you grabbed the dress you find yourself wishing you had superhuman abilities. Preferably one where you could turn invisible or even warp away and end up anywhere in the world, just so you don’t have to be in this situation right now.

“Shit! I’m so, so sorry,” you frantically yelp when you turn the corner, ready to shove the dress onto any rack and sprint out of the store because you’ve just run into Satoru’s wife.

And not only that, you made her spill her coffee all over her well-pressed, tailored outfit.

Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as you place a hand over your stomach, taking a deep breath, silently talking yourself into not vomiting on her as well.

You’re expecting the worst. Who wouldn’t?

Either she’s going to recognize you from the hotel or Satoru has been working on their marriage, going to counseling like she wanted and that’s why you haven’t seen him in almost a month.

She’s going to know who you are, splash the remnants of her coffee all over you in retaliation, or worse.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she places a gentle hand on your upper arm and gives a sincere smile before shifting into a look of concern, “Sweetie, are you okay? You look a little sick.”

There’s a horrible feeling at the pit of your stomach when Satoru walks up from behind his wife, placing his hand on the small of her back lovingly.

His eyes are unimpeded by his glasses, shining brighter and more crystalline than the prettiest of oceans. They sparkle as he looks down at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like it’s some divine justice to find you here talking with his wife.

“Satoru, honey, can you be a dear and pay for her dress? I don’t want to cause her any more trouble.”

“You got it.” He retorts cooly before leaning down to place a peck on her lip causing the butterflies in your stomach to scratch and claw. 

You could have handled her being a bitch. Being called every name under the sun if she knew who you were, which she clearly doesn’t. But being nice, and sweet is so much worse.

She doesn’t deserve what you’ve been doing behind her back.

“No, that’s okay,” you manage to croak out finally, “I was going to put it up anyway.”

“Nonsense.” Satoru cuts in, “I bet this will look great on you. Besides, it looks like you’re having a strange day.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Yeah, you could say that.”

His wife cocks her head to the side smiling before turning, leading the way to the register upfront, before curiously stating, “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

You begin to answer, an automatic response whenever anyone says they recognize you, “Oh, I dance at-”

“The dance studio.” Satoru interrupts, “She’s a dance instructor.”

“Uhm. Yup. Some would say that.”

She furrows her brows, looking between the two of you before Satoru speaks again, “Don’t you remember? She was one of the instructors for the kids.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” his wife says with a heavy sigh, and a soft laugh, “I didn’t recognize you out and about.”

“No! No, that’s alright,” you smile weakly, confused, “it’s been… a few years since I’ve worked with them, I guess.”

You make uncomfortable small talk with Satoru’s wife, shifting on your feet, trying to quell your stomach while Satoru talks to the man behind the counter, seemingly about anything under the sun, just to take as much time as he can.

It feels like an eternity has passed when the shop attendant finally hands Satoru the bag your dress has been placed in, along with a receipt before he then turns on his heels, handing it to you, letting the tips of your fingers graze over one another in the process.

“Um, thank you. I’ll… see you around?”

It’s a question for Satoru and you know he’s aware, watching the way you bite your bottom lip waiting for his reply as his wife offers a kind, “of course,” before patting Satoru’s arm and walking away.

“Perhaps,” is all he says in response to you, looking you up and down before turning around to follow his wife.

The club is loud tonight, with more bass-heavy music playing than you would typically choose to have during your sets. The lights are the same; dark around the bar and club with colored spotlights on the stage for the performances.

You haven’t danced in over a month. Feeling sick on an almost nightly basis has caused you to move from centerstage off to the side. Now, rather than taking your clothes off, you’re pouring shots and mixed drinks for tips instead.

Satoru hasn’t been in.

In fact, you haven’t seen him since the day he bought the dress you’re currently wearing.

Whenever you’re missing him more than you care to admit, you find yourself wearing this dress or — if you’re not working — the black Versace sweatshirt you stole from him. The sweatshirt is your favorite token of the times you shared.

Because it’s comfortable and oversized and you look in it while you lazily lie on the couch eating too many snacks. Not that your growing belly seems to mind.

“Oh, my god. Sukuna’s here!” Uraume squeals next to you, causing Manami to poke her head in from the back, immediately searching for Suguru. You turn your back to the bar leaning against it.

No point in looking out in the club for Satoru. You know he’s not here. He never is anymore.

Even though Satoru hasn’t come in, his friends have. And you watch as they throw their money down the drain in bottles and bottles of alcohol, whisking away one or several of the dancers, bartenders, or patrons.

And on those nights you can’t help but wish you were still able to spend time with them. But they don’t pay you any mind, and you don’t ask about Satoru. It’s like you’ve never spent time with them outside of the club.

And that level of rejection stings.

“Uraume, I heard Sukuna say he wants to spend some time with you,” you mention offhandedly, folding your arms across your chest, tilting your head in their direction, and flashing your eyebrows.

They waste no time in grabbing a few of the finest bottles the club has to offer before scurrying off in his direction. You snicker to yourself before Manami pouts, telling you how to mean you are while nodding your head toward a customer that’s just sat at the bar.

You’re met with clear blue eyes when you turn around. Eyes you’ve missed, eyes that have always looked like they can see into your soul and wants to devour you whole if you let them, “Who the fuck was that?”

“Uhm, they’ve seen Sukuna around and have a little bit of a crush- why are you here?”

You’re nervous and fidgety and the glass you’ve picked up to pour a drink feels as if it will fall out of your hands at any moment due to your sweaty palms.

And now, more than ever, you wish you could pour yourself a shot. Or rather drink straight from the bottle and pretend Satoru isn’t sitting in front of you.

Your cheeks heat at the sight of him. He’s always looked good, even more so tonight with his black button-down and black slacks, no shades hiding his gorgeous azure orbs from the world, and white hair strategically messy, hanging over his forehead.

Your heart aches, wanting to reach out and touch Satoru’s hand. To sit in his lap and kiss his lips, to taste the spearmint on his tongue that you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself that you don’t miss.

The good and the bad. You’ve been through both with Satoru.

Now, the unexpected.

“Hear you’re pregnant.”

His voice is clipped with annoyance, eyes wandering your frame as you turn away from him to grab a few bottles. He doesn’t have to order anything, you know what he wants anyway.

“That’s none of your business after you fucking ghosted me.”

“Wanna know how I heard?” He muses, picking up the glass you slide across the bar in his direction before taking a sip, watching you over the rim.

“I don’t care.”

“I got a very interesting phone call this morning that someone leaked it to the press for a lot of money,” he continues anyway and your face could melt from the hole he’s burning in the center of your fucking eyes right now, “you told someone about us.”

You stare back, heart racing, but you don’t have any words to defend yourself. Everyone at the club has been made aware of your… circumstances, and why you switched from dancing to bartending.

But only one person was able to piece it together with a devilish grin, promising to keep your secret. 

Your manager, Mei. 

She watched, day in and day out as Satoru would come in, pay mass amounts of money for your company and take you away with him when he left.

If anyone else had been paying as much attention as her, they would have been able to figure it out too.

“Breaking your NDA,” he continues, swirling the liquid in his cup before taking another swig, “not a smart move. You know, I can sue your ass into the ground for defamation, take everything from you. You and your kid won’t have a home, let alone a leg to stand on. You’ll have to continue being a whore to make ends meet.”

You stare at him, tears threatening to escape the corner of your eye as he stares back, unwavering, emotionless. Your blood is boiling. Pissed that he would come in, in front of everyone, and talk to you this way.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He always has been, but never to you, not like this. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“Seems like you weren’t going to bother telling me at all.”

“Did you expect me to just call you up? Say ‘Hey, by the way, I know we’ve been fucking for the last year but now I’m pregnant, surprise!’ while you’re standing next to your wife?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Satoru seethes through clenched teeth as another patron comes to the bar, raising an eyebrow at your obviously shaken demeanor.

You grab the towel on the counter, wiping a few spots where alcohol had splashed while making Satoru’s drink, hands shaking as you choke back a sob, refusing to look at Satoru or the other guests.

“Can I get a-”

“I can’t do this right now,” you interject, shoving the towel in Manami’s hands as she comes up from the back, “I’m going on break.”

You stand, outside, against the brick wall of the club in a dirty ally taking several deep breaths, head tilted back, eyes closed, as you focus on your breathing.

The pregnancy was a shock. You and Satoru had only been together one time, unprotected, and fate decided to play the cruelest of jokes on you.

You cried when you found out. Debated on calling Satoru, unsure of what to do. You’re still not entirely sure what you want to do.

You’re still in the first trimester, so you have plenty of options, though none of them seem all that appealing.

Kids were something you always saw yourself with. Way, way, in the future.

And not from this sort of situation. You had always hoped to be more settled, calmed down, and less wild than you are now, having wanted to live your life to the absolute fullest before bringing life into the world.

But sometimes life has other plans. And now all you can do is move forward and figure out your next move.

The door from the back entrance creeks open, and you know who it is without having to turn your head or open your eyes.

There is one thought that’s been in the back of your mind, should you ever see Satoru again, should he ever find out;

“You don’t have to stay, you don’t have to be involved in any way.” Your voice is quiet, dejected, “I’ll deny the claims to the press,” You open your eyes, watching him from the corner, “I’m not even sure if I want to keep it.”

He nods his head slowly, hands in his pocket, expression almost sad at your announcement, “Maybe we should talk this through before either of us makes any rash decisions.”

The car ride is quiet, and tense, as Satoru takes you to an apartment complex near Shibuya.

It’s not uncommon for him to take you to places you don’t recognize, but you’re more nervous tonight than any other, unsure of what’s going to happen.

You’ve never seen him this mad before.

He doesn’t bother opening the door for you, opting instead to quickly get out of his luxurious car and begin walking to the lobby from the underground parking garage you’re in, expecting you to follow suit.

And you do, diligently, quietly.

Your heels click on the marble flooring, echoing through the silent lobby as you watch Satoru nod his head toward the concierge before stopping at the elevator.

Satoru swipes a card before pressing a button for the penthouse. The ride to the top is the same as the ride here; tense, terse, and the air is thick with anger and words left unsaid.

The elevator opens at a small lobby, with one door directly in front of it where Satoru swipes his card again before opening it. Expecting you to follow him inside.

And once you’re there, your back is immediately pressed against the door, Satoru’s lips on yours in a wild, frenzied, yet passionate kiss.

The kind of kiss where your teeth scrape together, where you wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his soft tresses as he kisses down your neck before licking a strip up from your chest to cheek.

“Satoru…” it’s not a complaint, even if you meant it to be one.

Having him here and now, in your arms once again, something you didn’t think was going to happen is more than you could have asked for.

Satoru presses his body weight against you, pushing you harder into the door before lifting you by your thighs, and carrying you out of the foyer.

After a few turns, you’re laid gently on a soft surface, Satoru climbing over you as your tongues continue to meld together, until he eventually pulls away, thumb tracing the outline of your now kiss-swollen lips.

“Stay here.” He demands, before getting off the bed and walking to a door on the other side of the room you’re in.

It’s an overly large bedroom with two nightstands on either side of the oversized bed, a dresser across with a mirror to the side of the bed, and modern paintings akin to something an interior decorator would select.

But it’s also filled with objects you recognize. A stand filled with the little black sunglasses he likes to wear at night, a hamper next to the dresser, overflowing with soft black tee shirts he likes to wear under his button-ups.

“Move to the top of the bed.” You're startled from looking around when Satoru emerges, but do as he’s said, resting your head against the softest pillows you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying on. Like little clouds brought down from the highest points in the sky, just for you.

He sheds his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper you saw earlier, before undoing his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clatter before crawling onto the bed, eclipsing your body with a nefarious smirk.

Satoru presses his lips against yours in a slow, sensual kiss, like you’ve never experienced from him before. Your lips move in tandem, tongues tangling together as you relax, melting into the way his large hands slide down the length of yours while straddling your hips.

He smirks when you let out a breathy sigh before raising both your arms above your head, crossing your wrists, and using a soft white fabric to tie them to the bedframe.

You watch with big doe eyes as he tests the knots he’s created, making sure they’re not going to break loose before looking at you with softer eyes than you’ve seen all night, maybe ever. Satoru studies your face, eyes flickering across your features before his gaze shifts down.

“Pretty dress,” he pulls on the shoulder strap letting it snap against your skin when he lets go, “is this the one you were buying when you spilled coffee on my wife?”

Your brows furrow, realizing just how helpless you are in this position before swallowing thickly, answering quietly, “Y-Yes.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, fingertips gliding over the skin of your chest causing goosebumps to form before grabbing the thin silk fabric at your breasts-

“What-”

He rips the fabric open, exposing your bare chest.

“A- ”

Another tug and the fabric rips down to your navel.

“Shame.”

Your chest is heaving, tits rising and falling in anticipation, wondering what he’s going to do next.

You’d be upset that he just ripped an incredibly expensive dress if there wasn’t a fire burning in your core, desire running rampant, waiting for him to touch you in all the ways you’ve been dying for the last few months.

Satoru leans over you, pulling out a silk black fabric from his pocket, gently sliding it over your head to cover your eyes. It’s so dark you can’t see a thing out of it and it fits so snugly there are no cracks to make out any light.

You turn your head a few times, trying to find an angle that lets you see something but it’s useless. 

Satoru sighs, content while sucking a few small marks on your neck before nipping and licking his way to your breast, slipping a nipple in his mouth while palming the other.

Your back arches off the bed, wrists tugging on the smooth fabric tied around your wrists as he pinches and tweaks each nipple with his thumb and forefinger, gently tugging on the other with his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, thrusting your hips up to try and meet his, to find stimulation while he’s rolling his fingers and tongue over your hardened buds.

He chuckles, watching how you shamelessly squirm beneath him in pleasure, cock straining in his slacks from the sight.

Satoru loves seeing you like this. All needy and helpless, waiting for you to inevitably beg him to fuck you. And he will. But not yet.

You don’t deserve it yet.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips when he lets go of your breast with a pop, squeezing the other before letting his hands roam to your waist and hips, leaving a trail of soft, teasing kisses in his wake, dipping his tongue in your belly button.

You lift your hips when he moves the fabric upwards, making it easier to allow the dress to pool at your waist, exposing the unreal wet spot that has formed at the center of your panties, soaking them.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs more to himself than you, palming his hard cock through his briefs at the sight before massaging the plush skin of your thighs, lowering himself between them.

“Fuck, Satoru!” You cry out when he gives an experimental lick up the center of your panties, leaving a too-soft, too-gentle kiss right on your neglected clit before moving to kiss and lick your thighs.

You want nothing more than to have at least one of your hands free to thread through his soft white hair, keeping him at your center to extinguish the flames that are swallowing you whole right now.

You attempt to close your legs around his head in sheer neediness, but Satoru pushes your thighs apart.

“Keep your legs open.” He commands, forcing a loud whine to leave your lips.

“Satoru, please, I need you.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, snapping the band of your panties to expose your glistening pussy to him. He licks his lips at the sight, running two thick fingers through your slippery folds.

“Oh god,” you moan out, much to his amusement, rutting your hips in a poor attempt at keeping the slightest amount of stimulation he just gave.

“Need me here, baby?” He asks condescendingly, watching you through his long, thick snowy lashes as you gasp, feeling his tongue run up your center, “fuck, you taste so good.”

“Please-pleasepleaseplease,” you’re begging while he teases, letting his tongue explore every part of your newfound sensitivity.

And then he just stops.

You try your best to look around, unable to see anything still but you can feel the smirk that’s spread across his face right now against you.

“Satoru,” you’re whiney, needy and you want to keep rutting your hips to fuck yourself on his tongue but he’s moved his hands to your hips, halting any movement. “Satoru, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps your legs spread wide open and hands cemented on your hips to keep you from moving.

“Satoru… please, please fuck me, baby, please.”

Normally that would work, begging for him to make you cum, but not tonight.

Satoru laughs into you, the vibrations from his voice shooting to the tips of your fingers to your toes, causing them to curl.

He’s teased you before, but tonight is different, more cruel. He’s still pissed and he’s making it known with the way he won’t let you have any stimulation.

“Please… I need you,” you pant out in desperation, voice so deliriously needy you don’t have any time to be embarrassed about how badly you want him, need him right now.

He perks at the trembling of your voice, watching as you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and he laughs. Hot breath fanning your core before he enthusiastically licks along your folds, letting go of your hips to sink two fingers into your cunt, easily finding your sweet spot.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he focuses on rapidly flicking his tongue across your clit until you’re moaning all staccato and pretty for him, pulling on the restraints hard as you shatter onto his hand when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

He works you through your release, watching you shiver and tremble, walls fluttering so delicately around his fingers. He’s losing his patience, losing his will to keep himself from you any longer.

When you come down from your high, head lolled to the side, Satoru pulls the blindfold off to reveal a devious glint in his eye.

“Is it mine?” He asks suddenly.

“I-What?”

“The baby. Is it mine?”

It’s something that’s been nagging at him since he found out you were pregnant.

Sure, when he asked last time you were together, you told him you weren’t seeing anyone outside of him, and that made him happier than it should have at the time.

Now he needs to know if everything he’s done over the last few months has been worth it. That his absence from you has been worth it.

“Yes-yes, it’s only been you, baby. Only you.” The corners of your eyes are wet, tears having escaped with nowhere to go with the blindfold on, “the baby’s yours.”

Satoru’s cock twitches and jumps at your confirmation, unable to keep himself from you any longer, so he leans down and licks up your cheek to the corner of your eye before pressing a tender kiss to your lid.

“Satoru, can I-” you tug on the silky white ropes still binding you to the headboard, “I need to touch you.”

As soon as Satoru unties the knots, your hands are cupping his face as you hastily kiss him, letting your hands linger on his broad shoulders, down to his chest and hard abdominals.

When he pulls away, you latch yourself to him, sitting up as he sits back on the balls of his feet, never breaking the kiss. Your hands easily find the waistband to his briefs, sliding them down to free his hard length.

He groans in relief as soon as you grab his cock, tip red and sticky with precum as you use your thumb to spread it down his length, pumping several times as helps you out of the tattered remains of your dress. 

Satoru grabs your hips, tugging towards the middle of the bed so he can line his cock with your entrance, running the tip through your soaked folds several times before rubbing his sensitive tip in small circles on your clit.

He’d tease you until the end of time and space just to watch the way you writhe under his touch in desperate desire and anticipation.

But he’s not that patient today, not after not being able to have you for so long.

“Fuck-holy fucking shit-” he groans, throwing his head back as he presses his cock into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “you’re good, so, so good to me, baby.”

Your back is arched off the bed as he fully seats himself inside you, running his hands along your breasts and waist, stopping at your stomach, staring almost longingly.

Satoru helps adjust your legs over each shoulder, locking your ankles behind his head as he immediately starts pumping into you at an unrelenting pace.

You feel nothing but Satoru as he leans down, pressing your knees to either side of your head, kissing you feverishly as he sucks small bruises onto the smooth columns of your throat, at that spot just under your ear that always makes you sigh.

“Right there, keep going,” You beg as your walls tighten around his cock like a noose, soft walls sucking him in, begging him to stay.

He would. He’d live inside you for all eternity if you’d let him.

Satoru brings his hand to the base of your neck, squeezing slightly, “I fucking love you. I really fucking do.”

Your brows furrow, gasping out a surprised moan, watching him with upturned brows at his confession, one you had convinced yourself wasn’t real, one that was due to drugs and sex.

“Tell me you love me.”

“Satoru, I-I,” You’re stammering, trying to find the words.

This isn’t something you’ve ever planned on saying, a feeling you’ve been trying to keep buried in the darkest pits of your heart, trapped away in a tiny box that you’d throw into the ocean and never see again if you could.

This is too much, he’s too much, but you can’t keep running from the feelings you’ve been suppressing for so long.

“I do, baby -oh, my god- I love you,” Your hands are tugging him closer so your lips meet fervently as his hips continue to wildly piston into you.

