#I do still have strong desires to force fem him though because I think it would be very possible he would not notice it

[humsbugs]

I ham it up but russia isn't that stupid ok he's just a little slow on the uptake, its just that kind of ideology he believes in rots your brain

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[anantaru]

cw. yandere blade, toxic, suggestve, fem! reader

blade doesn‘t fall in love easily.

beyond everything, he never envisioned himself to be faced with such vigorous sentiments by origin— from first principles and a closer look at his perceptions, you can refer to his views as ignorance or blindness, something he gazed down on in an almost smug way.

but when he does, he doesn't think it was fun nor comfortable, but entirely has he decided that he‘d burn entire worlds down if it meant for you to remain close to his side, so you wouldn't be able to leave him behind.

then again, maybe he should burn them down regardless, not only for you, but to demonstrate the love he felt, or the very emotion he confused as love...

"it is a necessary hardness." a remembrance of his first sentence towards his cruel directions in life, you reminisce about it vividly. but you hold his eye contact, only distantly, yet refuse to give him any further satisfaction.

it really doesn’t need a genius to figure out what was displayed before one, it being the heart of a passionate, driven person— the emotions intense and wild, allied with a roaring storm, the bolds of lightning signalizing his darkened perceptions and blanketing any good, as if there was any good to begin with.

so he stood calm where he was standing before slumping down next to you, mattress shifting at his added weight. "you didn't have to do this." you silently speak again, just from below him, your breath hitching ever so slightly as his entire body leans into your figure.

you have to remain careful, you realize, but his eyes would be an intoxicating weapon, flickering up before you watch him place his hand on top of your lower stomach.

"do you love me?" his expression stood still, passive for the most time, but awaiting a quick response, he wasn't even sure you would answer his question, because his trust in you had graven limits.

you remark back, "i wouldn't be here if i didn't." and force your body to relax under his freezing handle before allowing him to slide his large hand into your garments, your entire skin slowly beginning to feel the untwist under his heedful but possessive ministrations.

"good." blade was simultaneously fascinated and petrified by your outwardly real devotion, "but do you love me?"

silence, blade again, doesn't think it was funny for you to ask such insolent question and demand an answer from him in the first place, so he leaves it unchallenged to obscure through the dark room and carried on to smoother a painfully slow motion on your cunt.

you found yourself longing the intimacy and pull your hips upwards, cradling your arms around the man and holding him close by his shoulders, but the lack of response flooded your mind with deeply broken thoughts. "you're mine." yet at last, there it was, a subtle meaning, with a hidden truth.

his fingertips were warm and dampened by your slick, working in sharp angles on your soft skin. it burned your body with a sort of desperate fever to be able to call yourself his. he could tell that you weren't entirely satisfied though, but blade, could he really answer your question how you so desired it?

your heart grew louder, pounding hard against his strong chest and a 'o' of bare lust formed on your glistening lips, pushing against him further, letting him get to know your scent— the one that set his loins on fire, made him lick his lips with a devil-like grin crossing the outsides of his mouth.

blade could feel you constrict around his first finger and wanted to push himself aside, he wanted to feel you for real now, feverishly dragging his skin against your own as he coos sweet ministrations into your ear.

did his words hold any graven significance? they might, he recalls becoming vulnerable whenever he had gotten intimate with you and it scared him, the thought in particular was frightening— of letting his cruel mask fall flat in front of another person.

but the man wanted to sink into every secret part of your body, experience each bend and curve, and be held. blade watches your back arch into his body as he adds a second finger into your tight hole, flawlessly pulling in and out of your entrance, in and out in and out, scraping his finger pads along your slicked walls.

he wonders how far he could go, or if he should ever tell you about the things you do not know, about commodities he did in order for you to remain devoted and obedient, unknowing and naive.

at the inside, he prefers the idea that came inwardly, occupying his mind— about the secrecy of it all, that he doesn't want your pretty head to worry about anything or everything, why else would you love him if he were to expose you to his blood stained intrigues?

he shrugs himself into your neck before locking a bundle of flesh in between his sharp teeth, sucking on your sensitive parts and keeping an almost calculative pace on your pussy, well, the one that belonged to him of course.

you should feel honored that he always feels the painful need to touch you the moment he sees you fly over his mesmerizing pair of eyes.

with a higher pitched whine, you writhe under his now warmer body, your thighs clamping desperately around his arm as blade adds a third and final finger to lengthen your orgasm filling you whole, laughing lightly as you came on his palm, hard and catching an unimpeded view of his erected length brushing against his pants.

he feels that impulse again and begins to unconsciously rub his hips into your thigh— right after feeling your little hole tense up and down, he hears you whisper a soft "please", only watching a few seconds longer before pushing his long fingers back into your cunt and catching you off guard, your lack of breathing control making itself visible in your aching throat.

to touch you more, to rip your clothes off your skin, to kiss every inch of your body, worship, it's feral, that's what it was, but was it love? there is much about him that you do not know, can never know because it would scare you even more, blade fears.

but presently, even just by doing this, by pleasing your needs, blade knows it's the only way for him to convey his love ...

... or the frightening emotion he mistook for love.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[luveline]

Hi jadeybabes!! Like everyone else I’m adoring the soulmate prince au and I’m wondering if we could have a peek into Steve’s thoughts and feelings about finding his soulmate after searching so long and rushing to a quick wedding even though they hardly know each other?

Like we’ve seen reader’s apprehension and insecurities mixed up with just how kind and pretty she thinks he is, and I’m wondering what’s going through Steve’s head? Love you!

hi lovely, love u ♡ prince!steve au fem, 1.2k

His private gardens are silent beyond the low hum of dragonflies zipping across the pond and the creak of his hammock. The old trees he's suspended between don't move an inch, but the netted fabric Steve lays on curls tight with every slow swing.

He can smell hyacinth where it grows at the perimeter of the bluegrass, and the fragrant cocoa of his hot chocolate steaming on the paving stones beneath him. There are a hundred beautiful things to savour out here in the evenings, but Steve can think about nothing but you. Your eyes, the timid sweet smile you give him when he's touching you. Your voice, and how you speak to him when you're alone. 

Steve knows he's likely the only person fortunate enough in his entire kingdom to meet his soulmate when he desired it. Which isn't to say he didn't hold out hope when he was young, thinking one day he'd meet them, a diplomat's daughter or the child of a visiting King. He knows it was stupid to assume his soulmate would be another royal, but when you're a kid you believe what you're told. 

"Well, of course she'll be educated," his mother would say, sitting two feet away at the dining table, an oyster spoon in hand. "Slight, well-mannered, quiet. You'll be king, so she'll need to be strong. She'll need to know how to take a beating." 

Steve remembers thinking, Why? It's not as if I'll hit her. 

It's still true, but he can guess what she meant: To be thrust into the spotlight and with little choice in the manner, you have to have a strong disposition. Steve can't not be a Prince. His soulmate can't not want to marry him. She'll need to buckle up. 

He doesn't technically agree with his mother's thoughts back then, but he understands them. Steve believes you have much more choice in the manner, and he's dedicated to giving you that choice even if the wedding is being forced on you both. He wants to make this something you want too. 

Sighing, Steve rakes a hand through his hair. He needs time to himself, without Robin or Munson and especially without his mother's lady's maids. Steve finds his days stolen and his time delegated, richocheting between government, education, fencing, fittings, toning, training. He can keep up. He doesn't mind. But without an hour alone every now and then, he'll explode. 

He stretches out as much as the hammock allows with a frankly hideous groan. His neck and shoulders pop. What he really needs is an hour with the masseuse, Claire. Before Steve met you, he thought she was his soulmate. She has nice hands. 

He hears you before he sees you, your footsteps on the pathway. He immediately sits up from the hammock with mild grace, standing in the grass with no idea where to put his hands. 

He clasps them behind his back as you come into view. 

"Hi, Steve," you say hesitantly. 

He can't help it —he sees you and a smile splits his face. Trying not to come on too strong is out the window. 

"Hi," he says. You've stopped a couple of feet away. The light of your soul mark is muted to near invisibility, tinged somewhere between pink and purple. It looks ethereal against your skin. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Uh, Robin said you'd be here. That they'd let me through." 

"Only you," he says. He told them quite concisely that you're the single person permitted to interrupt his time alone. 

"I can come back later." 

"No, tell me what's wrong." 

"It's… Why do you assume something's wrong?" 

"Because you've willingly sought me out?" he asks with a well-meaning laugh. 

It's the wrong thing to say. You shift from foot to foot, rubbing your palms together sheepishly. "I guess it was stupid. I'm sorry, you can, uh, you can go back to what you were doing. Sorry, Steve." 

"Wait a second!" he says, though he drops his volume when you flinch. "Wait, no, don't– Don't leave, I didn't mean that you can't come and find me unless there's something wrong. I want to talk to you. Really badly. That's why I told them to let you in." 

"About what?" 

"About everything," he says. 

You and Steve sit on one of the steps leading down to the fish pond. It's a beautiful feature with mirror clean waters and water lilies, their petals a quiet pink melding into sunshine orange. He points at it, his head inclined to yours. 

"Nymphaea aurora," he murmurs. The water ripples, a darkening purple reflection of the sky as the sun sets. "They're bred for the colour specifically." 

"Do you like those ones?" you ask him. 

"I like all of them." He doesn't know how to explain how he feels, the dawning hope of being close to you, the magnetic tethering. "We could get different stuff if you wanted. It'll be your garden too, soon," he says, watching fondly as you draw your legs a touch closer and bend at the waist, hugging your thighs. "Are you tired?" 

"Kind of, but I know you're busy tomorrow." You want to talk to him as much as he wants to talk to you. He tries hard not to feel smug. 

"I'm really sorry. We shouldn't be separated right now, we should be spending the week together." It's a common phenomena. People meet their soulmates and disappear for days on end together, appearing later to beg forgiveness, cheeks aglow with joy. He wanted that with you. He wants whatever he can get.

Steve drops his voice to a whisper, bending at the waist to meet you eye to eye, "Do you want to run away with me tomorrow?" 

You don't flinch, wince, or smile. Tentative, you whisper back, "You couldn't run away." 

"Just for the day. We'll wear fake eyeglasses and sunhats and slip out in the morning when they change the guards. I've done it before." 

"You have?" 

"So many times. What do you think of that?" 

"What would we do all day?" you whisper. 

"Anything we want. Sneak into the opera house, eat dinner in the square from the food carts. We can finally get to know one another. Just you and me," he says softly.

Your tired smile tugs at the corners. 

"Okay. Yeah, I want to go." 