It’s angelic to him, the sound of your voice, your confession. Everything you do, so opposite of him but allowing him to corrupt you in unimaginable ways, sinfully so.

“Say my name, tell everyone.” He growls into your ear, slamming his hips into yours impossibly harder.

“Satoru, S’toru, S’toru” you chant deliriously, over and over again as he thrusts his hips until your orgasm rips through you like a tsunami, a tidal wave of pleasure washing over you.

He makes you cum so many times it’s impossible to keep track, and he’s lost count too, but he knows he’s not going to be able to last much longer.

“Cum again, baby,” he tangles his hand into your hair, grabbing at the roots and forcing you to look up at him, “you can do it, you’re such a good girl, so pretty - cum on my cock.”

There’s not much you can do but listen, walls spasming, legs shaking, back arching off the bed until your soft breasts meet his chest. He kisses you again, spitting into your mouth, moaning against him as his tongue plays with yours.

He thrusts for a few moments that feel like an eternity, gripping your hair so hard you’re convinced he might rip it out until he cums so hard he’s positive he would have gotten you pregnant if you already weren't.

Satoru watches your chest heave, tits rising and falling so beautifully with each breath you take before he sucks in a breath, nuzzling into your neck and pulling out with a wince.

He’s shameless, so he watches the way his seed spills out of you, drips down your ass, and onto the sheets of his bed.

He chuckles when you shutter, pulling your hips away from him due to over-sensitivity when he runs his fingers through your folds, dipping two inside you to coat them in his release before shoving them to the back of your throat, making you gag.

“Good girl,” he whispers while you roll your tongue over his digits the best you can, sucking on them as he pulls them out of your mouth with a soft pop.

You lay your head back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and a goofy grin on your face. He lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss you, letting his tongue explore every crevice, tasting himself on your tongue while helping you roll to your side as he slides in behind you.

“Look at you,” Satoru whispers, blue gaze looking at the way your bodies lay together in the mirror across the bed, fingers nibbly tracing your belly, drawing several small infinity symbols, lost in thought, “Gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment while you stare back at him, watching the way he nuzzles into your hair, and kisses your neck and shoulder gently.

“I want you to keep it. I want to see you glowing,” he mutters quietly, “so big and round, full of me.”

You take a deep breath, looking away from the mirror before letting out a low, self-deprecating laugh because this isn’t a good thing, is it? You’re newly pregnant with a married man’s child.

There’s no way this is going to end well.

“Where are you going?” Satoru asks, confused when you pull away from his grasp, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“To pee. The last thing I need right now is a UTI.”

He hums, rolling over onto his back pointing in the direction of the attached bathroom, shamelessly watching the way your hips sway before you close the door.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, looking over your features.

Nothing looks different. You still look like the same person you were three months ago, albeit a little more tired.

You’ll have to find a new norm. With Satoru… his wife and two other children. All of them will thoroughly hate you when they find out.

Which is absolutely inevitable judging by how excited Satoru seems to be.

The only mild saving grace is they’ll probably hate him as well. But you don’t want that. Not really.

Tears prick in the corner of your eyes. Not those of love or pleasure but of confusion.

Confusion about the direction your life is heading and what you’re supposed to do now. Satoru is married, with a family of his own. He doesn’t owe you anything. After all, he was just a client you let yourself get carried away with.

Will you be a single mother? Will his other children hate you and your child? Will they want to be involved in their life growing up, will you even want them to be?

These are a few of the questions that race through your mind, but there are so many more, and none to be answered tonight.

You wipe your face with your hands, turning away from the mirror as several tears stream down your cheek. These hormones are going to be a real pain in the ass, you can already tell.

After using the restroom, you splash cool water on your face, trying your best to hide the evidence of the tears that escaped.

Satoru’s quiet when you re-emerge, eyes flickering between yours as he hands you a velvety, white robe to cover yourself in. It’s oversized, likely his, but rather than using it he opts to stay shirtless with baggy grey sweats.

He gives you space, noticing the red rings around your eyes, letting you look around his apartment at your leisure. You don’t go far, not wanting to overstay your welcome, especially since you just fucked your late-night lover on his marital bed.

The thought makes your stomach churn.

Walking down the hall from his bedroom to his living room, you take your time looking at the few personal photos that hang on the wall. All of his children.

His son is clearly the oldest, with dark black hair, a spitting image of his mother while his younger daughter looks like she could be Satoru’s twin with matching snow-driven hair. They both were lucky enough to inherit his crystalline eyes.

They’ll both grow up to be little charmers, just like their father.

You notice two things as you make your way from the hall to the living room, continuing to look around your surroundings.

One, all of the decor and furniture, looks like it belongs in a catalog. It’s modern but doesn’t give a homey feel. Like it’s been primarily unused.

And second, in every photo you’ve found, his wife isn’t present in any of them.

“Satoru. Where are we?”

It’s obviously his penthouse, but it looks like it hasn’t been lived in, ever. An open concept with the kitchen and living room divided by a small half wall, the kitchen is filled with the newest appliances one could ever hope and dream of having.

One of the walls in the living room is all floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the most gorgeous view of Shibuya you’ve ever seen, the city lights bright, still roaring to life in the dead of night.

You watch as Satoru walks to the living room with a glass of water, setting it on the glass coffee table before sitting on the sofa.

“I’ve separated from my wife.”

“What? Why?” You turn to him, wide-eyed and confused, heart in your throat at the news, too much excitement coursing through your veins, where it doesn’t belong.

“We just… grew apart. We married young and had kids right away. Over the years, we realized we wanted different things.”

You nod slowly, turning to look at him through the corner of your eye, “I thought you were in counseling. I heard… at the hotel, last time we were together.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, sitting back on the couch, long legs spread in front of him, “we tried for a while, but we’re too different now, want different things.”

It’s quiet for a few moments while you turn your attention back out the window, viewing the Shibuya skyline. There’s some shuffling behind you before Satoru wraps his arms around your stomach, pulling you into him.

“I want to be with you.” A chill runs down your spine at his quiet admission, your eyes flickering up to meet his through the reflection of the mirror.

You place your hands gently over his, leaning into his touch, heart beating so loud you can hear it in your ears. 

“Why would you want to be with me? I don’t fit into your world.”

A few months ago you wanted nothing more than to believe he actually loved you when he said it that night. But now that he’s telling you he wants you, that he left his wife and wants to make this work, you’re not sure if you can.

“Besides, what’s the press going to say, the people who voted for you, once they find out about your infidelity, that you got a stripper pregnant and you left your wife for her? This… this is too much, Satoru.”

But that’s why he wants to be with you. Because you’re so different than what his life has become.

Lies, sneaking around, constantly having to save face for his family's sake and his wife’s wellbeing. At least when he’s with you he can truly be himself.

Wild and crazy, calm and relaxed. You’ve seen it all in your short time together, helping him escape the loneliness he’s always been riddled with.

Satoru didn’t mean to fall in love with you, and he’s not sure when it happened. It could have been the moment he first saw you on stage, the most beautiful woman he’s sure he’s ever laid eyes on, or it could have been when he realized you liked to spend time with him and not his money or things he can provide.

You’re the only person he’s been with within his marriage. He hated himself after your first night together, but being with you is so freeing, in ways he hasn’t known, having been tied down to his overbearing wife for years, that he couldn’t stop himself from coming back for more.

After a few months, he realized he hated the way other men would try to garner your attention, and knew they couldn’t treat you like he could. Couldn’t match your energy the way he can.

“I want you to quit stripping.”

“Uhm, no? I like what I do, why would I stop?”

He sighs, it’s heavy, frustrated. And honestly, he wasn’t expecting a fight since he can take care of you in ways you’ve never even considered before.

“The papers, journalists, people on the street. They’re all going to call you a myriad of names, tear you apart and rip into your past to bring you down. It’ll be easier if you quit while we’re ahead.”

Also because he hates the ways guys look at you in the club. Hates the thought of someone else being able to put their hands on you.

If you did it with him, what would stop you from letting another man come and whisk you away from him?

“I’m not going to quit my job because of the decisions you made, Satoru.”

He runs his hands over his face, groaning, “fine, fuck! Just… I can…” he stops to think, waving his hands in front of him a little, “I can change the conversation. Say I support you with your career.”

“So you’ll lie?”

“Not exactly. I’ll just flip some words around and make it work.”

His reputation is ruined, nobody is going to accept him and his wife separating. Not when he’s built his entire career around being a family man. He has to find a new way to work this, otherwise, his career will be ruined too.

“Is that what you do… twist words until you get your way?”

“That’s part of the job, babe.”

He comes back behind you, grabbing your hand, leading you through his living room, down the hall, and back to his bedroom, “we can worry about all of this later. Let’s just be together before shit hits the fan.”

Satoru lays you back on the bed, nestling himself between your thighs. You accept the slow deep strokes he gives, unlike any you’ve ever experienced from him before.

You stay like this until reds, purples, and blues flitter across the sky with the rising of the sun, until you’re both spent, falling asleep in each other's arms.

“Is this your wife’s?” Your staring at the dress Satoru is handing you, early in the morning with a disgruntled look on your face.

“I’m not that insane. I bought it for you.”

You squint your eyes, judging him for buying you clothes to keep here before having actually spoken to you about it. You begrudgingly snatch the dress from his clutches and put it on, opting not to cause a fuss over something as trivial as that.

It’s a little snug, a little smaller than you would have picked out for yourself, but you’re not really in a position to argue when you have nothing else to leave the apartment in.

Lest you go naked, but something tells you Satoru would rather have an aneurysm than let that happen.

He’s in a white button-down, black slacks and is putting on his watch as he stares at you through the mirror in his bedroom.

“Just so you know, there’s going to be journalists outside waiting on us.”

“O-oh, um… Why?”

He takes a deep breath, walking over to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

“News broke last night about you being pregnant and my separation.”

It’s the reason he went to you last night and picked you up from the club. He knew this was going to happen overnight and he wanted to save you from having to deal with it alone.

You nod and don’t ask any more questions as you go down the elevator to the front lobby of the apartment complex, squeezing Satoru’s hand as he puts on his dark square shades, offering you a pair to help cover your face a little.

You’re sick to your stomach, not sure if it will ever settle. This isn’t how you thought your life would turn out, the pregnant mistress of a well-known politician, but you have no choice now but to see it through to the end.

When the doorman opens the lobby door, lights flash, cameras shutter and there’s a loud buzzing from journalists asking questions you can’t make out filling the open space.

Satoru makes his way through the crowd, following someone in a black suit to a fancy black car out on the street, holding the door open so you can squeeze into the back seat.

Now, all you can hope is that the two of you can make it work, and he won’t leave you and your child for another woman, like he did his wife.

@petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @desthevirgo @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @musababy @sagejin @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @erenputurchildreninsideme @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui

[trizlette]

Coming back to this one fr 🙏

For A Good Time Call! || Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 14.6k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Phone Sex Hotline Operator!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (phone sex, m & f masturbation (including pillow humping & sex toys), f!receiving oral sex, p in v sex), language, idiots in love, mutual pining, porn WITH plot

Summary: In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away.

Steve Harrington wasn’t the kind of guy who did this. He repeated it in his head as he scribbled down the phone number— fed straight to him from a local late-night advertisement. For a good time call!

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. And he wasn’t exactly able to ignore the way his dick twitched in his boxers as the commercial showed pretty girls twirling phone lines around manicured fingers, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes sultry and staring right through him. 

Plus, he wasn’t actually going to call. He was just… keeping the number for his records. He’d just put it in his Rolodex and forget about it. 

A week later, and he decidedly hadn’t forgotten about it. In fact, with the house empty and playboys not cutting it, it’s all he could think about. 

For a good time call. He wanted to have a good time. It had been a while since he had a good time— his stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform wasn’t exactly bolstering his natural charm. Robin could say what she wanted, but he was charming and fun and everything people usually want in a boyfriend. He was just… going through a rough patch. 

He retrieved his Rolodex and hurriedly flipped through, trying to remember where he’d hidden the number. Definitely not around his boss. And not around Nancy either. Tucked between Tommy and a past hookup, he found it. 

He set up his pillows behind his back and got comfortable before dialing the number with uncharacteristically sweaty hands. He was cooler than this was all making him seem. He was the playboy of Hawkins High— of Hawkins in general. Phone sex was nothing. 

As he dialed the number, he prepared to turn on his charm. Instead, he was led to a generic call-center script, which, after being carefully followed based on his wants and desires, took him to billing. 

“It’s a flat rate of twenty for your first ten minutes. If you finish before then, it’s still twenty, alright?”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“After that, it’s fifty cents per minute. An hour session will run you about $55.” Oh. It certainly wasn’t cheap. He’d spent less on dates before. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” he said after a brief pause, his mind taking a while to catch up. “Do you need my credit card?”

By the time billing was over, his anticipation had tangled his stomach into knots. He glanced at the clock, wondering if those ten minutes would fly past him as fast as he thought they would. The line trilled as he waited to be connected to his partner for the night. Jenny. Like the song.

That song was gross, anyway. But how could he say anything about it now?

The ringing stopped, and he could hear the crackle of a quiet line on the other side, the rustle of movement. Did he need to say hi first? Was trying to start a conversation weird?

“Hi,” he said, and he wondered how he could make one word sound so utterly stupid. “Jenny, right?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. He could picture you so clearly, despite knowing nothing— one of those pretty girls in the commercials, laying on your belly on a frilly pink bed, fingernails and toenails painted a shiny red, twirling the phone cord around your finger. “What should I call you?”

He swallowed. “Do people usually give you fake names?”

“Sometimes,” you replied. “It’s not about what other people do, baby. It’s about what you want. Do you want me to call you by a fake name?”

He wrinkled his nose. What was the worst thing that could come from a stranger knowing his first name? “No, that sounds awful. No offense.” You laughed, and he felt himself relax. “I’m Steve H—“ He cleared his throat. “Just Steve.”

“Well, I’m glad that I get to talk to you tonight Steve,” you said, and just the sultry timbre of your voice made his stomach do flips. “I’m guessing this is your first time?”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not a virgin.”

“No, baby. I mean it seems like it’s your first time calling a hotline like this.” His face burned hot as he fumbled his way through answering, oh, yeah, I guess that’s right. “So, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Uh…” he paused, trying to think of a more polite way of saying to cum while a pretty girl talks to me. “I guess I’ve just been lonely.”

“Poor baby,” you said, and he was shocked that you didn’t have even a hint of amusement or mirth when you said it. “You want me to take care of you? Help you forget?”

His breath caught in his throat, stealing his response. His dick twitched, already half-hard and sensitive. All he could manage was a tiny whimper of, “Mhmm.”

“What do you usually think about when you’re touching yourself?” You asked, and the lack of shame in your voice made heat flare in his cheeks. He’d had some shameless hookups, but most of the girls he slept with didn’t like to talk about it. “Like, what’s your favorite fantasy, Steve?”

It was embarrassing. Mortifying, actually. It was basically the plot of a bad porno or a letter to Penthouse. 

Usually, it started by his pool. And a girl was there, wearing a cute, but ultimately tiny, bikini. The girl didn’t really matter. Well, she did, but it wasn’t about who she was. She could have been a Playmate of the Month, or a movie star, or a girl he was crushing on and wanted to ask out. All that mattered for the sake of the fantasy, was that she was pretty, had nice tits, and wanted him. 

“Does that make me awful?” He asked, pausing mid-description to gauge your perception of him. You laughed on the other end of the line. 

“God, Steve,” you said with thinly veiled amusement. “You think I give a personality and backstory to all of the people I fantasize about fucking?”

It made him feel a little better.

Anyways, there was something about summertime that just made sense to him. Skin all but steaming in the heat, the oiled up glow that came from sweaty skin. Wearing as few clothes as possible so you didn’t overheat. 

You gave a nervous laugh— breathy and sweet— on the other end of the line. “You’re really good at setting the scene, Steve.” He liked to be specific. He wanted to think about tiny details like the salty taste of skin or hair that smelled like chlorine and salt. “What’s next?”

She always started by laying on her stomach, the ties of her bikini undone so she didn’t get unsightly tan lines. She would peer at him over her shoulder with wide, innocent eyes while she asked if he could apply a bit more sunscreen on her back where she couldn’t reach. 

So he straddled her thighs, her skin burning up under his hands as he rubbed in the freezing cold sunscreen. Goosebumps would break out along her arms, and she’d have to arch away from the sensation, pushing her ass against him. 

“Are you hard already?” You asked, and his cheeks burned hot. 

“Like…” He glanced at his lap, where his cock was already straining against the fabric of his boxers. “In the fantasy or right now?”

“Is the answer the same for both?”

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Keep going.”

He was already impatient. Skipped right to the kissing and cut out the context and actions that led to it. Did it matter? The bikini top fell onto the ground, and she was on top of him, tits pressed into his sun-warmed chest, tongue licking into his mouth. 

God, he fucking loved kissing. He’d missed it so much since he’d graduated and his social clout had depleted to fuck all. There had been dates, and messy, slow makeouts in the back of his car since walking the stage, but not one since his first shift at Scoops Ahoy. It was killing him.

She felt so good in his lap— so warm and heavy. He could have stayed like that forever— trapped beneath a pretty girl with her tongue down his throat. But he wanted more— he always wanted more. 

He wanted more then. As he relayed his fantasy to this stranger in painstaking detail, he ached for more. His hand was flat on his tummy, and he shivered as he slipped it beneath the band of his boxers to take his cock into his hand. He groaned, the back of his head knocking against the wall.

“God, you’re cute,” your voice was so pretty. He throbbed in his grip, making him exhale a shuddering breath. “It’s okay, Steve. You can keep touching yourself while you talk to me. I want you to.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice broken by a tiny whimper. “I don’t have to.”

“I’m sure, baby,” you insisted. “What do you do next, hm? I’m on top of you, kissing you nice and slow, grinding my hips against yours because I just can’t help myself. Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

“I’d—“ He swallows hard, eyes shut tight. “I’d want to taste you.”

In the fantasy, his hands gripped the back of your thighs, moving you up his body so you were just above his mouth. He was suave and sexy. He’d pull the bow at your hip with his teeth so your swim bottoms fell off like they were nothing. 

And it would feel so comfortable beneath you— so natural for him. He’d just barely have to lean forward to have his mouth on you, already wet so he could taste you on his tongue. He’d moan at your taste— he fucking loved the way pussy tasted, even if he got shit for it in the locker room when he admitted it— and pull you down onto his mouth so he could get impossibly closer. 

It would be messy— a mix of spit and slick on his mouth and chin, making the tip of his nose shine. He’d spend as long as he wanted beneath you, pulling every noise he could from your lips, trapped between your thighs. He wouldn’t stop until you came— once at a minimum, more if he was feeling greedy.

“All this attention on little old me,” you teased. “Would you let me take care of you? I could slip off those swim trunks of yours and make you feel good.”

He had set a steady pace— hand gliding up and down his length as his fantasy continued to evolve. “Yeah,” he managed, but his voice came out strangled and desperate. “You’d put your hand down my shorts and tease me. Your hand would feel so good. Warm and soft. You’d, uh, tell me how big I am, how you wanted to feel me stretch your uh— your—.”

“My what, baby?” Your voice dripped with amusement and mirth. “My pussy?”

“Fuck.” It came out with an exhale, his heart hammering.

“You like it when girls say dirty things to you, Steve?” You asked, and he could hear your smirk. “You want me to beg for your cock so deep inside of me that I feel you in my stomach? Or tell you how warm and wet and tight I feel around my fingers?”

Steve groaned, throbbing in his grip as he worked himself faster. “Fuck, are you really?”

“Mhmm,” you replied. “Think about how good I’d feel when you finally let yourself fuck me. You were such a gentleman first, but you don’t have to be with me. I want to make this all about you.”

But he was a gentleman. Of course he wanted to get his dick wet and et cetera, but that wasn’t really why he liked sex. He liked making people feel good all because of him— hearing the pretty noises they made, watching their initial shyness melt away into unabashed desire. 