He reaches across the gap to stroke your cheek, a brisk, wanting line from the highest point to the skin shy of your jaw. In the evening dark, your face awash with the milky light of the appearing moon, you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. 

You laugh softly and turn your face away, shaking your head before sitting up altogether. 

Steve sits up. "Then we'll go. But we should head to bed now, I'll have to wake you up in a few hours. They've started to expect my escape in the morning." 

Steve walks you back to your room. He wants to kiss you goodnight, and there's a pause where he thinks about it before telling you goodnight. When your door closes behind you, he has to stop himself from knocking and asking if you want to leave now. 

He's eager to get to know you, but you both have time. 

[izurou]

⋆ .˚ 𖤐 – ft. SHIDOU RYUSEI ⋮ contains: f! reader. fem receiving oral sex. spitting. brief penetration. a lil creampie bc i can’t not add one. he gets into a fight so violence ig but not much at all

at first glance, ryusei doesn’t look like a threat.

he’s all pink dye and accessories, with a thin black choker sitting pretty on his throat, and a matching headband pushing back the two ombré strands that usually frame his face.

glance number two, and alright—maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

his hands are shoved in his pockets, but the veins that seemingly start at each wrist and taper off into his toned arms are blatant, and they’re not a comforting sight. the black tank top he’s wearing is all but glued to him, showcasing his lean build, and hm—he actually does look pretty strong.

but—the most unsettling thing about him has to be his smile. there’s something rather inhuman about it—maybe it’s the simple fact that it even exists at a time like this, after he’s heard a crude comment about you, his precious girlfriend.

the third glance is the last—a wide eyed, bloody nosed stare given by those who’ve just learned that the brunt of his strength resides not in his punch, but his kick.

and then, you have to take your threat home.

⋆

“so much for behaving yourself tonight, huh ryu?” you haphazardly toss your phone onto your bed—watching as the device bounces a couple times before settling near his hand.

ryusei is sitting on the edge of the mattress, leaning back on his palms and watching you.

“aww, c’mon babydoll, i did,” he insists—putting on a little faux pout as he coaxes you over to him through some unseen force. “he’s alive, isn’t he?”

yes, he let the asshole off with a warning at most. doesn’t he deserve a little praise for holding back?

“how sweet of you,” you mutter sarcastically.

he thinks you’re cute when you get like this—attitude off the charts because he went and made a scene again, and oh—he’s going to get himself hurt, is he? whatever. he doesn’t care, and he’s going to do as he pleases regardless.

though he’ll always, always let you have the same freedom with him to atone for it.

“what, you gonna punish me or somethin’?” he tongues at his cheek—blinking up at you through long blond lashes. “i won’t resist, angel face.”

an amused puff of air leaves your nose—because you know damn well that the words punish me lose all meaning the second they’re in his mouth. you don’t think there’s anything you could do that wouldn’t turn him on in one way or another.

even so, there’s no harm in having a little fun with him—right?

⋆

maybe not. he’s definitely a handful—bombarding you with lewd comments, and greedily pawing at your hips as you attempt to shimmy out of your tight clothing. but you persist, and now here you are—straddling his thighs in nothing but a pair of light pink panties, material so thin, so sheer—you might as well be wearing nothing.

“just gonna sit there and look pretty, babydoll?” he teases—grabbing onto your wrist and guiding your hand over the bulge in his unzipped pants. “i’d still cum, y’know. you’re that sexy, baby.”

“yeah,” you mumble, ignoring his latter comment. “something like that.”

you rub him through the fabric of his boxers a bit before tugging the material down altogether—just enough to free his visibly excited cock, which you ignore completely.

instead, you lift your hips up and over where he’s burning with red hot desire, repositioning yourself on his upper chest momentarily. there, you brush away the little baby hairs that have escaped from his headband, waiting for him to connect the dots and realize that yes, you will be sitting somewhere looking pretty—but it won’t be back there.

“fuck yeah baby, c’mere.” he bucks his hips at the sight of your cunt—taunting him from behind the pretty pink lace. how fucking annoying, he’s just about ready to—

“rip them and i’ll kill you.”

oh, you’re really speaking his language now.

“have it your way,” he hums in a singsong voice—sticking his tongue out and leaning forward to lick a smug stripe up the centre of the fabric.

you respond by corralling his hands and pinning them above his head with one of your own—matching his arrogance as you purr, “i will.”

gosh, he loves this—much more than he should.

using your free hand, you pull your panties off to the side, and he doesn’t hold back the groan that rips from his throat, because fuck, you’re so wet—glistening with a pretty little glaze of your own arousal, practically begging to be feasted on.

“c’mon, fuckin’ sit on my face baby, lemme taste that sweet cunt,” he urges—hips bucking up into nothing once again. “shit, i’m not gonna last.”

slowly, you start to move yourself toward his face—and quickly, his primal urge seizes control and sends him lurching forward, meeting you halfway as he dives tongue first into your heavenly pussy.

and you think to yourself—shit, me neither.

because, much like everything else he does, he eats you out with a fervour second to none—with an appetite so large, a hunger so utterly insatiable—a lifetime in between your legs would still have him asking for seconds. he sucks your clit into his mouth, and nearly unhinges his jaw as he dips his tongue down between your folds—wanting all of you, all at once. he does it over and over and over again—a true gnawing motion, paired with loud slurps and smacks of your messy cunt.

mere minutes pass—and while you’re busy falling apart atop his face, he looks calm beneath you—humming in content as something, either his own spit, or you—trails down the sides of his mouth.

“ryu, oh fuck,” you hiss, gritting your teeth as you resist the selfish urge to grind yourself down onto his face.

“mmmm, you’re sweet baby,” he pulls away in an attempt to catch his breath—tongue running over his shiny lips. “but you don’t taste like me. maybe i’m not fuckin’ you enough.”

his feast continues seconds after the last syllable leaves his mouth—he rolls and twists his tongue over your clit, shakes his head side to side a little, and you feel your body start to give out. as a result, you’re forced to release him from your grip as you latch onto the headboard for support.

“just let me cum ryu, please,” you whine.

and oh how is heart swells, you’re just so cute—rolling your hips against his tongue, using him to get yourself off—all while you gracefully accept defeat. adorable. he loves you so, so much.

a series of grunts rumble from his chest, vibrating against your mess of a pussy, and you know those sounds all too well—vision blurring as you realize what’s happening. you know you’re going to cum as soon as you look, but you do anyways.

peering over your shoulder, you watch through hooded lids as ryusei’s cock twitches, leaking his sticky white cum onto his pelvis.

your boyfriend—the same guy who handed out a broken nose just before this, is cumming for you, because of you, and you barely had to touch him.

and there you go, squeezing your eyes shut as your own orgasm consumes you—hips stuttering as your pussy pulses on his tongue. you sound so pretty, panting and gasping out his name—all he can do is hold you in place and help you ride out your high—pulling back only after he’s ensured you have nothing left.

“some pussy you’ve got there, baby,” he laughs breathily and pats the side of your thigh—letting you know he wants you to move. “made a real mess outta me, huh?”

“i hate you,” you mutter—swinging a leg over him and sinking back against your pillows. did he even really deserve to enjoy that? “i’m not having sex with you for the next week.”

he grins amusedly at you, tugging his now ruined tank top over his head, and ridding himself of his pants shortly after. is he deaf?

“whatever you say,” he absentmindedly agrees—coming back and hovering above your figure. he grabs your jaw, and runs his thumb over your lips.

“ryusei.”

“shhhh, open up,” he orders, and you don’t know what point you’re trying to prove anymore, if any at all, but you do just that—you part your lips and stick your tongue out. with your gaze piercing his skull, he spits—a little glob of saliva that clings to his tongue before settling on yours. “what do you taste, babydoll?”

you close your mouth and swallow—telling him what he wants to hear.

“me.”

“aw, isn’t that sweet?” he purrs—leaning down to press a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to your lips.

and you almost don’t notice him easing the head of his cock into you, though it’s hard to ignore the sultry moan he lets out when he buries himself to the hilt—cock hypersensitive, and fully capable of filling you up right then and there.

“hey, i know you heard me,” you mutter, slipping two fingers beneath the tight band of his choker—making it even tighter.

“shit,” he pants—hips jerking as he effortlessly cums for a second time. “yeah, i heard you angel face. i’m gettin’ my week’s worth now, don’t want this pussy forgettin’ about me.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling. 

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago. 

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again. 

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear. 

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore? 

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers. 

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.  

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns. 

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him. 

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human. 

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle. 

Fuck. 

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy. 

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him. 

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders. 

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless. 

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging. 

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue. 

Fuck. 

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it. 

Holy shit. 

He wants you. 

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this. 

Unfinished. 

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him. 

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you. 

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes. 

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours. 

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense. 

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you. 

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it. 

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently. 

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going? 

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.” 

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.  

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you. 

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks. 

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth. 

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that. 

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where. 

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed. 

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else. 

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move  - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone. 

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance. 

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way. 

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes. 

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you. 

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move. 

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips. 

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same. 

Soon too. 

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak. 

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. 

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel. 

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right. 

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm. 

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care. 

You only know that you want more. 

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up. 

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position. 

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation. 

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.” 

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync. 

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you. 

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means. 

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him. 

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible. 

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one. 

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now. 

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways. 

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him. 

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.” 

You don’t ever want him to stop. 

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you. 

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume. 

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs. 

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived. 

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach. 

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles. 

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything. 

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago. 

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help. 

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?” 

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?” 

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit. 

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen. 

“Of course I am.”

“How?” 

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?” 

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.” 

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off. 

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.” 

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.” 

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary. 

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table. 

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space. 

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him. 

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit!”  

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You��re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.” 

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer. 

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do? 

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it. 

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over. 

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it? 

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?” 

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became. 

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?” 

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?” 

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage. 

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door-  and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down. 

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over. 

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks. 

Is there some truth in it? 

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it? 

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?” 

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!” 

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”  

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable. 

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know. 

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame. 

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin. 

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”. 

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam. 

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides. 

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.” 

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before. 

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-” 

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat. 

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?” 

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be. 

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never? 

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?” 

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?” 

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.” 

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?” 

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap. 

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?” 

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself. 

That is what you want. With him. 

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.” 

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough. 

It was everything. 

Everything. 

Wasn’t it? 

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this. 

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”  

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away? 

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?” 

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you. 

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all. 

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them. 

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether. 

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out? 

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out. 

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over. 