A lot of the time (most of the time), he felt like a huge fuck-up. Abysmal grades (well, more around average), not good enough for sports scholarships, basically every bit the son that his parents didn’t want to have. Who could really blame him for relishing in the times when he could be good and impressive to someone other than himself?

Whatever. If he thought about that train of thought for more than, like, ten seconds, he’d lose his hard-on and probably start crying into the receiver and spilling all of his life’s worst moments. He really couldn’t imagine anything more pathetic than that. 

So he thought about something else. 

He thought about how he’d lay you down on a beach towel, warmed in the sun, cradled by plush grass beneath it. He’d feel awkward about shucking off his swim trunks— he always hated undressing because it felt so awkward. But you’d look at him like he was the most attractive guy in the whole world. 

He was a sap, what could he say? He would hold your hand too, squeezing it with his as he lined up with your entrance. You’d be so wet that it felt slick and he’d feel proud just knowing he did that to you.

When he finally pushed into you, your eyes would be locked on his, warm with emotion, like the entire world just melted away. And how could he not kiss you? When everything felt so good and your legs were wrapped around his waist and each breath was punctuated by soft, desperate sounds? 

It would feel special. With your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. He just wants to be as close to you as possible— needs to feel every inch of your skin, sweaty and sun-warmed, against his. He’d just… bury himself deep inside of you and grind into you. It felt more intimate that way.

He could feel himself getting close. A furrow formed between his brows as he chased his high. Moans broke up his words as he brought himself closer and closer. 

“I’d— fuck— I’d rub your clit. Make you cum before I got there. It’d feel so— so fucking good too. It always feels so good. Oh god. Fuck, I’m close.”

“Go ahead, baby. I want to hear you.”

His entire body shuddered as he came, spilling messily onto his belly and chest. It felt like it lasted forever— that warm, perfect feeling of reaching his peak. He was panting as he came down, stroking himself until overstimulation made him whimper. 

“Fuck… maybe I should pay you for that,” you said after a beat. “Did it feel good, Steve?  Feel a little less lonely?”

“Mhmm,” he replied. He was spent— already feeling languid and heavy. “That was… Really perfect.”

“I’m glad.” You paused again,  and he spent that time trying to catch his breath. “I’m on every night around this time. Like, from around ten to two. I’d like to hear more of your fantasies, maybe even act one out with you, if you’d want that?”

His heart hammered, and he felt incredibly stupid as a blush crept up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll call you again soon.”

When you said your good nights, he laid back against his pillows. The dial tone played over the speakers as he stared up at his ceiling, spend cooling on his tummy. Leave it to King Steve to fall for someone he had to pay to talk to.

Your eyelids drooped as you manned the checkout counter at Waldenbooks, one of few stores at the mall that could actually be found vacant during a busy summer day. Last night had been a late one— it didn’t help that you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, your mystery caller. 

It felt stupid to get hung up on the type of guy who had to call a hotline to get his rocks off, especially when you knew precious little about him. You had his name, his general location, that he had a pool, and he had a nice voice. 

Your bangs lifted as you blew a puff of air out the side of your lips, slowly going insane to the sound of Muzak playing softly through the speakers. 

Steve… Did you know any Steve’s? Steve Crandall got into a motorcycle wreck the year after graduation and died. Then there was Steve Odell who moved off to California on some crazy tech idea he swore was going to change the world. Steven Ferris? He seemed like the type, but there was no way he owned a pool since you were pretty sure he lived in the basement of some old couple’s house. That wiped out your graduating class, at least. 

From your perspective on the second floor, you had a perfect view of the fine piece of ass working the ice cream parlor. He was cute— definitely younger than you by a couple of years— and the stupid costume they had him in surprisingly did it for you. You could watch him mop up spilled sorbet all day and it’d be jerk-off material for the next week. 

  He had nice biceps. And thighs. Fucking hell, the things you’d do to get between those and —

“New releases?” You snap your gaze to the other side of the counter, where a woman with pink lipstick on her teeth looks at you impatiently. 

You plastered on a winning smile and pointed a manicured finger to the other side of the store. “That big shelf on the left-hand wall over there,” you said with saccharine sweetness. “Anything else that I can help you with, ma’am?” 

She frowned and you fought a grin. There was nothing that women pushing forty hated more than being called ma’am. You might as well have been telling them they had a foot in the grave. 

The day passed by with minimal hiccups. You convinced someone to buy your favorite book, so that was a win. And you’d gotten to restock the fun pencils. You clocked out and shrugged off the vest you wore on top of your normal clothes and took your hair down from its ponytail to hang loose on your shoulders. Your perm was kind of killing you. It never sat just how you wanted, almost like it had a mind of its own. 

You made your way out of the mall with a brief glance towards Scoops Ahoy, which was notably missing the hot guy you’d been lusting after since your first day on the job. With a dejected sigh, you escaped the crowded, piercingly loud mall and stepped into the hot summer air. 

Most people (or, more accurately, children) were heading for the busses that would shuttle people back into the town square or their respective neighborhoods, but your car waited for you in the exclusive Employees Only lot in the shade. As you turned to head that way, you bumped straight into a tall, firm figure. 

Huh, you thought. He smells like hot fudge and maraschino cherries. I like those things.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you were headed for the bus like everyone else.”

You looked up, squinting against the sun, and felt heat flood your cheeks when you realized that it was the hot ice cream scooper. “Oh, it’s, uh—“ you stammered nervously. It was never as easy as the phone line. “I was too.” You wanted to hit yourself. What the hell were you even talking about?

His brows furrowed. “You were what?“

Fuck. “I… uh— don’t know,” you finally said, ready for the conversation to end forever. “I’ll see you around.” And you were gone. You almost missed him calling after you.

You will?

But you pretended you’d never heard it. 

——

Steve called at midnight, just as you brewed your second cup of coffee of the night. You took a quick sip as the call was directed your way, already feeling much more awake in anticipation of what lay ahead. 

“Hey, Steve,” you greeted, adjusting your voice to that casual, sexy cadence that you had perfected. “I was thinking about you all day today.”

Steve responded with a dismissive psh. “I’m going to pretend that’s true, because I was thinking of you too,” he said, and you could hear his grin. “I kept screwing up at work because I’d get distracted thinking about you.”

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “Baby, you’ll make me blush.” You paused, chewing on your lip briefly. “So… what’s in the cards for tonight, Steve? What do you want to do with me?”

He paused so long that you almost thought the call had dropped, but eventually he worked up the nerve to continue. “Well, you heard my fantasy last time. This time I want to hear yours.”

You snorted a laugh. “Steve, baby, that’s so incredibly sweet, but you could hate it, or think it’s boring, and then I’ll feel guilty for wasting your money.”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “C’mon, it’ll help us get to know each other better.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, your tummy already fluttering with thoughts of the hot sailor shelling out dollar ice cream cones with extra sprinkles on top. 

Fuck. 

“Alright, but if you hate it, you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll tell me to shut up and we’ll do something else.” He hummed in affirmation and you laid back against your pillows, sighing as you closed your eyes and fell into your newfound, perfect little fantasy. 

“So… when I’m not doing sexy phone calls, I work a menial job,” you begin. “And normally, I’d be, like, wearing an ugly polo or vest or something with our logo on it, but for the sake of sexiness, let’s say that I’m wearing a cute little dress and my hair looks, like, perfect.”

“What does your hair look like normally?” Steve asked, hung up on the one detail that was specifically for your sake. God, you wanted to burn your local salon to the ground. 

“Uh,” you paused, wondering if you should tell the truth. “So I told my hairstylist to go for Kelly LeBrock and she… you know… tried. It looks so cute sometimes, and then other times it has a total mind of its own.”

“Oh, Kelly LeBrock! She’s such a babe. I saw the trailer for that movie she’s gonna be in. Total fox. Great hair.”

You tried to fight a smile, but couldn’t. “Do you wanna talk hair routines, or do you want me to keep going?”

Steve paused like he was genuinely considering it. “We’ll come back to the hair. I could probably help you figure it out, you know. I’ve got great hair.”

You smirked. “Oh, yeah? Where?”

“Use your imagination.”

You grinned. Oh, I am.

You were stocking shelves, as usual— except this time you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Standing on your tiptoes, the hemline of your skirt inching up and up and up. And suddenly there was a presence behind you, reaching up to stock the shelf for you. He smelled really nice, felt warm pressed up against your back.

“Am I the handsome stranger in this scenario?”

You said yes, even though you were mostly thinking about your mystery sailor from the mall. God, even the stupid uniform did it for you. Maybe it was the short shorts.

In the fantasy, the two of you didn’t even talk— really, your fantasies were typically pretty straight to the point, unlike Steve’s. The plot and dialogue would get skipped, and then suddenly, your back was pressed against the ridges of the shelves and the handsome stranger was on his knees in front of you, kissing sloppily up your thighs. 

Usually, you’d have some sense of control— keep your hands above the belt. It was better for you that way. It gave you a sense of separation from what was real and what was happening on the phone. And, really, you never really had a particular need to touch yourself while you were handling the calls anyway. 

And yet… Your hand slipped past the elastic hand of your panties, between your thighs where you were already wet and needy from just your own imagination. You gasped into the phone, bucking your hips into your own touch. 

Steve made a choked sound, crackly through the phone’s speakers. He knew exactly what you were doing. 

“Getting all worked up thinking about it, huh?” He asked, and you could hear a slight rustling and movement as he got himself undressed. It was honestly puzzling that it took that long, or that he didn’t call already ready to go. “Sound so pretty.”

You weren’t even aware that you were making a significant amount of noise, but Steve had keyed into it easily, hanging onto every sigh and whimper. 

In your fantasy, his mouth was absolutely fucking sinful. He would moan against your cunt, nuzzling against your clit with his nose as he lapped up your slick. It was sloppy, and the sounds he made could have made the devil himself blush a burning red. His chin and mouth would drip with the combination of your juices and his spit— his fingernails leaving crescents in your thighs from where he held you tight. 

When he looked up at you from between your thighs, his gaze would be equal parts hungry and sweet. He wanted it to feel good for you because the more you get off, the better it felt for him too. When he felt you getting closer and closer, he moved his fingertip to your entrance, teasing you with featherlight grazes that gathered your essence. He pressed in, just to his first knuckle, and relished in the way you would clench around him at the smallest intrusion before he gave it to you entirely.

Despite the shitty quality of the phone, which was probably your fault, since you had owned it since at least ‘78, you could hear the slick sounds of him stroking himself to your words. And, for once, you relished in that noise across the line. 

You pushed a finger inside of yourself, then a second. Most guys you’d been with got that far then jammed them in and out at a wrist-killing speed until you faked it. Your thing was always just keeping them still, pressing against the sweet spot just barely a few inches inside. Paired with the dizzying pleasure of attention to your clit, the sensation was electric and all-consuming. 

It felt too good to stop, and yet you knew you needed to make it through your fantasy before you came and that precious euphoria rushed over you. Because after the euphoria came that strange sense of disgust, and you couldn’t really afford to spend the rest of the call grossed out by what you were doing. 

“Fuck, anyways,” you began, your breath coming in short pants. “He— you— would take off your shorts.” Stupid, tiny, tight shorts. “And, fuck, you’d already be so hard and needy. You just wanted me so bad. You would press me against the shelf and when you push into me it’d be so easy and slick and I’d feel so full.”

Your cunt pulsed around your fingers, so close to the edge that you could almost swear you were already over it. The precipice was so nice you almost didn’t mind waiting for it. You would hear Steve fucking his hand, pretty moans and grunts passing his lips as he brought himself closer. It wasn’t really fair to leave either one of you hanging much longer. 

“You’d kiss me. And it would be a little messy, but we wouldn’t care. You’d taste good, and you’d feel good. Fuck, Steve. I need to cum so bad.”

He panted into the phone and you practically mewled. God, he sounded so much better than the gross old men you usually had to deal with. “Fuck, I’m right here with you,” he managed, his voice breathy and desperate. “Let me hear you.”

Your ears rang as you came, making the world go a bit fuzzy. Distantly, you could hear how pretty Steve sounded as he came. Honestly, you’d never been one to relish in that type of thing— most guys you’d hooked up with kind of grossed you out. But, god, you’d give anything to watch him get off. Your chest heaved, rising and falling with a shiny sheen of sweat.

“So…” Steve began, sounding a little more languid and a lot more blissed out. There was a sweet, carefree quality to his voice. “Your fantasy is having sex at work?”

You rolled your eyes and fought a grin. “Hey, I didn’t judge your hot, sweaty poolside fuck session.”

”That was about making love,” He insisted. Your heart stuttered a bit. You had to admit that was sweet. “And I’m not knocking your fantasy— I just can’t even imagine someone wanting to have sex with me in my uniform.”

You grinned. “Aw, you have a uniform? I bet you look really sexy in it.”

He huffed, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. “No, I hate my uniform and I’m counting the days until I can rip it off and throw it in, like, a bonfire.”

“I can help with the ripping it off part, y’know,” you teased. 

“No,” he said firmly. “No, we’re not going there, because, one, I came so much I can’t even think about getting hard again or my dick will hurt, and two, if I start having workplace fantasies about you and my uniform I’ll get hard on the job and end up on a registry somewhere.”

“Alright, alright,” you said with a laugh. “I had fun tonight, Steve. I, uh, don’t really get a lot of people asking what I like. I don’t get anyone asking what I like, actually.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m just a pleaser, I guess.” 

He said his goodnights just before hanging up, promising to call again soon. You didn’t have a clear idea of when soon was. You’d had long-term customers promise a call soon that just dropped off the face of the earth. You laid there listening to the dial tone until it started to hurt your ears, then put the phone back on the receiver.

The bed creaked on its ancient springs as you got up, padding out into the hallway. Outside the big window at the end of the hall, you saw a lamp switch off across the street, making the house go dark. It felt a little comforting to know that boring old Hawkins was awake just like you were. 

In the bathroom, you washed your hands with cotton candy-scented soap and tugged at your misbehaving curls. Maybe you would take up Steve on his hair tips. Before you could think about Steve any longer, your phone rang again. And though part of you wished it would be Steve, you knew that there was such a thing as too soon to be ‘soon.’

There wasn’t really a point in pouting. It was decent money. You answered the phone, put on your fake voice, and got to work. 

Steve called nearly nightly for the next month. If having a backyard school wasn’t proof enough he was loaded, his ability to pay your rates nightly sealed the deal. 

It wasn’t always sexual. Well, to be fair, it was mostly sexual. No matter how much you looked forward to phone sex with Steve, you enjoyed talking to him just as much. You learned about his childhood dog, Walter, and his allegedly prodigy-like swimming skills. He was CPR certified, could say his ABCs in French (and nothing else), and loved the colors red, yellow, and blue.

You told him what you could without giving too much away. That Jenny, obviously, wasn’t your real name. Your favorite color, favorite book, favorite flower. You told him that you were in college, going back in the fall. That you only started doing this gig because textbooks were expensive and you wanted to be able to feed yourself while at school. 

Without meaning to, you started to care about Steve. It was probably stupid, and definitely against everything you thought you stood for. But somehow, he managed to squeeze into the recesses of your brain and set up camp there. Try as you might, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. 

“Alright, little Stevie, that’s your fifth wistful sigh of the day,” Robin said, marking a tally on her palm. It struck him as weird that she was counting, but it wasn’t exactly anything new. “You’ve gotta stop or I might actually start feeling bad for you.”

His chin rested in his hand, and he looked over at her with wide puppy dog eyes. “Can you love someone you’ve never met?”

Robin shrugged. “I dunno. Probably not, why?”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging. “What if my dream girl isn’t exactly accessible? Like… she’s impossible to find and might not even live in Hawkins. She might live in, like, Indianapolis.”

Robin’s expression— the slight squint of her eyes and downturn to her lips— told him she didn’t particularly care. But the store was dead on a boring Tuesday, so digging into Steve’s life was about the only interesting thing to do on the job. 

“That sucks,” she said slowly. “How do you know this mystery soulmate?”

Steve blanched, picking at his nails as he tried to consider a reasonable excuse. “Uh… Blind setup. Very blind setup.” Robin raised an eyebrow. “I only know her number, nothing else.”

“Name?” Steve shook his head glumly. “Damn. But you think you love this girl?” Steve nodded again, but felt a little dumb. He never did things in half-measures. Never felt things that way either, so it made sense to him, but maybe it was a little crazy. 

He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to help you with your bad perm and give you advice about how to take care of it. He wanted to surprise you at your boring job with lunch and flowers. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about someone. 

A tinny beeping sound made him jolt, nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor. Finally. He didn’t hesitate to tear off his work shirt, leaving him in the shorts and the white tee shirt he kept beneath it for this very reason— not having to walk out in public in full uniform.

He offered a quick bye to Robin and clocked out as quickly as he could. It had been only a week since Jenny had told him her favorite book, and he’d been saving up tips to pay for a copy at Waldenbooks. 

There was a girl behind the counter with a messy ponytail that had half-fallen-out, music blaring from her headphones. It must’ve been a mixtape because it went from some Hall and Oates song to an older Queen one. A little disjointed, but not in bad taste. She was completely immersed in the novel in her hand, so much so that she didn’t notice his presence.

“Excuse me?” He asked, putting on a winning smile. 

“What?” The girl in front of him blinked in surprise and tugged the headphones down around her neck. The music continued— saxophone and a dance beat. Staying Power. He liked that one. Once she’d paused it abruptly, she looked at him again, and he saw a glint of something in her eyes, like she recognized him.

“I’m looking for this book—“ He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, where he had scribbled the title down as Jenny told him about it. “Do you know if it’s in stock?”

She looked at the note, then chewed on her lip anxiously. “Mhmm.” She watched him again, like she was expecting something. It took a moment, but it clicked. 

She’s the girl who bumped into him outside a month ago and said weird stuff! “Oh! You were right, I guess. About seeing me around.” He squinted, reading her name tag aloud. 

“Hm?” She blinked a few times, like she was taken out of a daydream. “Oh. Yeah, sorry about all of that. I just had a long day and my brain was fried.”

He nodded. “I get that,” he replied. “Next thing I know I’ll wake up from scooping ice cream in my sleep.” She laughed at that, a smile splitting across her features. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Her expression faltered, just the tiniest bit. Almost enough that he wouldn’t notice, especially since she corrected it just as quickly. “I’ll go grab that book for you, ‘Kay? Just… stay here.”

She disappeared into the shelves, leaving him standing awkwardly at the counter. The store was oddly empty— he would’ve at least expected some nerdy kids like Dustin to be rooting around. When she returned, she seemed more nervous than before.

“Here, just take it—“ She said, shoving a beat-up-looking copy at him. His brows furrowed as he looked down at the copy in his hands. The cover was bent and torn in places. Corners of pages were dog eared, sticky note tabs stuck out from pages, and he could see glimpses of pen and highlighter. Noticing his confusion, she elaborated. “We’re out, but I had an old copy in my bag. I’ve already read it, so you can borrow it.”

He furrowed his brows. “Is that, like… allowed?”

“Probably!” She said with a startling lack of confidence. She swallowed, giving him an awkward smile. “Just bring it back when you’re done.”

He hesitated. “Uh… okay. Thanks.” He turned to walk away when she called out after him. 

 “Bye, Steve.” 

He wondered why that sounded so familiar. 

Fuck. 

“I mean… what are the odds?” You spoke aloud as you paced your room. When your reflection caught your attention, you felt, and looked, like a madwoman. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and I’m not going to worry about it.”

Five minutes later, you sat up in bed, unable to focus on the book you were reading. It was going to keep bothering you unless you did at least a little digging. But, Jesus, where did you even start with something like this?

“Hey, Rhonda?” You called, popping your head out of your room. “Do you remember any hot underclassmen named Steve from high school?”

Rhonda Finley was the prettiest girl from the class of ‘83. And it wasn’t an exaggeration either, seeing as she was voted Most Beautiful and Miss Hawkins within the same school year. The fact that you were even friends felt like a strange coincidence, but there you both were regardless. 