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

[back2bluesidex]

Next Level, Space Level - KNJ (18+)

Pairing: Namjoon X Fem!Reader

Theme: Smut, PWP, infidelity au, a hint of angst

Summary: How can Namjoon deny you when you are ready to give yourself to him?

Word count: 1442

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of cheating, infidelity, blow job, Joon cums of her tits, reader is just evil, poor Jimin. Strictly 18+ (MDNI)

A/N: this is an output of listening to Smoke Sprite way too much. Haha! Enjoy!

****************

It's raining again. Even though Namjoon likes rain in general, he has grown a distaste towards it these days. Especially because it's raining too fucking much, everything is wet, his laundries won't dry up, and he won't stop recalling you. Or the way your body felt underneath him, the way his hands fitted perfectly on your curves, the way you moaned out his name like chanting a mantra. That night his desire won but for the rest of the time his guilt has been ruling his mind.

How ironic, he left his last girlfriend because she cheated on him, claiming he hates cheaters. But now is he anything different? He can't deny the fact that he has been attracted to you since the very first day Jimin introduced you to him as his girlfriend. He often thought of fucking you dumb in his dimly lit studio but he never ever actually thought he would do that in reality. And now he was a sinner. He fucked one of his closest friends' girlfriend behind his back. But that's the point. He regrets because you're Jimin's girlfriend and not because he fucked you. How can he regret something so infuriatingly sensual and satisfying when that's all he really wanted, along with you.

His hands feel clammy as he unlocks the door of the dorm. The calmness of the atmosphere tells him that he is the only one here until he sees light coming from Jimin's room. Another gush of guilt fills his chest.

He heads towards the kitchen avoiding every thought and grabs a can of beer. He almost chokes on the beer as he puts too much force in gulping down the bitter-sour liquid. However, he almost spits everything out when he feels someone encircling their hands around his torso.

He whips his head around to find you staring up at him with those impossibly beautiful eyes. Your lean hands hold him even tighter in his place, as he panics.

"Y/N? Wh-what are you doing?" He asks, scanning the dorm once.

"Jimin isn't here. Nobody is here. It's only you and me Joon." You say, a devilish smirk spreads on your lips.

You tiptoe and place a kiss on his lips. It would be so much of a domestic sight only if you weren't his bandmate slash close friend slash younger brother's girlfriend.

Namjoon's hand itches. He wants to rub your sides, hold you close, trace your curves and so much more, but he knows it's wrong. Terribly wrong.

"It's wrong, Y/N" he whispers. You start to place small kisses on his broad built chest through the fabric of his tshirt.

"I know. I know it's wrong. But I can't resist you Joon. You are all I can think of since that night." You whisper in between your kisses. Your voice creates a soft vibration on his chest. How can he push you away when you are willing to give yourself to him, that too like this. But still he has to push you away. One night was enough to drive him off the edge now he doesn't want to get addicted to you.

He finally pushes you away and that's when he sees you well with the help of the faint light coming from the dining area.

You are the personification of sin and lust. Gosh! How can someone ever resist you? You are wearing a pitch black silk robe with (probably) nothing underneath. Your nipples are perked up, a good amount of your collarbone and cleavage are on display for him. One of your bare legs comes to his view and only he knows how much he want to bury his face between them.

"Like what you see?" You say, smirking at him as if it's no big deal. He doesn't say anything, rather chooses to walk past you and head towards the dining room.

He could have just gone to his room, locked it and ignored you. But something keeps him lingering near you. And that something is, lust, lust for you.

He leans his head on the backrest of the couch and closes his eyes, he doesn't see you coming towards him. He only realises your presence when you start to sit on his lap, totally unannounced. He gets startled at first, however, that doesn't mean he is not enjoying the way your bare legs press on his bare ones or the way your core is pressing on his semi-hard cock.

"Y/N pl- fuck!" His words get interrupted as you start to grind hard. His eyes close as if they have minds of their own.

But he is a man of control, he holds your sides tightly and looks straight into your eyes.

"Y/N! No!" He whispers, his voice is barely audible even to himself. Maybe because that's not what he wants. He doesn't want you to stop but he has no choice, has he?

"Why? Why Joon? I know you want me as much as I do, then why?" You ask him, voice a bit louder than usual.

"Y/N, you're Jimin's girlfriend! Why don't you understand."

"Thanks for reminding me but that never slipped my mind. Jimin is fine but you are the one that I want. And you want me just as much. Just tell me once that you never thought of what happened between us that night? Tell me that you don't like me sitting here on your lap. Tell me that you will stop me if I try to give you a good time that absolutely no one has to know about. Tell me Joon. Look into my eyes and tell me." Your fingers are lost in his dark locks. And with the other hand you start to loosen the tie of your robe.

Your robe pools down on his lap, leaving you completely bare for his eyes. Namjoon's mouth starts to salivate at the sight of your naked chest. Fuck! Who the hell is he to deny you? Tell you that he doesn't want you? What power in the world do you even possess? Are you even a human being? Or are you a siren trying to destroy him piece by piece?

You seem to take chances of his helplessness as you hoist yourself up from his lap and sit on your knees. He looks at you with hooded eyes.

You smirk at him at first and then hook your fingers on the rim of his sweatpants. Pulling them down at once with his boxers you set his dick free. That springs up as if ready to be used by you.