She carried all of her yearbooks into your room, settling onto the fluffy rug beside your bed. 

“You said his name is Steve?” She asked from her spot on the floor. She flipped through the old yearbook with reverence— pausing to look at photos of herself on other pages. “Steve… stevestevesteve. What about Stephen Cranston? He did the morning announcements, he was decent.”

You glanced at his picture briefly and shook your head. “No, not him,” you replied. “He’s cuter. Uh… boyish is a good word to describe him. Sharp nose and warm eyes.”

Rhonda snorted, flipping another page. “Okay, Shakespeare.” 

You chewed on your lip, watching her tab through until you made a squeak of recognition. The faintest glimpse of a younger Steve in a picture of a home economics class. “Ronnie, flip back,” you said, tapping her shoulder insistently. She did as you said and you pointed. “That’s him. Younger, but it’s him.”

She squinted, reading the small caption. “Sophomore Steve Harrington cooks up trouble in Mrs. Destefano’s Home Ec class!’” She laughed and flipped until she found the sophomore class portraits. “Yep. Steven Harrington.”

You sat back on your heels. “Huh.”

She closed the yearbook and glanced back at you. “I think I went to a pool party of his once,” Ronnie said, brows furrowed as she tried to find the memory. “He was friends with that freckle-y kid that my asshole ex was friends with. God, that was the night when we got into that screaming match and we broke up for like a month before he was begging for another chance.”

Pool party? You felt a knot in your stomach that you weren’t even sure you could have untangled at that point. Was it even possible that your mystery cute phone guy was the unbelievably attractive ice cream scooper at the mall?

No chance. You weren’t that lucky. And yet… maybe a seed of hope took root in your chest. And maybe… maybe you could get him to spill enough details to prove it. 

——

Steve called you around midnight. Your heart leapt into your throat as you answered, thrumming and threatening to burst from nerves. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft, a little tired. “I, uh, thought about you today.”

You could picture him so clearly— his soft hair, long legs, boyish charm. “Hope I wasn’t too distracting. Were you working today? What do you do?” You dug a little deeper with the question, trying to suss out any information you could. 

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh. “I work in food service at a mall I live near. It’s nothing to write home about, I guess, but it’s temporary until I start applying for the spring semester.”

Okay, so there’s no doubt about it anymore. It was Steve Harrington, the hot ice cream scooper in the sailor suit, who was calling your line every night. The same Steve Harrington who you’d bumped into twice after your shift. 

You tried to push that aside and focus on the reason for the call. 

“So I was a welcome distraction, then?”

He laughed. “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t.” He paused. “Did you, uh… think about me?”

The hope in his voice made your heart swell. “Of course I thought about you, baby. You’re my favorite caller.” You paused, debating your next move. “I’ve been thinking about getting you all needy and desperate for me all day. About hearing your pretty sounds.”

He fucking whimpered. “I’ve spent the entire night hard just waiting to call you.” You could hear him shuffle around on the other end of the call, presumably stripping off his remaining layers. “Didn’t want to be too desperate and call too fast.”

“Poor baby,” you cooed. “Can you do something for me? It’ll feel so good, I promise.”

“Mhmm.”

“Grab a pillow and lay on your stomach for me,” you instructed. Without hesitation, you could hear the staticky sound of movement on his end as he shifted. “This might sound weird, but—“

“You want me to… to like—“ he stammered nervously. “Hump it?”

You blanched, wondering if your perverse fantasies of the hot mall guy getting off had perhaps pushed him a bit too far. “I mean…. Only if you’re into it. We can do something else.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’ve… I mean— I’ve done it before.”

Oh. Butterflies buzzed around your tummy as you let yourself indulge in the mental image. “Yeah? Did it feel good?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. You could hear rustling on the phone, like he was trying to situate himself comfortably. “Just made a mess is all.”

Fucking hell. “You gonna make a mess for me tonight, then?” You asked, twirling the phone cord around your finger. He moaned in response, and you grinned. “Aw, did you already get started, sweetheart?”

He moaned out a confirmation and you grinned, letting your free hand trail down your belly and beneath the waistband of your panties. “You already sound so pretty, Steve. So good for me, doing exactly what I say.”

The breathy sounds of his pants and moans made slickness gather between your thighs. Sounded like he hadn’t been lying about being hard and desperate all night just anticipating the call. “We’re not gonna talk tonight, we’re just gonna listen to each other,” you told him. 

Maybe it was unfair to him that you had the perfect mental image of him in your head since you already knew what he looked like. You relished in that knowledge as you coated your fingers in your wetness and rubbed small circles around your clit. 

Steve was loud, which made you wonder if his neighbors hated him. If you had to live next door to Steve Harrington and his pornstar moans, you’d probably go crazy. You were going crazy just from being on the other end of the phone. You were louder than usual too— it was a miracle that Rhonda worked nights.

It wasn’t long before you both finished— gasping and moaning into the phone’s receiver. You sighed as you laid back against your pillows, completely sated and content as you listened to Steve’s shaky breaths. 

“How’re you feeling?” You asked, fighting the desire to twirl your hair around your fingers. 

“Good,” he said finally. “Gonna have to do laundry, wash my sheets. I probably needed to anyway.” He paused. “I picked up a copy of that book you were talking about. It’s actually funny, ‘cause they were out of copies apparently, but the girl behind the counter let me have hers. Like it was meant to be, or something.”

Your heart hammered. “That’s really sweet, Steve,” you said softly. “I’m sorry in advance if you hate it.”

“I won’t!” He insisted. “I read the first couple of pages while I waited to call. I’m not the best reader, though. Might take me a while to finish it, but I do like it so far.”

You were partially convinced that you were in love with Steve Harrington, despite the fact that he wouldn’t even recognize you on the street. “This might be… I mean, maybe it’s crossing a line, and I could totally get fired for even suggesting… but—“ You hesitated. Fuck it. “I want to give you my personal line. So you don’t have to pay to talk to me. It’s not fair if we’re both enjoying the conversations but only one of us is paying, you know?”

He was quiet, almost too quiet. Nerves stirred in your belly. “Is that… you know, okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said quickly. “Let me just grab a pen.”

You couldn’t help but stare longingly down into the atrium of the mall, where Steve Harrington was sweeping crumbs off of one of the booths inside Scoops Ahoy.

“Hello?” A kid snapped his fingers a few times and you swallowed down your annoyance as you turned. “We called earlier about Ender’s Game. The guy on the phone said he’d hold three copies. It’s under Mike.”

You glanced behind you, where the books clearly weren’t. Fuck Greg for making your menial job even worse. “It must’ve slipped his mind. I can grab those for you.” The kid made a bitchy face as you stepped away from the counter and you bit your tongue to keep from saying something rude. Fucking latchkey kids.

When you returned with three copies of the book, you looked at the kids skeptically. “By the way, if you stole any of the pencils or bookmarks, my boss is going to take it out of my paycheck and I won’t be able to feed my kids.”

“It costs thirty cents to feed your kids?”

You sighed and rang them up, but they continued to loiter in the shelves while you pretended to be busy. 

“There’s nothing to do,” one of them said after picking up a copy of Sports Illustrated briefly. “We should just go back to my house and play Atari.”

A red-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Lucas, we’re not playing Pong again.” She paused and glanced down towards the food court. “We could go see Steve.”

It took all your willpower not to react. 

“Why do you always want to go see Steve?” Lucas asked. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”

“She just wants to see him because she’s got some weird crush on him,” the bitchy one said. Mike? The red-haired girl blushed nearly as fiery as her hair and shoved Mike hard. “What? We all know it. You and El are always drooling over him. It’s weird.”

“He’s nice, okay? Way nicer than you are, asshole.” She shoved past the group and left on her own, leaving the other two guys to scramble after her. One kid was left behind, the one with the unfortunate bowl cut. He offered a wave before he followed after them. 

When they got downstairs, you watched him greet the redhead with a smile and a ruffle of her hair. Lucas and the bowl-cut kid got a slap on the back, and the bitchy one got a half-smile that wasn’t returned. 

Then he shelled out free ice cream, which was evident because none of them made a move to pay. 

After they left, you watched him reach into his own wallet and cover the cost, placing the bills carefully into the cash register. 

The rest of your shift was spent fawning over Steve and flipping through issues of the magazines you had on display. You felt idiotic gazing at Steve Harrington with puppy dog eyes while reading Top Ten Ways to Know if He’s Really Into You! Of course he wasn’t into you— he didn’t even know who you were, not really. 

Around two in the afternoon, you were snapped out of your reverie by the sight of Steve walking through the threshold of the shop, looking around the shop before his gaze settled on you and lit up in recognition. 

“Hi!” He said, nearly knocking over a carefully displayed unofficial biography of Reagan on his way over. You smiled, straightening your posture as he approached. “I wanted to thank you for the book.”

Your heart thumped. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” you insisted. “I just wanted to help.”

He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out two coupons to Scoops Ahoy with a flourish. They advertised free ice cream in the nautical scrawl. “Does this change your mind?” He raised his brows and smiled smugly. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed them, reading the fine print. Valid only at the Starcourt Mall location on weekdays between 8am and 11am. Offer not valid in conjunction with any other deals. Offer excludes banana splits, sundaes, and the U.S.S. Butterscotch.

“Maybe,” you replied. “Is free ice cream your thing or something? I saw you give that group of kids free sundaes earlier.”

He furrowed his brows, considering it, then grinned. “Are you watching me?”

Fuck. You spluttered, shaking your head as you fumbled through a response. “No. They were here first, then talked about going to see you, and then I just…” He laughed and leaned over the desk slightly, as if testing the view. 

“Oh, yeah. Perfect view from here.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat burning in your cheeks. “So you come here to thank me with shitty coupons, and then you accuse me of spying on you?”

He shook his head as he leaned back. “Hey, it’s not accusing you if it’s true.” He was so smug. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. See you around?” He looked at you expectantly until you nodded, face burning hot. He smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked out casually like he hadn’t just totally caught you creeping on him. 

God, you were going to make him pay for that later. 

——

Steve paced around his room as he tried to gain the courage to call you. He would have liked to say that he needed to get your number from his Rolodex, but he’d memorized it nearly the moment he put it down on paper. 

He was thinking of you, but he was also thinking about the girl from the mall who seemed to keep popping up. There was something about her, the way he was drawn to her, the way she spoke, the way she looked at him. It was all so familiar and easy, like they’d known each other forever. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Finally, he settled on his bed, dressed only in a thin white tank top and boxers that were a size too big since he stopped working out as much. With nerves buzzing in his ears, he dialed your number and waited. 

And waited. And waited. He swallowed hard, wondering if you’d given him a fake number just to be rid of him. The number went to the answering machine, and his mouth went dry. 

“Hi! You’ve reached Y/N Y/L/N. I’m out right now, but leave your name and number at the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” A beep sounded and Steve hung up suddenly. His stomach sank. 

He wasn’t supposed to know your real name like that. It felt like some gross intrusion. And yet, he repeated it over and over again in his mind. Why did it seem so familiar?

On his nightstand, the beat up paperback he had borrowed stood out like a sore thumb. Oh. The book, the same book you, Jenny, had told him about. And the girl who worked there… Y/N. 

It was too much, far too much to be a coincidence. He grabbed the book and opened it to look at the inside cover, where your name, Jenny’s name was scrawled inside. Because you and Jenny were the same person. 

Every single conversation leading up to that point played over in his mind. The messy perm, the shitty job with the ugly polo, the fantasy about being pushed against the shelves and fucked. Oh, God. And you were totally spying on him. 

It should’ve been an absolute win for him, but his stomach turned as he glanced over at the phone on the receiver. You were gorgeous and funny and smart and so sexy. Why would you want to be with someone who needed to call a sex hotline?

He could just picture the look on your face when you discovered that the guy who worked in the stupid uniform at Scoops was so pathetic that he needed to call someone to get attention. 

He swallowed hard, guilt and doubt settling icy in his stomach. He put the book down, and didn’t call back.

——

Steve was sulking during his shift. Probably biting the heads off of a few too many kids who asked for a few too many samples. 

“Jesus, how many times do you need to try cotton candy?” He snapped as he dug out a tiny spoonful of the pink and blue ice cream. The kid furrowed his brows up at him, puzzled by the sudden outburst. 

“Uh, can I try Cherries Jubilee next?” He asked hesitantly. 

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. “No, you’re done. Out.”

The kid rolled his eyes, swore under his breath, and stomped out of Scoops Ahoy. 

Robin was staring at him funny when he turned around, a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You’re totally PMSing today.”

He couldn’t manage more than a scowl in response. “Shut up.”

Robin laughed and tossed a cherry at him, which he managed to catch before it splattered against the glass of the ice cream case. He hated maraschino cherries— the artificial sweetness and unnatural color. But, hey, he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.

He hadn’t called you for three days, which felt like the longest stretch of time in his life. And he hadn’t even seen you around Starcourt, which was both a good thing and absolutely unbearable. 

Part of him wanted to just jump on the escalator and see if you were sitting behind the counter at Waldenbooks, but he knew it was better to just have a clean break. Maybe in a few months, you’d forget about that Steve guy who’d called you and he could make his move then.

The shift change hit around lunchtime, and Steve prepared for the influx of people who were getting off work on empty stomachs. As he suspected, the line stretched out the door and he was practically up to his elbows in ice cream, mindlessly scooping flavor combinations that should’ve been illegal. Until—

“Hey, Steve,” you said, standing in front of him in your ugly work polo with messy hair half-fallen out of your ponytail. “Staying busy?”

He stammered nervously and mumbled out an unintelligible response. “Ice cream?” Was all that he could manage to ask, which made him want to throw himself into the fountain right in the middle of the food court. 

But you just smiled. “A shake, actually. Chocolate banana if that’s possible.” He nodded and got to work, thankful for the distraction. Your eyes followed his every movement as he made your shake, but he couldn’t let himself look at you.

Because if he did really look at you, all he’d be able to think about were the phone calls you’d had— the calls where he’d heard you cum with breathy gasps and pants and soft whimpers. And— Jesus Christ— he was thinking about it and it made him feel dizzy. 

He used a little bit too much whipped cream and put rainbow sprinkles on top for God knows why, but he handed it to you with a weak smile. 

“Three bucks, right?” You asked, nodding to the menu.

“Uh, you can just have it,” he said without even thinking. “On the house.”

You furrowed your brows for a moment,  but smiled brightly. “Really? Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.” You took a sip and gave a soft moan at the flavor that made a full-body chill run through him. “See you around?”

“Yeah. See you.” You gave a small wave before you disappeared into the food court. He watched you the whole way, like you were the only person in the room.

Fuck. He was hard. Like, rock hard and the stupid apron on the uniform only made it more obvious. He’d fucking pavloved himself to get turned on just by your voice. 

“Robin, I’m taking my fifteen,” he said, darting into the back before she could protest. He stepped inside the walk-in freezer and propped the door with a crate of waffle cones. After about five minutes, he felt like he could actually think again.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath. He had to call you again.

You were sincerely considering quitting the hotline. After Steve, just listening to the other guys panting and blowing their loads on the phone was nauseating. They didn’t care to learn more about you, not the way he did. They just wanted to get their rocks off to an anonymous, sexy voice. 

Then again, Steve had disappeared too. Maybe giving him your real number had crossed a line. Maybe it freaked him out that you were taking it beyond a transaction. You sighed and wrapped yourself tighter in your house coat. Rhonda always kept the AC on overdrive in the summer, which meant you needed at least two blankets to be comfortable. 

When the phone rang, you picked it up without thinking, half expecting it to be Rhonda calling you to check in during her break. 

“Hey,” you said absentmindedly, leaning back against your pillows. 

“This is, uh— this is the right number, right? It’s Steve.”

Your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the sound of his voice. “Hey, yeah, it’s the right number,” you assured. You wriggled out of your housecoat and tossed it to the side so you could get more comfortable. “How are you? It’s been a few days.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I, uh,” he paused. “I think I psyched myself out of calling you.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “Well, I’m glad you did call. I really missed you.”

“You did?”

You laughed, letting yourself get more comfortable. “Mhmm,” you replied. “I mean, we’ve been talking everyday for a while, you know?”

“I missed you too, couldn’t stop thinking about you, even at work.” You smiled, remembering how absentminded he had seemed when you showed up in the ice cream parlor. And he was thinking about you. Not you, but still you. “I— uh— had to walk into our deep freezer to cool myself off.”

“How long has it been for you?” You asked suddenly. “Like, since you’ve had sex.”

Steve chuckled nervously. “I dunno… two months?” He paused. “Is that lame?”

“Nuh-uh, baby,” you assured. “Think it’s sweet. No wonder you’re all needy all the time. You need a nice, tight, wet pussy to sink into, hm?”

A low moan escaped his lips. “God—“

“Better than your hand, isn’t it?” You teased. “I bet you’re so desperate that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time, even before you called me. Isn’t that right?”

The closest thing you got in response was another pretty moan. “You’re big too, aren’t you?” You mused aloud, not even waiting for a response. “I know you are, you’ve basically told me in not so many words. Most girls can’t handle that, baby. It’s not your fault. That’s okay, we could take it slow, you could get me all nice and stretched for you, take your time like the gentleman you are.”

“Fuck— fuck—“ His words came out choked and desperate. You could almost picture it— the way he’d be fucking up into his hand, needing more and more.

“I bet you always have to take it real slow, huh? Gotta be careful so you don’t hurt someone. But that just means you can feel everything better, doesn’t it? Inch by inch by inch, every flutter and squeeze. And you can see on their faces how good it feels, can’t you? You can watch their eyes roll back and their mouths fall open while they cry out for you. I mean, Jesus, Steve, I bet most girls come before you’re even all the way inside.”

His hand sped up, desperate and needy, just as you’d said. You could hear it with each wet slap of skin against skin. His moans were constant, a stream of yesahgodfuckohshitahyesahfuckfuckfuck— until the prettiest moan escaped his lips, all low and deep, and you knew he’d made a pretty mess of himself. 

“Bet that felt really nice,” you said while he panted on the other end of the line. 

He made a weak noise, then finally managed a, “Uh-huh. Fuck.”

You laughed softly. “That’s gotta be the fastest I’ve gotten you off,” you said finally. “I like having that much power over you. It turns me on so much.”

He groaned. “Fuck, give me five— no— ten minutes. I can barely breathe right now.”

You grinned, relishing in your ability to torture him a bit after he’d teased you at work. Unknowingly, of course, but still. “I dunno if I can wait that long, Steve… I’m so wet that my thighs are all sticky.”

“God, you’re killing me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatics. “Why don’t you lay there and listen to me? Be good and keep your hands off, alright? You already came, so don’t get greedy.”

He made a nearly pained noise. “Fine. Fine.”

A smirk spread across your lips as you let your hand move between your thighs. Really, you weren’t exaggerating that much— you found yourself slick and needy when you finally slid your panties down your thighs. Actually, you thought you’d probably have to be a statue to hear Steve Harrington panting and cumming over the phone and stay unaffected.

You could hear his breath catch with every soft moan and whimper, and maybe you got mean and held the phone near your tummy, so he could hear just how wet and messy you’d gotten as you steadily fucked yourself with your fingers. When you got desperate enough, you held the phone against your ear once more. 

“I dunno, Steve… I don’t think my fingers can cut it,” you said, exaggerating the pouty tone of your voice. “I wish you were here to take care of me.”

He groaned, low and muffled. You had a feeling he’d thrown an arm over his face. “You’re so unfair.”

A smile spread across your lips at his words. “No, baby. What’s unfair is that I’m laying here all alone, feeling so empty and needy, and you’re not here to make it all better.” You reached into your nightstand, pulling out the dildo you’d bought for your twentieth birthday. “‘S okay, I can take care of myself just fine. You ever been to a sex shop?”

It got quiet on the line, and you could nearly hear the gears turning. 