"So big" you murmur to yourself but Joon hears it. His breath hitches when your fingers come into contact with his skin. You pump his dick once and then spit on your palm to lubricate him. A low moan escapes his lips when you give his tip a kitten lick. You chuckle seeing his fucked out state already.

Another kitten lick as you pump his cock again and again. Your tongue draws a circular motion on the head of his cock and he starts to lose himself completely. But he somehow keeps his moans in check.

"Let me hear you Joon. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel." You say before swallowing his dick little by little. You take him as much as you can till you gag with the friction that his cock makes with the back of your throat. And then you start bobbing your head at a slower pace which get faster with each passing second. Namjoon's moans know no bounds as he starts cursing and groaning your name like you did the previous night, forgetting every single care of this world. His hand reaches out for your hair and he grips it hard but not hard enough to hurt you. He pushes you down on his length further and thrusts upward.

And within a few more minutes, his dick starts to twitch inside your mouth.

"Im-I'm close" he breathes out.

You release his dick from your mouth and start pumping it harder. Ropes of cum fly out of the slit of dick and land directly on your tits. Your pretty tits are covered with his cum. The drops tickle down the swell of your breasts and reach your nipples. And then those drop down on your thighs. Fuck! Can there be a sight hotter than this?

"Fuck! Y/N" he says, being dazed by you. You smile at him innocently as you stand up on your legs, collect your robe from the couch and head for Jimin's room.

"Until next time, Joon."

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life

[eris-snow]

𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐄𝐧𝐝

✨When he realises he has fallen for you.

Tags: fem!reader x bakugou, fluff, bakugou's birthday series 2023

For once, falling down doesn't hurt.

It wasn't serious or anything. Dunce Face wasn't seriously hurt even though he should have known better than to gamble his chance with Bakugou that day. Now, all Bakugou could do was block out the yawns being let out by Kirishima's big mouth and comments about how he should have slept earlier.

Serves him right, Bakugou smirks to himself. That's why he always got his shit straight before his scheduled bedtime. Call him old fashion or whatever, he'll tell whoever stated that to him in the face to fuck right off.

He was just extra on edge today, Denki's words still ringing loud in his head like an alarm clock that didn't have a snooze button.

"Did you know Y/n likes you, Bakugou?"

Instantly, the desire to hit Denki again comes crawling up his arms into his hands. So what if it was a goddamn joke?

He knows that he fell for you months ago.

Bakugou found you there one day when he was out on his morning run. It was that forested part of the school grounds nestled between the dorm rooms and the school.

For some reason, you'd always hang out there to eat lunch or train, Bakugou had no idea why you had your weird obsession with training there, but it seemed to work for you so who was he to judge?

When he's around, you'd primarily train hand-to-hand combat to avoid setting fires to the trees. He had to admit you were an excellent sparring partner, that was the whole reason he kept coming back. But soon, he found those words crossing the blurry line into the realm of "excuses".

Those words are what Bakugou forces himself to think whenever he happens to see you outside his balcony window, struggling with your form or a particular attack with your Quirk. He groans and throws himself of the balcony to get there faster than necessary. (You're cute when you get startled too.)

That's what he tells himself when he plops down next to you while you're having lunch with that cute little crease between your eyebrows as you study an assignment.

There's just something about your determination, your hard work and selflessness, that draws Bakugou to you like bees to a flower.

Excuses.

Disregardment.

Denial.

This is the one thing he doesn't face head-on because he knows the shit he has to go through when he ever acknowledges it.

Denki's words reverberate of the imaginary walls of his brain again.

"Did you know Y/n likes you, Bakugou?"

Fuck. Where is that Dunce Face? He needs to explode him, now.

It isn't those words that make Bakugou realise he likes you. He'll make sure no God can save Denki if he's the reason Bakugou ever figured out his own feelings for someone as special as you. It isn't those times that you've bested him in fights by millimetres, or made him swallow his words in a way no one can. It isn't those times that you're so fucking perfect, strong, or great that makes Bakugou realise that he likes your shittily styled ass.

It's those silent moments in the forested part in view of his dorm room, the nights seem deadly...

that you let your guard down in front of him to show him your scars.

Your weaknesses.

Your flaws.

Somehow, you've got the image of your optimistic attitude going that many have naturally assumed that you are incapable of crying. Bakugou has seen your tears before though.

Vulnerability is something Bakugou has detested his entire life. And to see you, with feelings pooled so raw and open when you finally admit how inferior you feel to your classmate makes Bakugou suck in a breath of understanding and empathy.

"I don't want to be left behind, please Bakugou," He remembers your voice, a little tired, a little broken, as you tilt your head up to meet his eyes with watery ones.

"Don't leave me behind."

There's one last moment...

And then Bakugou plunges.

It was that day, as he wraps his arms around you that he realises, oh, I like you.

It takes another second, as you bury your head into his neck, for him to reach another conclusion: I want you.

He's gone of the deep end and no longer gives two fucks about pride or his insecurities.

He likes you. And he wants you.

You're strong, but you're human too, and that's the moment Bakugou finally grits his teeth and glares at his feelings straight in the face. "Yeah, I like this shithead." He says to himself. It's loud enough for him to hear, with unwavering confidence and certainty, but soft enough such that your head is still tucked into his shoulder blade. "And I'm gonna make sure she never cries those fucking tears ever again."

-

Bakugou grits his teeth and yanks himself out of his stupid trip down memory lane. A pretty cherry blossom flower flutters into his hair. Denki's gonna die today.

[joecooperzz]

freak accident (vampire!trey parker x fem!reader)

I've been working on this since July! I never thought I'd finish it, but I did. Hope it makes up for me being too busy to do Kinktober the right way. Thanks so much to @sqiblet for helping my develop Vampire!Trey and giving me some ideas that I incorporated here. 🖤

Word Count: 6,804

Content: Vampirism, biting, graphic description of blood, dubious consent, supernatural intoxication, oral (f!receiving,) vaginal fingering, praise kink, possessive behavior, overstimulation, unsafe sex

Minors (anyone 17 and under) DNI!

-

The entire time, every bit of you had been screaming that this wasn't right.

Even as you fluttered your eyelashes at the cute young bartender, making a pun about the lewd name of your drink, your senses were overwhelmed by your boyfriend. 

On the standard level, you knew that your heart belonged to Trey. Hell, you were obsessed with him in just about every way possible. You'd keep him in your apartment with you forever if you could. Alas, work and commitments got in the way, forcing you to separate every once in a while. Whenever he returned, you were always waiting for him, flippantly asking him if he needed to eat while noting the look of overwhelming desire on his face. By the time your neck was exposed, he was already jumping on you, inspiring agony and bliss in equal measure as he sunk his teeth into your skin. 

Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel like he did.

Still, you flirted with the bartender, putting on your best show. This was just a little game you were playing, after all. You even let Trey pick your outfit for the occasion, — some skimpy black dress that he had spent a good portion of his most recent paycheck on, just because he wanted to see you in it so badly. It fit like a glove, hence why it was your designated 'showing off' outfit. 

And show off, you did. 

Even when the lingering venom from Trey's repeated bites still coursed through your veins, reminding you that you would always belong to him and only him, deep down. Even when you knew he was in your head. Even as he sat next to you, the telepathic bond between the two of you telling you not to even think about it.

Even if you weren't really thinking about it, you pretended to, just for the hell of it.

That's how you ended up here.

The door to the single bathroom slams shut behind you, just before strong hands land on either side of your waist. Before you can think too hard about it, you're being hoisted up to perch on the edge of the sink. 

Trey kneels on the tiled floor. Even when he's looking up at you, he manages to make you feel small and vulnerable. 

You shiver as one of his large, freezing cold hands lands on your bare thigh. "Did you enjoy that?" he bites out, fingertips digging into your skin. 

You swallow hard. "I didn't mean…"

"Ohh. You didn't mean it, huh?" His fingers dig in harder, nails leaving behind half-moon imprints. Though you know that this will be the least of the pain that he inflicts on you tonight, your breath still hitches. "You were just testing me, weren't you?" 

His grip loosens up, leaving him to trace gentle circles on your skin. You nod, desperate for whatever response he might give you, be it positive or negative. As it stands, all you need is his attention, for him to just keep looking at you, letting you revel in the fact that you're his. 

He continues to fix you with that cold, blue glare. "Words, angel," he encourages you flatly. 

"Yes," you manage. "It was all just a test." You shift against the porcelain, feeling the first rush of heat between your legs. "I'm sorry."

He chuckles, causing you to freeze.

When you're at home on the couch, head spinning and eyes bleary as Trey pulls you closer to him, his laughter is a warm sound. When he's looking at you like this, though, all wild and hungry, the sound sends a shiver up your spine, warning of the things to come. 

"Well, baby," he says. "You might not have known it, but I was testing you, too." His hand begins to travel up your thigh, so very slow. "And you failed. Big time."

Your heart begins to speed up even more, echoing in your ears. "Sorry," you manage. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

"Shh." He begins to tug at your skirt, pushing it further and further up your thighs. "Save your breath, sweet thing. Apologies aren't going to get you anywhere now." He freezes, taking in the sight before him with a surprised click of his tongue. 

"Holy fuck," he mutters. "No panties."

He looks up at you as one cold finger runs teasingly over your center, already meeting a flood of wet warmth. "Who's this for, hmm?" he asks. "Me or him?"

"You," you respond quickly, the short word edged with a needy gasp. "All for you." 

He hums. "Should be." With that, his head begins to dip down, closer to where you need him. Seemingly automatically, your hands land on the back of his shaggy head, attempting to shove him down faster. 

Without even having to look, he reaches one arm out, wrapping a strong hand around your wrist. Immediately, you recognize your mistake, inspiring another rush of heat to your face… and your pussy. 

"No," he says flatly. "You don't get that yet." You feel him smile as he presses an uncharacteristically soft kiss against your thigh. "That's for good girls." 

You let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine. "Sorry."

He laughs again, that same hard-edged, mean sound. "Not sorry enough, clearly." His hand loosens around your wrist, returning to your hip as his grip tightens on both sides. "I've gotta remind you who you belong to before I can make you feel good, yeah?" 

He plants a longer, wetter kiss against your thigh before pulling back. Though he's freezing cold, his eyes are ablaze. "Spread." 

You couldn't resist his orders if you wanted to. Luckily, that isn't an issue. 

You spread your legs, allowing for him to lunge for the meat of your inner thigh while you wait for him, wet and wanting. 

The combination of the cool air on your aching core and the threatening sharpness of his teeth against your skin leaves you throwing your head back, rattling the mirror ever-so-slightly. 