“N-no.”

You raised a brow. “Really? But you know what they sell, don’t you?” You paused until he hummed a soft uh-huh. “It’s only fair that I get to use a toy to fill myself up since you can’t do it for me, right?”

“Y-yeah, wanna hear you do it.”

You grinned. “Patience, baby. Gotta get it wet first so it glides in nice and easy.”

Blowing a rubber dick wasn’t how you’d envisioned ending your day, but— what can you say?— spontaneity is the spice of life. You made sure he heard every wet pass of it between your lips, every exaggerated gag as you took it into your throat, the messy smack of your lips. It tasted like a tire and dish soap, but the desperate, restrained sounds he was making made it all worth it. 

Your eyes were watery when you finally pulled the toy from your mouth, certain you’d adequately worked him up for the time being. Plus, you were worked up just as much, if not more— you wanted to just fuck yourself into oblivion already. 

Instinctively, your thighs fell farther apart as you moved the toy between your legs. You let the tip tease your entrance, only a little, before you began to push it inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as you finally got the nice, full feeling you’d been dreaming of. 

You laid there for a moment, letting your body adjust to it, reveling in it. With your free hand, you slowly circled your clit until your cunt fluttered around the intrusion. 

“Feels so nice,” you sighed, lips brushing against the mouthpiece of the phone. You felt drunk and hazy with desire. “Like I’m so close already that I can taste it.”

“Make yourself come for me,” he practically begged. “Wanna hear it.”

You moaned at his words, but shook your head. “Can’t yet. I wanna make this last.”

Time felt a little hazy as you kept working the toy in and out, slow and deep. Occasionally, you’d brush against your clit just right, or the toy would find a nice spot inside of you, and your entire body would tremble with need. 

Steve’s breath came in pants over the phone, but you couldn’t tell if he had broken and actually started to touch himself. You kind of hoped he did, even if you wouldn’t say it. 

Eventually, you came without warning— the build-up of it all made it impossible to avoid. Once you started over that edge, you couldn’t crawl back even if you’d wanted to. Moans fell from your lips as you succumbed to your orgasm; every nerve was like a live wire. When it finally came to be too much, you slipped the toy out and relaxed onto your bed with a contented sigh. 

“Are you still alive?” You asked, quiet crackling over the phone. 

“Uh… yeah,” he replied, a little distracted. “Have you ever come without having to touch yourself?”

You laughed softly. “Once. I read in Cosmo that some girls can get off just from playing with their tits. Took a while, but I eventually got there. Why?”

“I just, uh… listening to you, all the noises and hearing how wet you were… I guess that was all it took.” He sounded so embarrassed, but it was the cutest fucking thing you’d ever heard. You could imagine it so clearly, his cock pulsing against his twitching stomach, cum making puddles around his navel. 

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said with a smile. “You’re probably exhausted, huh?”

He laughed a bit. “A little, but I can stay up and talk, if you’re free.”

Ever the gentleman, Steve stayed up another hour to talk about whatever you could think of to keep the conversation running. The new collection at The Gap, whether or not he planned to see Back to the Future, his favorite music got him talking for half an hour at least. Finally, you were yawning and beat. 

“Steve, baby, I should go to sleep,” you said, almost apologetically. 

“That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You froze, brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated, sleepily. “At the mall.”

“Um… night,” you said quickly, panicking slightly as you hung up the phone.

Steve had mopped the same spot on the floor five times during his shift, all while sparing fleeting glances towards Waldenbooks, where you were immersed in a magazine or a book. Always doing anything but looking down at him. 

Which was good… maybe? He couldn’t quite decide.

He hadn’t been thinking when he said that on the phone. But he was sleepy, and his brain was a little foggy, and then he’d gone and doubled down. 

As soon as he hung up the phone, he remembered that he had given his real name, and you knew he worked in food service, and you knew he wore a stupid uniform. That narrowed it down really easily. 

So he spent his shift in a constant state of dread and panic, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

By the time the mall was closing, he had occupied himself with wiping down tables. He let Robin head home and pulled out his Walkman to keep him company. Since working at Starcourt, he made a pretty sick collection of tapes that wound up in the lost and found. This one was a metal mix, which typically wasn’t his thing, but was growing on him. 

He didn’t realize you were standing over him until you rapped twice on the table, drawing his eyes up, up, up until they were locked with yours. He scrambled to pause the tape and stand up, adjusting his stupid uniform as an embarrassed blush grew on his cheeks. 

“Hi,” you greeted. Your Waldenbooks vest hung loosely on your form, right on top of a pink polo. 

“Hi,” he echoed. It was quiet for a second, as he tried to think of what to say, and as you scrambled for the words you’d been practicing all day. “I’ve known it was you for a while.” The words escaped him before he could stop himself, and then he just stared at you, completely mortified. 

You laughed, covering your face for a moment as heat flooded your cheeks. “You knew? I didn’t even— I mean, I didn’t realize. Because I knew it was you calling. For a while, actually. 

He grinned, leaning forward. “So… the guy you said you wanted to… against the shelves…?” When you ducked your head and looked away, he smiled like the cat who got the cream. “No way. You were totally perving on me, even before!”

“You had to walk into a deep freezer to cool off because you were thinking about me, perv.” He laughed, and you wanted to kiss him so badly it freaked you out a little. “So… What do we do now? I mean, now that you know who I am, and I know who you are, and we’re going to keep running into each other.”

Your poor cuticles were going through the wringer— red and stinging where you picked at them due to nerves. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to just sweep you into his arms like some kind of fairytale and promise his undying devotion. Or just say he wanted to date you. Whichever.

“I could take you on a date,” he said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, if your type is total pervs who spend most of the week in sailor uniforms.”

Oh, you had plans for that sailor uniform. You stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I think you just might be in luck.” He turned his head, just slightly, so he could capture your mouth with his. 

The kiss was sweet, at first. Slow brushes of his lips against yours. They tasted sweet, like he’d been wearing lip smackers or something. Or maybe he’d been sneaking samples of the ice cream. He pulled you closer and you gasped, offering him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly at the feeling of your tongue licking against his. 

He picked you up easily, sitting you down on the table he should’ve been cleaning. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. It was easy to lose yourself in the hungry, desperate way Steve kissed. You could’ve stayed right there in the middle of Scoops making out with him until the mall opened in the morning, and still not have found the motivation to stop. 

A bright light startled you back into reality, shining directly in your faces. You and Steve squinted in the general direction, as Starcourt security stomped your way. 

“Hey! Get the fuck home,” He shouted, with equal amounts of exasperation and annoyance. He clicked off the flashlight and walked away with a huff and an eye roll, leaving you and Steve alone.

Steve’s cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment as he stepped back, but he still wore a dopey grin on his lips. You hopped off the table and adjusted your skirt with a light laugh. 

“That was nice,” You said as you tucked a loose curl behind your ear. “I should leave you to it, I guess. Before we both end up in mall jail.” 

He shook his head quickly. “No! I mean, you could hang out here until I’m done. I just have a few more tables to clean and chairs to stack, if you want to—” He trailed off, looking at you expectantly. 

A sly grin spread across your features. “What? Are you trying to go home with me or something?” He stammered nervously, that same, cute blush growing on his cheeks. Before he could say anything, you took a step closer and peered up at him. “Because if you are, I might tell you that my roommate works nights at Hawkins General, and we’d have it conveniently all to ourselves.”

He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

You sat in the booth nearest to the entrance of the parlor, flipping through a magazine you’d grabbed from work. Occasionally, you’d sneak tiny peeks of Steve bent over a table to wipe it down, uniform stretched tight over his ass, and grin behind the pages. 

He got everything locked up in what he claimed was record time, flashing a smile as he closed up shop behind the two of you.

”Do you work tomorrow?” You asked, as casually as possible as the two of you approached your cars in the employee lot. 

“Yep. Afternoon shift,” he explained.

“I’ll drive you. We’ll carpool tonight.”

The car ride was relatively tame, a few stolen glances at stoplights at most. When you brought him inside the house, your phone was ringing off the hook. You apologized and ushered him into your room, where, true enough, the spare phone you used for the hotline was ringing nonstop. 

“Sorry, let me just…” You grabbed the phone and hung it up once, before taking it off the receiver completely. “There. No interruptions.”

Steve grinned, surveying your room carefully. The set of pom-poms from high school on a shelf, a stack of Cosmopolitan magazines, the chair full of your laundry— fuck, you should’ve definitely taken a moment to speed clean before letting him inside. 

“So… what do you say we pick up where we left off?” You stood on your tiptoes and pecked his lips chastely before guiding him towards your bed. As soon as he sat down, you wasted no time in crawling into his lap and kissing him with all of the pent-up frustration of weeks of phone calls. 

You kissed him for so long you’d have to come up panting for air, before diving right back in. His hands— Jesus, you’d never noticed how big his hands were— were splayed out over your hips at first, but had moved down to grab your ass, encouraging each movement as you rocked against him. 

Without breaking the kiss, you shrugged off your work vest, so it fell into a heap over the side of your bed. He pulled back, chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. His lips were swollen from use and spit-slick. His eyes moved from the vest on the ground, then back to your eyes. A tiny laugh escaped you before you pulled off your top, then your bra. 

“This still okay?” You asked, as you stood briefly and tugged down your denim skirt. The sound of your voice felt almost foreign in the quiet room, while he took in the sight of you in nothing but a pair of panties.

“God, more than okay,” he assured, before pulling you onto his lap for another heated kiss. This kiss was needier— you could feel it in the hungry way he licked into your mouth, and the feel of him hard beneath you. Tiny gasps pushed past your lips as you rocked against him just right. 

He moved his hands from you only to pull off his work shirt, and the white shirt he wore beneath it. Your hands immediately went to his chest, running through the chest hair he’d hidden beneath the uniform. How the fuck did he manage to walk out of his house without being immediately pounced on by every woman in a five-mile radius?

 He placed one final kiss on your lips before pulling back and meeting your gaze. As earnestly as you’d ever, he asked, “Can I go down on you?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh my god, yes. “Sure, if you want to.”

He smiled wide. “Yeah? Just relax for me, alright?” He shifted the two of you, so you were lying on the bed and he was on top of you. He planted a chaste peck on your nose, and you wrinkled it in reaction. 

You kissed him one, fleetingly, before letting him kiss down your chest and tummy. He parted your thighs and carefully positioned himself between them. You met his gaze and felt your stomach somersault. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric of your panties.,

“Fuck,” he mumbled against you. “You’re soaking for me, huh?” And there was that cocky grin you’d seen at the mall before. You had to lie back and put a hand over your eyes, because if you thought about that fucking smug expression for too long, you’d cum untouched. 

He ran his tongue over the fabric of your panties, tasting you through the saturated satin once, twice before he pulled them down your legs. And he fucking moaned like a man starved at the sight of you. 

Heat burned in your cheeks as you felt him spreading you open, and at the slick, wet sounds of your own arousal. “You’re so pretty.” And then his tongue was on you, lapping up your juices, savoring all of you. 

“O-oh, fuck—“ Your moan came out like a sob as his nose brushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He moaned against your cunt, nuzzling deeper like he couldn’t get enough. 

In retrospect, he had brought up how much he loved eating pussy a lot on that first call. Your hips bucked slightly, torn between chasing the feeling and overstimulation. His lips would wrap around your clit and suck softly before he would go back to lapping at you, his tongue parting your folds and teasing your entrance. 

“St-Steve!” You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. The slightest tug on his locks made him moan against you, which made your toes curl. 

Your moans became pitchy and breathless as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. All of your muscles were wound up tight, itching for release. 

All it took was a little bit of eye contact and you were done for. You sobbed out a moan as he lapped up your release— each lap of his tongue sending electricity up your nerves. When he finally relented, you were shaking with aftershocks and giggling. 

“Something funny?” He asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You sighed and spared a glance over at him. “I’ve been dreaming of that happening since our first call.” He grinned as you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. 

“Did it meet your expectations?” He asked, swallowing nervously as you shifted to accommodate your hand between the two of you. His eyes fluttered shut as your hand slipped beneath his work shorts and boxers to grasp his cock in your hand. 

You gave a slow, experimental stroke of your hand and nodded. “Two thumbs up.”

He swallowed hard as you removed your hand to completely undress him, leaving you both completely naked. You spit into your hand and wrapped it back around his length, holding eye contact as you jerked him off.

There was something so surreal about the entire situation— having him beneath you, warm and pulsing and slick in your hand. Each time your thumb brushed along the head of his cock, he cried out with the prettiest moan.

“W-wait—“ he said quickly, a look of panic in his eyes. You stilled your hand as he looked at you, a pretty blush painting his cheeks. “I’m not gonna last.”

You bit your to keep from grinning like an idiot. “That’s okay,” you said with a smile. You reached into your bedside table and retrieved a condom. “Do you want to, uh, go all the way?” 

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, please.”

You tore open the packet and rolled the condom on. “How’s that feel? Alright?” He gave a dorky thumbs up, which made you laugh. You leaned down to kiss him once more and wondered if you’d ever get tired of that feeling. 

You reached between the two of you and guided his tip through your folds, coating it in your arousal until you grew too needy and lined him up with your entrance. It was a stretch, even though he’d gotten you plenty worked up with his mouth. You sank down slowly, one hand splayed against his chest to keep you steady as you took in inch after inch. 

The sounds that escaped him as you lowered yourself onto him were so pornographic you thought he should be the one working the hotline instead. Desperate panting moans slipped past his full lips as his hands clawed at your hips.

“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. “That’s it. You can take it.”

The mouth on him. You moaned softly as you finally settled onto his lap and he was fully sheathed within you. You stayed still, letting your body adjust to and relish in how full you felt. 

“You look so pretty right now,” he said, reaching up to brush a messy hair from your face. You laughed softly as your cheeks warmed, and a funny fluttering in your chest nearly stole your breath.

“Says you,” was all you could manage to say back. You were hyper-aware of the feeling of him within you, of each flutter of your walls around him.

You gave an experimental roll of your hips and his head fell back, against the pillows, exposing the column of his throat. You relished in the way he looked beneath you— debauched and needy. 

It was easy and slow at first. Each time you moved, you would lower yourself back down slowly, letting him savor the feeling of you, warm and wet and needy. He groaned each time you settled back on his lap, eyes hooded with lust as he looked up at you.

You gave a lazy smile as you looked down at him, moaning each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Can I go a little faster?”

He nodded, eager for whatever you could give him. Your nails raked against his chest as you began to ride him in earnest, the back of your thighs slapping against his as you bounced on his cock. 

Your head fell back as you rubbed at your clit with your free hand. Soft moans spilled from your lips as you relished in the culmination of all of your fantasies. Because he was there, splayed out beneath you like a fucking pornstar, and you had him all to yourself. 

His fingers dug into the plush of your hips as he began meeting your thrusts halfway, fucking into the heaven between your thighs. 

Your eyes rolled back as he fucked himself deeper and deeper, stealing your breath with each thrust. “Close,” you practically squeaked out. Red marks stood out against the freckles skin of his chest where you searched desperately for purchase. 

Steve’s hair was stuck to his forehead, tacky from exertion. “Need you to cum for me,” he managed between pretty moans. “Wanna feel you cumming around me.”

You whimpered at his words, riding him harder as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. A fucked-out moan escaped you as you collapsed against his chest, hips weakly stuttering as Steve continued fucking up into you. With your pussy gripping him like a vise, he could only manage a few good thrusts before he came with a groan. 

You laid there on top of him as you caught your breath, wearing a stupid, giddy smile as he traced mindless shapes onto your back. His face was buried in your neck, where he left sweet, wet kisses. After a while, you slid off of him and sighed, missing the way it felt when he was still buried inside of you. You did your best to clean yourself off with the towel hanging from your bedpost as Steve tied off the condom and tossed it in the bin. 

“We’re not just…” Steve began once you were both comfortable in your bed. He let the words linger for a moment before he shook his head. “Never mind.”

You turned on your side to face him, adjusting your blankets for a bit of modesty. “We’re not just fucking? That’s what you’re asking, right?” He nodded quietly. “It was nice, but no, that’s not all I want.”

He grinned. “Yeah? You wanna be my girlfriend? I totally pulled a cougar.” His stupid grin made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t keep a matching smile off of yours. 

“You’re so annoying,” you said, not giving him a second to react before your lips were on his again. You pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. 

In the morning, you woke up in his arms as sunlight crept through the window. You squinted at the sun, then back at him. “Still want me to drive you to work?”

“No way,” he said, muffled against the column of your throat. Soft kisses peppered against your skin, making you giggle and arch into him. “I’m calling in.”

[pathologicalreid]

bringing your work home with you | S.R.

spencer shares details of a case with you - with a hands-on learning approach

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: case information from 10x17 "breath play", erotic asphyxiation, choking, fingering, praise kink, aftercare, explicit consent, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, dacryphilia (ish), established relationship dl;dr. word count: 1.74k a/n: im no longer afraid of being perceived on the internet (lie) and will begin writing whatever i want (truth). including this.

“How was work?” You asked hesitantly, looking across the couch to where Spencer was sitting. He was lost in thought, although, you supposed if you had just returned from Wisconsin, you’d feel relatively similar.

Spencer hummed absentmindedly in response while flipping through the pages of the file he brought home with him. “The UnSub certainly had a unique signature,” he answered, dragging his thumb across his lower lip in thought.

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, “Oh, yeah?” It wasn’t often that Spencer shared details of cases with you, usually because the information he’d be divulging was privileged, but you shuffled over a cushion in hopes that he’d share with you. “What was it?”

He reached over and ruffled your hair affectionately, “He had a particular affinity for erotic asphyxiation. Each of his victims had read this book, Bare Reflections, and that’s how he found them – through sexual fantasies.”

Furrowing your brows, you rested your face in your hand, “So like… sex choking?”

“Yes, love. Like sex choking,” Spencer said, not without humor, before getting up and going to the kitchen, asking you if you needed anything as he did.

When he returned, sitting down on the couch and flipping the file back open, you leaned to the side and said, “I never got the whole choking thing. Not being able to breathe never seemed very sexy to me.”

At that, Spencer closed the file he was scribbling in and set it on the coffee table, “It’s not meant to fully restrict your breathing. At least, not if you’re doing it properly.”

“And you know how to do it properly?” You challenged, raising a single brow at your boyfriend.

He laughed breathily at your test, “I know human anatomy well enough to know not to press on your trachea.”

You fail to hide the way your eyes widen when he speaks to you, his use of the words ‘your trachea’ implying that he is now thinking about choking you. “Cool,” you responded, your brain spinning as you began to think about Spencer’s hand on your throat.

“Come here,” Spencer spoke up, already grabbing your waist and sliding you across the worn leather of the couch. He carefully guided your body over his own until you’re straddling him – one knee on either side of his hips. “You’re a kinesthetic learner, you’ll do better with a hands-on approach.”

Letting a shuddered breath loose, you met Spencer’s eyes, “Hi,” you whispered, keeping your voice low as if you were sharing a secret in a crowded room. Without waiting for him to move, you ducked your head and pressed your lips to his. Quickly, Spencer’s lips coaxed yours open, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

Spencer’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing your chest to his so that you could feel the buttons of his work shirt through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. You were severely underdressed compared to him, lounging in just a t-shirt and underwear while he was wearing his work attire – it just added to the power dynamic you were navigating.

Gently, Spencer tugged at your lower lip, taking the flesh between his teeth before pulling away from the kiss. “Do you trust me?” He asked, loosening his hold on you, and instead running his hands down your arms in a soothing manner.

Straightening up, you nodded, “Yes,” you responded, reaching a hand up and grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

Lifting his dominant hand to your neck, your breathing faltered as he put his hand at the front of your neck, the thumb on one side and the remainder of his fingers on the opposite. “Is this alright?” He murmured, using his free hand to trace small circles on your inner thigh, leaving you wishing you could press your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction.

“Yes,” you repeated yourself, taking the inside of your cheek between your molars and sighing when he moved his hand from your leg.

Nodding assuredly, Spencer brushed your hair from your face, his dominant hand never straying from its newfound home on your throat. “Good, I’m going to keep asking because we’ve never talked about this before,” he informed you. “I won’t fully restrict your airway. If you need me to stop at any point, just tap my arm three times.”

His words led you to relax. The two of you left almost everything on the table, and you were usually good about discussing things ahead of time. You were sure he’d start doing things he knows you like in order to put you at ease. “Thank you,” you whispered, studying his golden irises.

“Such good manners for me, angel,” he praised you, noting the way your back straightens up when he does so. “When I squeeze the sides of your throat like this,” he said, keeping his voice gentle as his hand tightened around your neck, “I’m stopping some of the air from getting to your brain, which makes you feel lightheaded, and when I let go,” he released his firm hold, “You feel a release of dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins that make your head spin.”

As Spencer guided you through the process, you felt yourself getting needier. Humming lowly as you came down from the high, you noticed Spencer’s hand back between your thighs – you couldn’t tell when he had moved his hand, you were too preoccupied.

You held your breath as his hand slipped into your panties, “Hey,” he chided, snapping you out of your anticipation. “Don’t hold your breath,” he says sternly, “I won’t touch you if you hold your breath.”

Pointedly taking a deep breath, it took all of your focus to maintain your breathing as he gently slid a finger between your folds, the wet noise only muffled by the fabric of your underwear. Tentatively, Spencer slipped his finger inside you, swirling it around your inner walls before pulling it out and pushing it back in, squeezing the sides of your throat as he started fingering you at a steady pace.

“Do you feel that?” He asked, continuing the pace he had set, keeping his voice low as he spoke to you. “How when I squeeze your throat your cunt tightens around my finger?”

Reaching a hand up, you gripped his forearm and placed your other hand on his shoulder, trying to steady yourself and desperately needing something to do with your hands. You let out a soft moan as he easily added another finger to his ministrations, your volume growing louder as he released your throat. Your skin flushed as you bit your bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling.

Quickly squeezing your neck, Spencer brought your attention back down to him, “Keep your eyes on me, love.”

You nodded almost imperceptibly in response, blinking rapidly, but leaving your head where Spencer held it – gently forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he started curling his fingers inside of you, pushing his fingertips against your inner walls. “Spence,” you whispered, letting out a low whine as you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly.

“Did you wanna cum? Make a mess all over my hand?” Spencer asked tantalizingly, resuming pressure on your throat before you even had a chance to respond to him. He was enjoying this just as much as you were.

As you maintained eye contact with Spencer, he began to press the heel of his palm against your clit, the pressure only adding to your lightheadedness. With his hand on your neck, your moans come out garbled, forcing their way through your body. “Fuck,” the word came out as a hiss as tears gathered in your lower lash line. Between the pressure on your clit and throat and the continuing ministrations of his digits, your orgasm built up quickly.

In-kind with the pressure on your throat, you squeezed firmly at Spencer’s forearm, and he watched carefully to make sure that you weren’t trying to tap on his arm.

Your tears flooded over the edge, slowly streaming down your cheeks. You blinked to clear your eyes, but you didn’t let your eye contact with Spencer waver.

A small whimper escaped your throat, and Spencer hummed, “There you go, angel.” He said, nodding as his fingers continued working you to your peak, “I know,” he cajoled when you whined again. “I know. Let it go for me,” he murmured, watching as your body shuddered.

Once your orgasm hits its zenith, Spencer released his hold on your neck, moving his hand to your shoulder to keep you upright while your pussy spasmed around his still-thrusting fingers. Endorphins flooded your mind, prolonging your orgasm for god knows how long until he finally withdrew his fingers from your underwear.

While you remembered how to breathe, Spencer moved his hand from your shoulder to your back, gently pressing on your spine and letting your body fall forward. “I knew you’d like that,” he whispered mischievously, and if you had the energy, you would have rolled your eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Groaning, you buried your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, “Jell-O,” you responded simply.

Your eyes were barely open as Spencer reached over for a tissue box, wiping your slick off of his hand before slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your panties. You whined and tried to push his hand away, “I know, baby. I just want to wipe you up a bit.” He told you before gathering your wetness on the tissue, wrapping it up and placing it on the end table.

“Toss it,” you mumbled sleepily, ignorant of the fact that you’re still in his lap.

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “When you feel like moving, I’ll clean up.” He reached over for a glass of water from the end table, grabbing it from its coaster and trying to hand it to you, “Come on, you need water.”

Sighing, you forced your eyes open, “’m tired,” you told him, reaching a shaky hand up for the glass.

Spencer kept a hand on the glass as you drank from it, setting it back down when you were done and smiling softly at your sleepy nature. “Rehydrating is a nonnegotiable,” he whispered gently, but you were already asleep - or close enough to it that you didn’t respond.

[starry-eyedblog]

(comes up to the mic and taps it)

john price is a hatefuck enjoyer *

(steps away from mic and disappears into the shadows)

* actually enjoys arguing on the dl because he knows how to segue it into a hatefuck sesh and of course, the lazy, postcoital make up sex afterwards WOOPS!

omg yes anon, thank you for coming out of the shadows with this beautiful idea. i hope i did it justice <33

warnings/tags: john price x reader, 18+ smut, hatefucking, rough sex, makeup sex

i can just imagine how gleeful he feels when in an argument, watching the anger building in your eyes. he loves watching your arms fly all over the place to try get your point across, so caught up in your anger with him that you don't notice the way he stalks over.

and then before you know it, he's shoving you down onto his desk with his lips pressed against yours. a surprised muffled gasp leaves you, eyes wide and body squirming in his grip. once he pulls away from your lips, you smack his chest. "what the fuck do you think you're doing? you think getting into my underwear means i'll forgive you?"

he'll laugh, smirking down at you. "not askin' for you to forgive me right now, look too hot all worked up. c'mon, keep yellin' at me - gets me hard."

you let out an almost disgusted sound at his confession but you can't hide the way your underwear grows slick and damp. queue to the both of you going at it like fucking bunnies over his desk, still yelling and hissing at one another about whatever the argument was about.

it's messy and fierce, john setting a bruising pace that has you gripping at the wood, nails scratching the varnish off. and as the rough fucking continues, the both of you are unable to keep up the shouts and insults, too lost in how good the other feels.

once the both of you have came, panting heavily - john will apologise, pressing a kiss to your head while pulling out slowly.

oh but the lazy postcoital make up sex? it leaves you in tears. it's so soft and slow, barely puling away from the others lips and when you do, it's to murmur sweet praises and apologies.

he moves you over to the big worn out leather couch in his office, spooning you from behind with both strong arms wrapped securely around you. his hips lazily bucking into you and grinding in, taking his time. you'll hold one of his hands, intertwining and locking your fingers together, wishing to be even closer somehow.

and he'll make you cum before him, just as an extra apology for riling you up earlier. will he do it again though? oh absolutely, you're just too hot when you're yelling at him.

[number1mingyustan]

Ahhh I love your mingyu fics can you do a smut with jealous bf mingyu? (Also your writing is amazing)

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing, kissing, explicit smut, shower sex, marking, arguing, resolved angst, jealousy, praise, oral(f.), fingering (f.), squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, toxic on the dl

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You slam the door behind you abruptly and stomp through the bedroom.

"You're acting crazy Mingyu," You huff.

The door swings back open and he walks through. "You're not even listening to me."

You turn facing him with your arms crossed. There's not even a hint of amusement on your face. "You're not listening to me."

You plop down on the bed, butt sinking into the mattress. YOu lean over and start pulling at the strings of your shoes. You're already frustrated and frankly, you're struggling to get your heels off.

"Let me help," Mingyu offers with a sigh.

"No," You spit out quickly. "I can do it myself."

It's a lie.

Your nails are too long for you to properly grip and undo the fastener on the shoe. You couldn't even get them on yourself earlier in the night. Mingyu did it for you. But that was before he started acting like a jealous prick and pissed you off at the club. And the only person more stubborn than Mingyu is you.

He watches you struggle, but ultimately gives in and kneels down to help you anyway. You huff out in annoyance and his face tightens. Neither of you says anything, although the tension in the room seems to thicken.

He helps you out of your shoes, and the moment the second heel is off, you're back on your feet. You don't look at him or thank him, simply standing to your feet and turning your back to him.

His jaw tightens and he takes a deep breath. "Could've at least said thank you."

"I didn't need your help," You snap back quickly.

"What the fuck Y/n? Why are you acting so crazy?!"

"I'm not acting crazy, you are. You're the one treating me like I did something wrong! If some guy comes up to me and starts flirting, I can't do anything to stop him. It's not like I was entertaining it either. I made it clear I wasn't interested and that I had a boyfriend, you're acting like I fucked every guy that looked at me tonight!" You scoff.

"You don't get it."

"I understand it perfectly Gyu." You grit your teeth.

"I know you didn't entertain it but fuck–Y/n. Did you see how many guys were staring at you like a piece of meat? Practically drooling and snickering to their friends and the second they laid eyes on you. And then the amount of them that actually had the audacity to go up to you? It's disrespectful as fuck and you can't blame me for not wanting to stay any longer."

"You dragged me out like I was your property! Just because you were miserable the whole time we were there, doesn't mean I was too. You might not have wanted to see the flirting, but you're taking it out on me like I was actually doing something wrong. Don't have a hot girlfriend if you can't handle it."

You storm off before he can respond with a slam of the bathroom door. You turn on the shower, giving it time to warm up as you slip out of the admittedly very short and very tight dress hugging your body.

Once hot, you step into the shower and allow the water to cover your body. It helps to put you at ease and release the tension and anger weighing on your heart.

You tilt your head back, allowing the water to trickle down your skin. You're so relieved by the water you fail to hear the door opening. Mingyu slips into the bathroom quietly, stripping himself bare without your knowledge.

He steps into the shower, sudden presence startling you. Your heart drops and begins racing and you visually flinch. "Mingyu-"

"Shh" He hushes you calmly, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He holds you gently, pulling you in so your back meets his chest.

His chin rests on your shoulder and you can feel his soft breaths on your neck. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

He plants small kisses on your shoulder, mumbling more apologies in your ear. You try to hold your poker face, but your body relaxes on its own. You melt against his touch. "I was an asshole..." he admits. " 'M sorry."

He lifts his head and turns you around so you're facing him. He cups your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes meet. "I fucked up."

You nod lightly. "You did."

"Let me make it up to you?" He offers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Gyu..."

"Please?" He practically begs. "I only acted like a dick because I love you. It's fucked up, I know... but shit. You have any idea how beautiful you are?"

He pulls your body flush against his. Your chests press against one another and he looks down at you. You can feel the length of his hard cock poking against your inner thigh. Neither of you acknowledge it.

"You're so fucking perfect..." He whispers.

He starts trailing kisses along your neck. His lips are soft against your skin, but he sucks harshly. He's sure to leave hickeys, allowing his territorial side to come through. You don't stop him though, can't say you mind all that much when it feels this good.

A moan slips past your lips and you can feel the way Mingyu smirks against your skin. He knows you've already folded and you've given him all the confirmation he needs to keep going.

His hand travels up your stomach, lightly cupping one of your tits. His head dips down between the valley of your breasts and he continues kissing you. "Didn't want anyone else staring at these perfect tits..."

He continues trailing kisses along your skin, opening his mouth wider once he reaches your nipple. He sucks on the bud, causing you to arch your back and press your thighs together. "Everything about you is so beautiful baby," he mumbles.

His head moves, traveling to your other breast and giving it the same attention before continuing to kiss down your stomach. He reaches your navel before kneeling down on the shower floor.

The view has you nearly salivating. He's below you on his knees, hair dripping wet from the shower with his eyes fixated on you. They're clouded with love and lust and you can sense how eager he is to love on you.

"Can I?" He asks softly.

You breathe out shakily, giving him a small nod. He's quick to spread your legs and push his head in between. He starts off slowly, kissing between your thighs and licking a long stripe through your folds.

"Fuckkkkk," You breathe out.

"Didn't want anyone thinking about this pussy either.... 's all mine."

You lean your head back against the wet wall of the shower. He begins sucking on your clit softly, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. "Taste so good ma."

He lifts one of your legs, resting it on the rim of the bathtub. You tug at his wet hair for support, but it doesn't do much once he starts devouring you. He's sloppy with it, french kissing your clit and pushing his warm tongue in your folds. His nose nudges against your clit and you're squirming above him nonstop.

You cry out, hands slipping against the wet wall as you try to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaky with pleasure and your balance is unsteady.

He adjusts your body slightly, holding you up by your ass cheeks and encourages you to grind down on his face. He moves your hand down on his shoulder. You push your hips against his lips sloppily, crying out as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"S-Shiiiiit," You moan. "Gyu 'm gonna cum."

Your nails dig into his shoulder as your juices coat his face. He moans against you, sending vibrations coursing through your body enough to have you cumming in moments.

He focuses his lips back on your clit, sucking harshly on the sensitive bud. He slips two fingers into your hole, pumping them into you. Your orgasm courses through you before you have time to warn him. You cry out, legs shaking as you cum on his face. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and your clit throbs on his tongue.

A rush of liquid coats his face as you grind against him. He kneels there, moaning against you as he relishes in your taste. He gives you a moment to come down, watching as your chest rises and falls from the harsh breaths you take. He pulls his fingers out slowly and helps you balance yourself on your feet.

He presses one last kiss on your clit before standing to his feet again.

"Better?" He asks.

You nod lightly.

"You forgive me yet mamas?" He asks fondly.

You lick your lips slowly and shrug. "Don't think so."

He sucks his teeth. "Baby."

You give him the cold shoulder, turning around so you're no longer facing him. YOu allow the water to drip down your body again.

He's not amused.

He grabs your waist, pressing your back against his chest.

"Gyu-"

He pushes your body flush against the glass of the shower. Your wet tits flatten against the transparent metal and his cock presses against your folds.

"Since you wanna be difficult, 'M gonna fuck it out of you," He groans against the shell of your ear.

You whimper.

Without warning, he enters you roughly. His cock pounds into you from behind, pushing your body up against the wet glass with each thrust.

You cry out, moaning his name as he fucks you. He continues to tell you how perfect you are, words reflecting differently than the way he thrusts his cock into you mercilessly.

Your palms lay flat against the wet wall as you try to hold yourself steady. His cock stretches you open, pleasure hitting you in all the right places. His cock reaches deep into you, pounding against your g-spot with each roll of his hips.

He grunts, tightening his grip on your waist as he feels you stretch around his cock. You're still tight, warmth enveloping his cock and making it hard for him to stop. He would fuck you all day if he could.

You're always wet for him and you feel so fucking good. It's why all those guys were pissing him off so much today. He just thinks everything about you is so fucking perfect. You're his to kiss, to love, to fuck, and only his.

He knows he needs to control his possessive side more, but when you're arching your back and pushing your ass against him like this, he can't help but feel defensive. He'd never share you.

It doesn't take long before you're cumming again. You cry out his name, catering to everything he wants to hear right now. He continues to compliment you, voice breaking as he cums inside of you moments later.

He groans as he fills you up, pumping his load into you and painting your inner walls white. He kisses your shoulder before pulling out and holding you up. Your legs are shaky, but he supports you.

"Was that too much?" He asks softly.

"No, I'm okay," You look back at him.

Your eyes are soft and he can sense you're getting sleepy. He nods in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry for acting like an asshole, seriously. You don't deserve that and I wanna do better."

"It's okay Gyu, I get it. But I've never given you any reason to doubt me, right?"

"Never."

You plant a kiss on his cheek. "Doesn't matter how many guys try to get at me, the only one I want is you. I mean it."

He licks his lips. "I know."

You pull him in an hug him. Your wet bodies press against one another warmly, it's so comforting.

"Alright baby, let's get you properly cleaned up and go to bed, okay?"

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[caitified]

meeting caity at a gay bar in indy while she’s trying to be dl???? smut???

nobody knows

caitlin clark x reader

warnings: part one, there will be a smut part 2 this is just the build up. NOT PROOF READ

you’re sipping on your drink, comfortably settled against the bar, when you catch her glancing your way. she’s gorgeous, no doubt about it. she isn’t your usual type, but something is drawing you to her. luckily, she feels the same. there’s a slight hesitation in her step, but something compels her forward, bringing her closer until she’s only a couple of feet away.

she’s trying to play it cool, but there’s a subtle nervousness in her eyes as she leans in, voice low, like she’s hoping no one else will hear. “hey,” she says, glancing around the room, “do you… come here often?”

you give her a once-over, intrigued by her nervous nature. “only every now and then. but i think i’d remember if i’d seen you here before.” you smile, watching her cheeks flush as she ducks her head for a second.

she shifts, looking down at her drink. “i’m kind of new to this scene… well, not exactly new, just…” she falters, and you can tell there’s a story behind her words, something she’s holding back.

you tilt your head, encouraging her without pushing. “i get it. this place isn’t for everyone. takes a certain level of comfort to be here.”

her eyes dart up, and she gives you a faint smile. “yeah, i’m working on that.”

for a moment, she just stares at you, lips parted like she’s about to say something, then stops. finally, she says, “you probably know who i am, don’t you?”

“maybe,” you reply, giving her a teasing grin. “i’ll keep your secret safe, though.”

her shoulders visibly relax at that, and she steps a little closer, her gaze flickering over you like she’s taking you in properly for the first time. “thanks. i… i don’t usually do this. i have a boyfriend, actually.”

there’s something in her tone that makes you think she’s explaining it as much to herself as she is to you. you nod, not wanting to push her, but there’s undeniable tension between you two — a tension she’s clearly fighting against but failing.

“fair enough,” you say softly, not stepping back, just letting her linger in your space. “i won’t judge if you just want some company tonight. whatever that means.”

she bites her lip, hesitating, and you can almost see her weighing out her options in her mind. but then, something in her shifts, as if she’s decided to let go of the weight of those thoughts, at least for tonight.

“maybe i don’t want to just stay here tonight,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

your heart skips a beat, but you keep your cool, nodding. “then let’s get out of here.”

she follows you outside, the air wrapping around you both as you step out of the bar. you walk side by side in silence, and finally, she looks over at you, her guard completely down for the first time. she reaches for your hand, squeezing it, almost like she needs the reassurance.

you smile, giving her fingers a soft squeeze back. she’s still nervous, but you can feel her growing comfort as you make your way back to your place, anticipation building between you two.

once inside, the tension is almost unbearable. she hesitates for a fraction of a second before finally closing the distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both hesitant and hungry. you feel her let go, surrendering to this moment she’s been trying to fight……

to be continued…if you want this to go a certain way or have certain things involved, let me know.

[virginsexgod69]

Hey, I love your writing! Could you write a story about Rick Grimes and a female reader?

It's two months after Lori's death and you and Rick have been sneaking around keeping your relationship on the DL

And during one of the hookups, he ended up calling you Lori instead. The hookups stopped for a while, and he went crazy because you had been avoiding him since the awkward moment. He ended up doing everything in his power to get you back

Please don't rush take your time :]

❝ Sweetheart ❞

pairing Rick Grimes x f!Reader

cw smut, unprotected p in v, angst, pining

note you are very kind, @hutchersonsgurl and i really enjoyed writing this request! sorry i took so long, but ty for your patience! i hope you like!

4.7k words

 This was the nth time you woke up naked, laying against Rick's bare chest in the uncomfortable cot of your cell. The first time this happened, you felt horrible. His wife had died barely two months ago, and here you were fucking him in secret. Maybe this was his way of grieving, or maybe he actually liked you, but either way the sex was too good to stop. 

"Mornin' sweetheart," he said, his voice still raspy with sleep. Your heart swelled. You loved when he used that nickname. You responded by pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you closer. 

"Get 'nough sleep?" he asked, a teasing quality to his voice. He had kept you up all night and he knew it. You had the sore thighs and marks littering your body to prove it. 

“You kept me up all night and wore me out. I think I should be exempt from my duties today.”  He laughed at your suggestion. 

“S’too bad. I wanted to go out for a quick supply run, jus you ’n me.”  You perked up at this. Supply runs that involved just the two of you were always more than supply runs. Even if they ended up just being regular supply runs, you still enjoyed spending time with Rick. 

“When’re we leavin’!?” You asked excitedly as you untangled yourself from Rick’s arms to get up. He pulled you back into the cot and held you in a tighter embrace. 

“It’s still early. Let’s stay like this for a bit, yeah?” He asked before tenderly kissing your hairline. 

"You seriously wearin' that?" Rick asked as you approached the car. You wore a form fitting tank top paired with some denim low rise short shorts. You knew it wasn't the most practical outfit, but you couldn't resist teasing him. 

"Somethin' wrong?" you asked with faux innocence. He couldn't answer you seeing as he was too busy gawking. Piercing blue eyes stared at your cleavage before drifting down to your thighs where the marks he sucked on them peeked out from beneath the shorts. He's seen you naked and been inside you so many times, yet the sight of you in that simple outfit damn near brought him to his knees. 

"You gonna keep starin' or are we gonna get goin'?" You asked, arms impatiently crossed beneath your chest. He playfully rolled his eyes before opening the passenger side door for you, ushering you inside. He got in the driver's side and began driving to the department store you spotted the other day. 

 Rick's hand rested comfortably on your thigh as he drove and as you alternated between admiring him and admiring the view outside. Being alone with the man gave you the perfect opportunity to ask him all the questions swimming in your head about your relationship. You couldn't decide between enjoying the peaceful, comfortable silence or initiating a talk with him, but eventually decided on the latter. 

"What am I to you, Rick?" you asked with forced nonchalance. You could've sworn you saw him tense up, but he recovered so quickly you couldn't even be sure it happened. 

"What do you-" he took a breath, "what do you mean?" 

The lack of an immediate answer made your heart sink a little. You weren't expecting a speech followed by a marriage proposal, but anything else would've been nicer. 

"Am I a rebound? A friend? A bootycall? A..." you hesitated for a moment, "girlfriend?" You hated how hopeful you sounded at the last suggestion. 

 He ran a hand over his face and sighed before answering. "I don' know what you are to me." Your eyes burned with tears that you refused to let fall. His hand grabbed yours, squeezing it comfortingly. "But I know you're special to me and I could never live without you." You reciprocated his hand squeeze. Although it wasn't exactly what you wanted to hear, his words made your heart swell. 

  You held his hand for the rest oft the car ride, until the department store came into view. It was worn down on the outside, like most places were, and some of the letters were missing from the sign. Some windows were broken and others were boarded up. Pickings were slim so even if you thought there'd be nothing in there, it'd be worth it to check. You exited the car and grabbed your backpack full of snacks, water bottles, and a few weapons along with an empty bag for your finds and slung it over your shoulder. Rick grabbed it from you and carried it instead, a simple but gentlemanly gesture. 

 Hand in hand, the two of you entered the store. You were shocked to see fluorescent lighting and feel the cool air conditioning. The rest of the store was a mess. Dismembered mannequins, clothes, and clothing hangers littered the floor. Empty clothing racks were tipped over along with shopping carts. 

"Just grab a bunch of these clothes for everyone, I'll go look for some baby stuff," Rick said. You agreed and began shoving as many clothes as you could fit into the empty bag. With Rick off somewhere else, you began looking around the store. It all looked the same aside for a few different items strewn across the floor. You threw an apple scented candle into the bag because why not, and shoved in some blankets. The bag could barely zip, which was your sign to stop "shopping." You continued exploring the store until you came across the mattress aisle.

   It had felt like ages since you've felt the comfort of a real mattress and it was far too tempting not to give in. You set the bag down, but kept your knife and holster on you in case you ran into any trouble. You ran before jumping onto a random mattress, bouncing a little before settling on it. The fluffy comfort soothed your achy body. It hadn’t even been a minute, but your eyelids already started feeling heavy. Rick calling your name jostled you from your short sleep. You debated on ignoring him so you could drift back off to sleep, but that was far too dangerous and you knew that. 

“Over here,” you called back. He found his way over to you, baby clothes and other items in his arms. He looked at you skeptically before setting the stuff in his arms down. 

“What’re you doin?” 

“When was the last time you felt a real mattress, Rick?”  He looked up in thought, but took too long to answer, so you patted the spot beside you. He flopped onto the mattress, settling down next to you. You turned to face him. 

“Comfy, right?” His face cracked into a smile. 

“Yeah, too bad we can’t take it back to the prison,” he lamented. 

“Yeah,” you trailed off, eyes darting between his eyes and pink lips, “We better make the best outta this while we can.” You couldn’t help the way your mouth pulled into a smirk. His face mirrored yours as he pulled you in for a kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. His hands slid down your body, gripping your ass before pulling you into him, grinding his crotch against yours. He moaned into your mouth, allowing you to slip your tongue into his, tasting him. Out of breath, he pulled away, panting with pink cheeks and pupils blown with lust. He flipped you from on your side to your back before kneeling on either side of your hips. You sat up and went for his belt buckle, but he pushed you back down into the mattress. 

“C’mon, Rick, what’re you waiting’ for?” You whined impatiently. He leaned down and grabbed your face between one of his large hands, lips puffing out from the way he squeezed your cheeks. 

“Patience, little girl, or I won’t let ya cum,” he threatened with a lustful darkness in his eyes. Your stomach flipped and your pussy throbbed. You loved this side of Rick, but you hated waiting. You nodded your head and he relinquished his hold on your face. The pout on your face was quickly wiped away when he began sucking on the space where your neck and shoulder connected. You were too caught up in the moment to worry about him leaving marks on hard to cover places on your body, and he didn't seem to care too much either. He nipped at your collar bones as you tried to stifle the giggles that the ticklish feeling of his beard caused. When your tank top got in the way of his descent, he made quick work of removing it, almost tearing it in the process. His eyed went wide when he realized you weren't wearing a bra, but you just smiled innocently at him, causing his pants to tighten. The cool, air conditioned air hardened your nipples, which Rick pinched, earning restrained whimpers from you and making you squirm beneath him. 

"Nah, no holdin' back, I wanna hear you." 

"B-but what if walkers-" your own moan cut you off when Rick took your breast into his warm mouth. He captured your nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he sucked all while his other hand continued pinching the other. Your hands tangled in his hair as you pathetically whimpered. He pulled away from your breast with a wet pop and continued kissing wet, sloppy kisses down your stomach, until he met the waistband of your little shorts. The way he strained against his pants grew painful and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. 

"Turn 'round, wanna see your pretty ass in those little shorts," he ordered, gripping your hips to flip you over. You supported yourself on your elbows with your back arched and ass in the air, per Rick’s command. 

“God, you look so damn good in those shorts.” The complement sent heat flooding to your core. 

“Hurry up, Rick, I need you!” You whined wantonly. You knew Rick didn’t have patience for your impatience, but could he take any longer? Rick slapped your ass, leaving a pleasurable sting. 

“What’d I tell you ‘bout bein’ patient?” Rick snapped. You glanced at him behind you with pleading pout on your face, silently asking for forgiveness all while begging him to hurry up and pound you into the mattress. He already couldn’t say no to you, but when you looked at him like that it took almost everything in him to not give into your every whim. 

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you drive me crazy,” he groaned as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. His hands were on you again, yanking your shorts down to your knees. With the way your arousal coated your inner thighs, Rick gave up on taking his time with you. You looked so delectable as you eagerly laid there desperately waiting for him with your own wetness leaking down your supple thighs. His hand held your hip in place as the other lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in effortlessly, filling you up so perfectly. A guttural moan escaped him once he bottomed out.  Every vein along his shaft you could feel as he thrusted in and out of you. His grip on your hips hardened to the point of leaving bruises as he pounded in and out of you. 

“Yer takin’ me so good, princess,” he said between his own pants and occasional breathy moans.

Your elbows shook as you struggled to support yourself, weakened by the pleasure and the pounding you were getting from the man behind you. They finally gave out, leaving you face down in the soft mattress. Rick’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and rhythmless as his breathing shallowed. 

“Rick, ‘m gonna cum,” you whined. 

“Me too, jus’ wait a sec.” 

He continued his tired thrusts, his hips bumping your ass with each one, filling the store with wet, erotic sounds.

“Oh, god! Rick!” You screamed as you came around his cock. Your velvety walls squeezed him as your eyes rolled back while your orgasm overtook you. He let out a guttural moan as his hot release flooded your tired cunt. After pulling out, the man collapsed beside you on the mattress. You turned to face him, a sleepy smile on your face as you cuddled up to him. He took you in his arms and held you to his chest, peppering kisses all over any part of you he could reach. 

“You’re so good to me, Lori,” he said between kisses. You froze and Rick did too. You forced yourself out of his arms. His arms were once your favorite place to be. You felt safe, warm, and comforted, like the world hasn’t ended. But now it felt like your world ended. The arms that once gave you safety and comfort left you feeling vulnerable and weak. 

“Sweetheart, I-I’m sorry, it was a genuine mistake,” he pleaded. His blue eyes held unshed tears which he blinked back as he desperately apologized. You ignored him, choosing instead to redress yourself in an angered frenzy. 

He called your name in that firm tone he uses when he’s serious. “It was an accident, I promis-“

“Shut up, Rick!” You snapped. His eyes widened in shock and honestly yours did too. You never snapped at him and not in a million years would you have told him to shut up. But you were just so angry. He hurried off the bed and pulled up his pants before hurrying to catch up to you as you stormed off. He grabbed your arm, successfully stopping you. 

“Just,” he sighed, “just listen to me. Please?” He pleaded. You refused to look at him, not wanting him to see the tears you couldn’t hold back. You snatched your arm out of his grip and grabbed your previously discarded bag. 

“I’m goin’ back to the prison,” you said cooly, grateful you were able to keep the waver out of your voice. The lump in your throat burned and your chest ached, but you refused to look back at the man, despite him calling after you. In all honesty, you just wanted to run into his arms and cry into his chest, but he was the one who had you feeling this way. 

 Rick had caught up to you once you were back outside in the Georgian heat. “You can’t walk back to the prison by yourself. It’s far and it’s dangerous,” he bargained. You turned to glare at him, facing him for the first time since he called you by his recently deceased wife’s name. 

“I can handle myself just fine out there and you know that!”  Rick was only rubbing salt in the wound, intentional or not. It already hurt that he called you by the wrong name, but to underestimate you like that only cut deeper. 

“I don’t doubt that one bit, but it’s dangerous out there and I’m jus’ tryin’ to protect you!” 

 Normally, you reveled in his protectiveness. It made you think that maybe there was a chance he loved you, too, but now it only made you angrier. How dare he hurt you then pretend to care about your safety by claiming to protect you. 

“Why? Cause you couldn’t protect your precious Lori!?” You spat before your hands flew up to cover your mouth in shock.  Rick’s face fell as he stood there, frozen, staring at you with heartbreak evident in his eyes. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. It wasn’t even his fault she died. An apology burned on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed it, wanting Rick to hurt just as much as you did. Your turned on your heel and resumed your trek back to the prison and this time he didn’t stop you. 

You cried to yourself quietly in your cell that night. It had been the first night in a while that you spent without Rick under the covers with you. His Freudian slip was more than an innocent mistake to you, it solidified every insecurity that had been brewing in the back of your head. Rick didn't love you, he loved Lori and you were just there to wet his dick while he grieved her death. You looked at him like he hung the moon, but when he looked at you, he just wished you were someone else, and that hurt. Eventually, that hurtful feeling of emptiness was overtaken by a dreamless sleep. 

When you woke the next morning, you just wanted to go to sleep. You wanted to skip out on all your responsibilities and re-enter that state of dreamless sleep that kept you from thinking about Rick. Once you got ready for the day, you trudged over to get something to eat. Footsteps rapidly approached behind you and you felt a hand gently grab your forearm. 

"Can we please talk?" Rick asked. You didn't even want to turn to face him, your urge to ignore him too strong. Honestly, you hoped he'd be mad at you too, for what you had said, but he didn't sound mad at all, just desperate. When you turned to face him, all of your emotions from last night came flooding back tenfold. 

"There's nothing to talk about," you replied, struggling to keep your voice even. You hated how broken you sounded almost more than you hated the way he was looking at you. His red rimmed eyes hinted that he had also been crying, but the way hurt and remorse swam around in his blue irises tugged at your heartstrings. You just wanted to give in and hug him and have him tell you everything was alright while he kissed your tears away. But the thought that maybe he used to do that to Lori upset you all over again, sending tears burning your already puffy eyes. You snatched your arm out of his grip and turned away from him once again.

"I, um... There's lots of walkers at the fence," you mumbled before hurrying off. 

All week, Rick didn't give up on trying to win you back. It honestly confused you. Did he miss you, or did he just miss having sex with you? Either way, you refused to give in. As much as you wanted to, you wouldn't. You didn't want to keep being a replacement for his late wife, so you just ignored and avoided him whenever you could.

 Whenever you would pass Rick in the halls, you'd go another way so he couldn't talk to you, which he always tried to do. He'd either try to apologize or beg you to talk to him, neither of which you wanted to listen to. You ignoring him really started to take a toll on him, and everyone started noticing. 

"Wha's goin' on between you 'n Rick?" Maggie asked you in the watchtower when she came to switch shifts with you. 

The question caught you off guard, stilling you in your place. "Nothin', why?" you replied as casually as you could. The mention of the man always made your heart beat a little faster, apparently that remained true when you were mad at him.

"He's seemed a little...off lately, and honestly, you have too." 

You trusted Maggie, you really did, but just the thought of telling her what happened felt humiliating. 

"Why do ya say that?" you ask, still trying to play it cool. 

"Well, ever since the two a' ya stopped seein' each other, you both've been miserable and it's kinda been affectin' everyone in here too," she explained. Your eyes went wide in shock knowing that she knew about your hookups with Rick. She must think you were awful for getting in bed with him almost as soon as his wife died, and it made your stomach churn. 

"Y-you knew?" you forced out through your dry throat. 

"There isn't much privacy in here," she said matter of factly. 

You looked down at your feet in shame, unshed tears burning in your eyes. If she knew, it was likely everyone else knew too. 

"Anyway," she said, digging in her pocket. She pulled out a few wildflowers. "Rick wanted me to give you these." You accepted them before you could even think of rejecting them. 

"Thanks, Maggie," you said, offering a weak smile. She returned the smile. Your turned to leave the watchtower, but before you could go, the sound of her voice stopped you. 

"Just so you know, nobody's judgin' Rick 'n you." You felt some of the weight on your shoulders dissipate. It was nice to know nobody hated you for hooking up with Rick, but that didn't matter much since you two were essentially broken up. 

 Rick missed you. He was more distraught now than he was when he was seeing his dead wife in different places. He hadn't been able to sleep without you wrapped up in his arms. Guilt crushed him whenever you avoided him around the prison. Guilt because he hurt one of the most important to him. He didn't even care about what you said that day, he just wanted you back. It wasn't even the sex that he missed, it was you. Seeing how you ignored him whenever you were unable to avoid him, he figured the chances of getting you back were slim. Apologies and wildflowers wouldn't be enough. He needed to do whatever he could to get you back. 

He wanted to give you your space as much as he could, which is why he didn't try to pursue you other than when you crossed paths, but he was losing his mind. Which is why he found himself outside of your cell. He hesitated before knocking on the wall beside the curtain covering the cell's bars. He heard shuffling and grumbling before he saw you peek out from behind the curtain, which you quickly drew shut upon seeing him. 

"I need to talk to ya. I promise I'll leave you alone, but only after you hear me out," he whispered, not wanting to wake the others. The silence on your ended lasted for what felt like a while before you finally let him in. You sat down on your cot as Rick stood there awkwardly before eventually sitting a respectable distance away from you. 

"What do ya want?" you asked, not looking at him. 

He took a deep breath as he gathered his words in his head. He had some idea of what he wanted to say to you, but his mind went blank when he saw you. You looked sad and tired, the complete opposite of how you were before that day at the department store. 

"I came in here because I wanted to apologize. I dunno why I called you Lori, but it wasn't 'cause I was thinking of her," he insisted. Your only response was huffing and crossing your arms over your chest, still not looking at him.

"Please, look at me," he pleaded. He sounded weak and desperate because he was. You made him weak and he'd do anything just to have you look at him like you used to. You finally turned to face him, but your gaze was cold and distant. 

"Did you even mean it when you said I was special to you? When you said you couldn't live without me?" you asked guardedly. Rick hated that he made you feel like you couldn't be vulnerable with him anymore. He was ready to bare his whole heart out to you and wished you could do the same. Your walls were up so high that he couldn't even read you anymore. 

"I meant every-" 

"Or were you thinking about Lori when you said that," you spat. 

Rick sighed and ran and hand over his face. He took a minute to compose himself, blinking back the tears that sprung forth at your words. He didn't realize he had hurt you that badly. He glanced around your cell as he blinking back his tears, noticing the flowers he picked for you sitting in an small can filled with water in the corner. It gave him some hope that you'd forgive him. 

"You are the only one for me." He reached for your hand but you snatched it away. 

"Rick, I'm not just some hooker you can call over whenever you get sad thinkin' 'bout your wife" your voice broke as your lips and chin began to quiver, your tears failing to stay put in your eyes.

 Seeing you fall apart crying broke Rick's heart, making it harder for him to hold back his own tears. He didn't know what else he could say to make you understand that his life wouldn't be the same without you. So he pulled out a piece of paper with a letter he wrote for you. He was originally going to have someone else to give it to you for him since you'd been avoiding him. But now was he chance. He placed it on your cot before letting himself out.  

You paced back and fourth in the prison fiddling with the letter Rick gave you as you anxiously waited his and the others’ return. You had all presumably defeated the Governor, but the others went after him anyway to tie up any loose ends. Having been a part of the initial fight, you wanted to go too, but Rick wouldn’t let you. You arguing with him on why you should go had been the first time you talked to him since he came to your cell that night a week ago. 

Worrying about Rick made you feel guilty for ignoring for all this time. You spent all this time ignoring him, too afraid to admit to yourself that you still loved him. And now he might be dead somewhere, never knowing that you forgive him and love him too. You stared down at the letter and reread it for the nth time, seeking comfort in his written words. 

Sweetheart, 

 When you asked me what you were to me, I couldn’t find the right words to answer. It shouldn’t have taken me losing you to realize that you are my everything. In such a short time, you became my world and I wouldn’t be able to live a day without you. Every time you’re away from me, I yearn for the moment of your return. I don’t know how much time we’ll have together, but no matter how much or little we have left, I will spend all of it trying to earn your love again, because I love you, (Y/N). 

-Rick 

 Tears welled in your eyes. You felt so foolish wasting so much time you could’ve spend loving Rick being angry with him. You folded the letter again and shoved it in your back pocket. The sounds of the gate opening and Daryl’s motorcycle approaching took your attention. You ran outside, hurrying past everyone else headed the same way. You saw Rick standing there unscathed talking with Carl. Tears blurred your vision as you practically charged at him. He opened his arms just in time for your to jump in them. You sobbed into his shoulder as you held each other tight. You pulled away from the kiss and held his face in your hands, staring into his beautiful, blue eyes. He leaned down for a kiss which you happily accepted. 

“They back together again?” Daryl asked. 

“About time,” Carol responded. 

With the addition of the Woodburians, privacy was even harder to come by, but you and Rick made sure to get some the night he returned. You sat perched on his lap with your arms wrapped around him and face nuzzled in his neck. He rubbed soothing circles on your back, happy he was yours again. 

“I’m so sorry for what I said that say,” you mumbled. 

“Me too, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. You sat up and stared at Rick. He looked tired, but at peace for the first time in a while. 

“What?” He asked with a smile on his face. His smile made your own face split into a matching one. 

“I love you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. 

“I love you, too, Sweetheart.” 

this was partially proofread.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

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[violetsaffron5]

Last night, I posted Part 2 to Dirty Little Secret, and this morning it was flagged with a community label.

Dirty Little Secret: Confessions

If you would like to read it, the link is above. Please make sure you have Community Labels: Mature set to Show.

This post explains how to enable that feature.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this little mini-series, it means a lot!

[trappedwriter]

Chapter 23

Content Warning, this is intended for people that are 18+ and this chapter includes ddlg themes (always forced age regression) abdl themes, graphic violence, kidnapping, swearing, cannibalism, mentions alcohol. If I left anything out, let me know.

Chris’s POV

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What am I going to do? Maybe it won’t be too bad? Maybe he’ll forgive me. Although I lied to him about her once before. Fuck! I thought as I paced around my living room. Beads of sweat were dripping down my face. Real panic started to kick in, I felt my breath catch in my throat and my heart begin to race. What was he going to do with her, and me? We’d only just started the perfect family and then this. I knew I should have hidden her when Jessica was here. I can’t be mad at her though, I never told her to not mention anything to Seb. She didn’t know.

I stopped pacing by the front door, sucked in a deep breath for confidence and headed over to their house. I didn’t bother knocking, he was waiting for me. Sure, enough he was on the couch, exactly where I left him. “Oh! Forget something babe?” He mocked. I closed the door and immediately the confidence left my body. I started to ramble “It’s not what it looks like, I loved her but now I only love Jessica. And you, I love both of you. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He said nothing just let me ramble on.

“I promise I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me. I don’t care if you kill her. She means nothing to me.” He gave me a serious look “Ok.” He said. “Ok?” I repeated. “Yes Chris, ok. I won’t kill you. Fortunately for you, I also love our family. Things are finally as they should be. I won’t let her ruin this. I will spare your life. What you’re going to do is take our little one to your place and you will stay there with her until I’m done.” He said with a stern expression. “What are you going to do?” I asked. “That’s none of your concern now.”

I didn’t want to question him again. I’m grateful that I’m still alive. If it wasn’t for Jessica, I would be dead. Without wasting anytime, I went to her nursery and gently picked her up. Seb was still in the living room, he kissed her on the forehead before I left. I laid her down on our bed but didn’t join her. There was no way I could go to sleep. Back in the kitchen, I poured myself a generous glass of whiskey, plopped down on the couch and waited. ——

Sebastian’s POV

I headed down the basement stairs with the plan to kill our former little girl, once and for all. I flipped on the switch to the single warm light that revealed the small girl in her cage. It was like history was repeating itself. I pulled over the chair from the desk and sat down in front of her. She sat there, naked and curled up on herself. Sobs escaped her mouth. She finally looked up at me “Dada, please….” I stood up quickly and bashed my hand against the top of the cage, causing the girl to flinch back in fear. “Don’t you fucking call me that.”

I turned around and grabbed a knife from the table “Here’s what’s going to happen Rebecca, you’re going to die a slow and painful death. And then we’re going to eat you.” Her eyes went wide. “Yes, you heard me. All those playthings we brought home, all got fucked and eaten. You even ate them too.” Her face went deathly pale, and she puked emptying her stomach and dry heaving when there was nothing left. The sight disgusted me. Just another reason why I love Jessica, she accepted our secret. She loved it too. Bored, I started to open her cage, I grabbed her and dragged her to the cuffs on the wall. She begged and struggled, but that made it more fun. I always loved it when they tried to plead their way out of what was coming.

But it was time for her to learn that there was nothing she could say to stop me, I took the knife and ripped it across her inner thigh causing a nice deep slice in my once favourite place. Her leg kicked and jerked, but it couldn’t escape my knife. She let out a shriek of pain, a sound I was well used to though for some reason it didn’t spark that same joy that it normally did. Snot ran down her nose and onto her mouth, and tears streaked down her cheeks. Looking at her face I was filled with pity, but I clenched down on the feeling with an iron grip and steeled myself to take another swing, when she confessed. “I still love you.” I chuckled “love me? How pathetic. If you love me then why did you do it, why did you run away?” I questioned. “I… I.” “Can’t even come up with a good answer?” “I was hurt, I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you and Daddy. You hurt me, I thought you didn’t love me anymore. You loved your plaything more than me. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you broke my heart. Marc promised me a movie night, that’s why I left. I always loved you and always will.”

I lowered the knife and took in what she said. She continued “Daddy knows everything, that’s why he kept me. He knows I love him too and he… loved me back.” So, this was why he kept her. I knew that night I went a little overboard with my dirty talk, but I didn’t know how much it affected her. Thinking about that night and finding out that she left shattered my heart. A single tear fell down my face. I turned around quickly so that she didn’t see it and wiped it away. Memories flooded back to all the fun times I had with Bunny. A smile grew on my face. Did I still have feelings for her? She was my pick after all. I only let Chris think that he picked her. But she was mine, she was my Bunny. But I have Jessica now, it couldn’t work, could it?

I pulled out my phone and texted him.

We need to talk!

——

Chris’s POV

I was just about to finish the bottle of whiskey when I got the text. He didn’t take too long. Knowing Sebastian and how he felt towards Bunny especially after she left us, I thought he would hive her a slow painful death. I had been crying, although I have Jessica now. Bunny was mine. I picked her, I loved her and now she’s dead. Dripping blood on the concrete floor in his basement. Her death was meaningful. She wasn’t like the other ones. We bonded and even though I told her I didn’t love her, it was a lie. I love both of them.

Seb came bursting through my door, tears streaming down his face. I gave him a confused look. Standing before me was the big bad cop, known for being hard (not in that way) and basically never showed any emotions. And now he’s crying about her. I embraced him and let him cry onto my shoulder “It’s okay, it’s over now.” I consoled him. Very quietly he said “I couldn’t do it. I hurt her, broke her heart. I caused this.” I pulled him back “she’s not dead?” “No, why didn’t you tell me? All of this trouble could have been avoided.” “To be honest, I was scared what you would to do me.” Seb chuckled “I love you too much to hurt you, you big ole goof ball.”

We sat on the couch and talked things over. “We could make this work, maybe. How did Jessica get on with Bunny?” Seb asked. “Well… Bunny was being cold to her, obviously not liking the fact that we replaced her with a new little girl. But I think she can be put into place, with some reinforcement and punishments if needed.” Seb took my hands in his, looked me straight in the eyes and said “I want you and Bunny to move in.”

Chapter 24 - Christmas Special

[biibini]

would you please consider my request? 😆😋😋

mizu wants to see f!reader to masturbate in front of her and ask reader right away then mizu just enjoying the show and saying bunch of filthy words, guiding and all but also ended up having her fingers fucking the reader until the reader is pleading for mizu to stop pathetically but mizu is too lustful because how sweet and hot you sound

show & tell: nsfw modern!mizu x reader smut (request)

tags: NSFW, smut, modern!mizu, f!reader, masturbation with an audience, dirty talk, praise, so much praise, mizu has a DIRTYYYY mouth, fingering, guiding, finger-sucking, mizu holding back, if you squint rlly hard its edging on the dl, teasing, begging, she pussy whipped lets be real

a/n: i apologize for being MIA,, midterms has been kicking my ass lately :( i hope yall enjoy this though, i've been cookin this for a while

nsfw 18+ below!

You and Mizu are laying side by side, the moonlight shining into the bedroom. It’s one of those nights where you’re cuddling, and a little bit of making out to end the night.

That’s at least what you expected.

Mizu’s lips softly kiss against yours as her arms wrap around your sides, pulling you closer to her. You lock lips, letting her guide you. You feel up her neck and up to the back of her head. Her arms wrap tighter. In response, you let your fingers run deep into her hair, grasping onto it from the sudden squeeze.

Mizu pulls back and gasps, her mouth agape from the unexpected pull. She scoffs playfully. You watch as her eyes darken under the moonlight, glimmering with spirit.

“Oh, so you want to play that game, huh.”

Before you can react, you feel her lips back on you again. Instead of feeling her on your lips, she starts to work her way down your neck. With each kiss, you feel a jolt of pleasure run up your neck. As Mizu works her way closer to your ears, a moan escapes your lips.

“Feels good, doesn’t it.”, she teases. You feel her arms slowly loosen their grip on you, allowing her to continue her work on your neck.

“Mmhm, Mizu- ah-”, you respond back. You could barely answer back as you felt Mizu playfully nibble at your neck, leaving small maroon spots to blossom later tonight.

Her arms wrap around your upper half, pulling your neck closer to her lips. You feel one of her hands gently caress your hips, teasing you to a night of pleasure. Initially, she was content with making out before bed. Instead, a curious thought entertained Mizu’s head. Something that you had never done in front of her before.

You attempt to mirror her actions and reach for her instead, hoping to bring her the same pleasure from your touch. However, Mizu unexpectedly pulls your hands away.

“Let's try something new tonight.”, she says into your ear. The allure of her voice sends shivers up your spine. She pulls away from your neck to watch your reaction. “How does that sound, baby?”

Something new?

“What did you have in mind?”, you ask, curious about her request.

You feel her hand move your hands away from her hips. Instead, she places them towards your panties, gently palming around your entrance. She comes back closer to your neck, inches away from your ear.

“I wanna watch you.”, she answers with a lust in her voice. She grins before planting a kiss close to your ear. “I wanna see you play with yourself.”

You freeze as your brain tries to comprehend Mizu’s request. It didn’t help that she was leaving soft kisses along your neck. Did she just say-

“Can you do that for me, hmm?”

Her question left you stunned. Her soft kisses contradicted the request. 

It didn’t help that you instantly melt under her voice. 

You could only nod as she lets go of your hand below, giving you the freedom to touch yourself as you place. Her free hand places itself on the other side of your neck, gently brushing over the blooming maroon marks from her earlier work. As she continued her hard work on your neck, you start to move your fingers, circling your throbbing clit atop the fabric of your panties.

Left to your imagination, you imagine how you would normally touch yourself alone. How you would think about Mizu’s touches and build up while you pleasured yourself. Without thinking, your fingers apply pressure against the outside of your entrance. You feel your middle finger toy with your clit through the fabric, making your head throw back in response. You think about how Mizu’s fingers mimicking yours while her head was in between your thighs. Perhaps they were kissing down your thighs.

Or leaving marks closer to your heat.

Instinctively, hums and moans start to escape your mouth.

Little did you know that Mizu had been watching you slowly unfold without her touch. Now pulled away from your neck, she carefully watches the show. You continue to play with yourself, the damp spot by your entrance growing with every second that passes. 

“What a good girl… Following my request so easily.”, Mizu praises you. You look up and spot her sitting next to you. Your eyes meet her gaze. They long for entertainment. A good show.

Following her voice, you slide your panties to the side, giving her a full view of your dewy mess. You watch her eyes redirect themselves towards the star of the show. You teasinly tug on your the fabric, using it to rub against your pulsing clit. You let moans escape, allowing Mizu to fully hear the magic happen.

You feel the dampness and sweat build up and spread across your inner thighs. They paint your thighs and entrance with your slick, glimmering under the moonlight.

“Fuck, baby.”

Mizu could only watch as her pretty girl was unfolding in front of her very eyes. Sure, she orchestrated this entire thing. But being a viewer during this engaging show began to be… damned difficult.

On the other hand, you continued to stimulate yourself with your panties, the knot starting to build inside you. You could think about Mizu usual touches to help you get closer to your peak. 

You could also just think about her praises and instantly unfold.

Mizu could only sit and stare at your slick spreading across your thighs. How it would easily lubricate her fingers. How it would feel so cooling on her face as she ate you out. How sweet you would taste.

“God you’re just, so wet. Let me taste how sweet you are.”, Mizu commented.

Following orders, you fully pull off your panties. You feel your fingers touch your sticky entrance, dipping into the puddle you had created all on your own. Your fingers directly touch your folds, swirling around your bare entrance.

Mizu as a viewer was sitting at the edge of her seat. 

“I know, that’s all you.”, she praised as she continued to watch your fingers gather as much slick as you could.

Dear god, this was a lot to handle, Mizu thought. This is the first time she had ever watched you fully masturbate in front of you. Yeah sure, she’s definitely done multitudes of other things that would instantly make you finish. There’s not doubt about that.

But to watch a one-woman show? Without her touch?

She was just a first timer.

She witnesses you bringing your index and middle finger closer to you. She watched as some of your juices ran down your hand. At this point, Mizu could barely handle being a viewer, the sexual frustration driving her over the edge. Impatiently, she grabbed your finger and pulled it close to her mouth.

“Let me taste before it drips down now.”

Your fingers touch Mizu’s tongue. The slick enters her mouth, the coating mixing with her saliva. She gently sucks on your fingers to get a taste of you. You feel some of the liquid escape and end up smothered on her lips.

“Mmm, you taste so… so sweet.”, she pauses to say. Mizu continues to indulge herself with your fingers, savoring your taste with her wet tongue. 

You’ve never seen her so pussy-whipped in your life.

You stared in awe and watched as she sucked your fingers clean. She pulls your wrist back down to your very dripping wet mess. With her other hand, she messily wipes away the mess she made on her face. 

She looks back at you. You easily read the neediness in her ocean blue eyes. But you couldn’t read how much she was holding back.

“Keep touching yourself with those fingers.”

Following her command, you watched as Mizu laid back, becoming a viewer of the show you were putting on. To think that you could get this wet without her touches was an absurd idea. Yet here she is, doing nothing except watching & indulging your every move.

You continue to touch yourself and watch your only viewer continue to hold back. While Mizu was watching your every move, you began to read every sign: her hand gripping onto the sheet, her mouth practically drooling from the view, and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

She looks so frustrated, yet at the same time, so desperate for you.

You slip a finger inside, its length easily sliding into you. You hum in pleasure. Out of curiosity, you look up to Mizu to find her eyes lit up out of interest while she bit the inner corner of her lips. You took it upon yourself to slowly pull in and out, mimicking what Mizu would usually do if she was in charge. You open your legs wider as you continued your slow pace, your slick coating your finger once again.

In and out, Mizu watched. She stared at your painfully slow pace, your liquids gushing out with every push inside. She said one command and her girl immediately followed? How obedient.

“You’re so well-behaved, Y/N.”, Mizu cooed. Her hand moves closer to your head, gently caressing the top of your head while you continue to fuck yourself in front of her. Her voice makes your insides grip on your finger tighter, making you moan in response.

“Aw, is my good girl dripping wet?”, she teases, her voice lowering. “Practically soaking from my words?”

“Y-Yeah.”, you moan out breathily. You pull out to massage the outside of your entrance with your fingers before you quickly slip your index and middle fingers inside. A small cry comes out of your mouth as you feel the two digits slip into you, stretching you out. It feels so familiar yet so unknown at the same time.

As good as you felt, you wished it was Mizu instead. You wished for her slender fingers to substitute yours, to feel them sink deep into you. But instead, you can only pleasure yourself with the thought.

“Such a good girl,”, Mizu cups your face, her hands up now against your flushed face. “Aren’t you? Hm, Y/N?”

She chuckles at the growing heat of your face, gently caressing your cheeks.

You nod in response, pumping your fingers inside you, going at the same slow place as before. Your liquids continue to pour out, making a wet mess in between your thighs. The tantalizing pace felt like torture. But with Mizu’s praise, it felt so fucking good. 

You continue the pace, thinking about Mizu once again. How her fingers would be able to reach places you couldn’t. How they would be able to hit the right spots immediately. How you would always arch your back to feel her hit a deeper angle. How her touch would send shivers done your back.

And how her hand would take control of you while you finished on her fingers.

“Go faster for me. I know you can do that for me.”

And faster you did.

You lean your face into her hand and close your eyes. Your mind continues to fantisize about your viewer as you speed up the pace. You groan as your fingers pumped in and out, continuing to stretch your insides. You feel your clit throb as it gains pleasure with every pump.

You groan as you feel your wrists start to strain from the speed. You rest your hand on your inner thigh, attempting to gain some control before you completely tire out. The new angle makes a moan slip out.

“Mmm, that’s it.”, Mizu praises as she continues to caress your cheek, watching you get closer and closer to your peak. “Good job baby.”

You continue your pace, using her praise to fuel your speed. You feel her face inch closer to yours, her breath tickling your neck. You tighten around your fingers as Mizu places soft kisses down your neck. Shivers start running down your spine as your mind races, practically aching to feel more of her. You continue to moan in response.

However, your pace begins to falter as your wrists start to give out. Mizu notices this change and leaves one final kiss on your neck before inching closer to your ear.

“Getting tired so soon?”, she teased, her voice echoing inside your ear.

“Mmhmm, yeah- ah!”, you yelp as you feel Mizu’s hand pull away from your face. The pads of her fingers start to gently circle around your clit, building up the pleasure even more. Your wrist gives out and you slowly pull out, leaving them to lie to the side.

You feel Mizu’s fingers explore past your clit.

“You’re this wet without me?”, she taunted, her fingers now inches away from your dripping wet entrance. “My pretty girl is all excited for me?”, she lowly whispers in your ear.

Instinctively, your thighs close in, your hips pathetically grind against her. You’re still throbbing, needing something, anything at this point, to go inside and finish you off.

And her voice… God, her voice made praise sound so sinful yet so good.

You attempt to keep your voice down as you unfold under her touch. She moves close to your entrance, prepping her fingers with your slick. As she coats her fingers, you feel her lips touch your neck once again, leaving a few marks scattered down your neck, each soon to blossom a deep shade of maroon.

“So fucking wet…”, she groans as two of her fingers enter you, letting the lust take over.

She couldn’t play as an audience member anymore. She knew you missed this, and so did she. What fun is a show if the audience can’t interact with the talent on stage?

In this case, you were a dripping-wet talent. And soon to become a vocal talent at that.

You moan in response, her digits going deep as you had fantasized earlier. 

“Fuck, Y/N, it slipped in so easily. You miss me this much?” she says, smirking at you.

At this point, you can't control what to say. All you can do is react with a nod as her fingers fully sink inside of u. They fully stretch your insides, reaching a deep spot inside u. Mizu feels you tighten around her fingers. She knew your sweet voice couldn’t be self-contained. Testing the waters, she slowly pulls out all the way before deeply thrusting inside of you. You feel another jolt of pleasure hit you. A loud cry comes out, louder than ever before.

“Mizu, please… I’m- ah-“

You feel her slip in another digit. It slip inside you so easily yet all you could do was cry in response. Mizu slows down the pace, letting the new digit stretch you out even more.

“I’m so close Mizu. It’s just so much-”

You try to explain as the three digits plunge deep into you. Instinctively, you grab the sheets, gripping tight onto them. Mizu slowly pulls out once again and thrusts back quickly and deeply into you. Your moans grow louder with every thrust, the pace slowly gaining speed. Mizu feels you clench around her, getting tighter with every pump.

Every nerve, every ache continues to grow in pleasure as Mizu quickens the pace. All she could hear is the squelching from her thrusts and your sweet moans, motivating her to continue her pace.

“Mizu, please, It’s so- fuck!”, you cry out in pleasure as you feel yourself gain closer to your peak, feeling the familiar knot grow tighter and tighter in your lower stomach. Her breath hitched, tickling against your neck.

You call out her name out loud as her pace grew faster, pumping fast and deep into your soaking-wet insides. Mizu listened as your cries grew even louder, echoing against the bedroom walls. Your thighs start trembling, hoping to close the gap between them.

At this point, she could easily read you. How close you were to unfolding and finishing on her fingers. How close you were to yelling and screaming her name. How close you were to twitching and tightening around her fingers.

“Lemme hear that pretty voice of yours.”, she requested for the last time.

With one final thrust, you feel yourself reach your high, spasming against Mizu’s continuous pace deep into you. Your thighs attempt to close, your hips instinctively grind against her fingers. She continued the pace, relentlessly pushing deep into you as you ride out your high.

You turn to Mizu, whining next to her, letting her hear your melodic cries late into the night.