As soon as he nips at your leg, breaking the skin for the first time, you feel the distinct venomous sting that always comes with the first bite. It runs through your veins, heady and cold, dizzying. You let out a yelp. Your fingers tangle in his hair on autopilot. Luckily, despite the earlier ordeal with you pushing his head down, he doesn't stop you this time. He knows you need something to steady yourself, — deep down, he's probably happy it's him rather than the sink. 

Just as soon as his fangs have pierced the first two holes, he moves on higher up your leg to create another. You know what he's doing. He won't go too deep on a single bite, — he'll save that for when you're at home, and he needs to feed. This is a separate thing entirely. 

Small, pinprick bites come to decorate your inner thighs, one after another. With each small puncture of his fangs, small amounts of venom come to rest beneath the skin, slowly washing your body with the euphoric sensation of pure need. 

Simply put, he's infiltrating your brain, rendering you chemically dependent on him, as though he were some sort of drug. It's horrible and romantic all at once, and you swear you wouldn't have it any other way if you could. Long before he first sunk his teeth into your skin, you wanted him. And now, you have him, for however long forever is for you. For his sake, you hope it's a long, long time. 

You look down at him now. Eyes growing heavy from the venom's intoxicating effects, you lazily brush his hair back from his eyes before running your hands over his scalp. 

It doesn't escape you that he tenses slightly at your touch. Your heart sinks. You know how he is with displays of affection from you. Unless he initiates first, he vehemently believes that he doesn't deserve your tenderness. After all, in his own eyes, he is nothing more than a monster, literally draining you of life. His sense of guilt eats you up inside, especially considering that there's nothing you can do to remedy it. 

You see the way that he's looking at you now as he continues to decorate your upper thigh in small marks. There's this look in his eyes that makes you think of how he must have looked walking home from that bar nearly thirty years ago, unaware that his mortal life as he knew it would come to an end in a dark alley at the hands of some ravenous beast. Despite the fact that he's still biting you, he looks… scared. All you can see in his eyes is the lost young man that he once was. The lost young man who should be well into his fifties now, but is stuck in a twenty-something's body, depending on your blood to keep him alive. 

Perhaps it's the venom pumping through you, increasing your connection, or maybe the few drinks that you've already had, or just the fact that he looks pretty and sad and you really want him to eat you out. Whatever the case, you feel like you should be doing something other than this. Something to make him feel better. 

Before you can consider other, potentially better options, you find your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling as his name breaks up from your throat. "Trey," you whimper quietly. 

He groans against your skin, tongue flattening over the freshest bite. You let out a high-pitched cry, tugging at his hair again. "Trey," you repeat. "Come on, please…"

His bites trail upwards, closer and closer to where you need him. Each one comes with a small rush of simultaneous pain and pleasure, so fucking addictive. 

Whether or not he was really worried about the bartender, he's got you right where he wants you now. All you can think about is him. His name is the only one passing your lips, his venom lacing your blood, his mouth so close to where you need it…

"Trey," you repeat, sounding something like a broken record as you close your eyes and lean back against the mirror. "Please, please, please…"

You gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth as sudden, harsh pain rips through you. Like an electric shock, it starts in your leg and jolts the rest of your body, inspiring a muffled scream. You feel Trey pull back, just before you hear him curse. 

"Shit." 

When you look down, he's rising up from the floor, desperately reaching for the paper towel dispenser. He rips a few off before kneeling in front of you again. Wide-eyed, you look down at his blood-smeared face as he begins to press against the fresh wound on your leg. 

"I'm so sorry," he says as he presses down harder, inspiring a sharp hiss from you. "Fuck…"

He pulls the paper towel back and actually growls. Once you get a good look at it, you understand why. 

Blood pours from the punctures his fangs have left in your skin. In comparison to the other marks, this one is much deeper, the sort of bite that he leaves behind when he feeds. By the looks and feel of it, the blood is flowing at a similar rate, too.

You watch Trey's face as he takes in the sight. You can see his mental struggle, — trying to decide whether to give into his instinct and latch on or just keep applying pressure.

"It's okay," you tell him. "You can…"

He shakes his head before you can even finish your sentence. "No," he says, standing up to grab another paper towel. He swipes it across his face, rubbing the blood off. "That'll just make it flow faster, and I don't want you passing out on me. Not here, at least." He tosses the towel into the trash can before reaching for your waist again, placing you back on the floor. "C'mon. I'm taking you home." 

As soon as your feet hit the floor, you feel yourself growing slightly woozy. You lean against him with a soft whimper, eyes squeezing closed. 

"No, no, sweetheart. Stay with me." You feel a cold hand gently pat your face, inspiring your eyes to flutter back open and focus on him. He smiles, faint remnants of blood marking his sharp teeth. "That's my girl." 

You smile back weakly as a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his side. "Just lean against me," he encourages you. "I've got you, yeah?"

You hum a weak agreement as you head towards the bathroom door. 

Luckily, the two of you had already paid your tab before you snuck off. All that's left is to make your way through the sea of people and out the door before he takes you back to your apartment. 

"Move slow," he urges you. "Hey… Watch your breathing, baby. There you go." 

You didn't notice before now that your breathing was coming fast. The mixture of venom, blood loss, and anxiety has you reeling, leaving you out of touch with your own body. 

Luckily for you, Trey knows. Even if he was the one who just accidentally left an open wound on your thigh, you trust that he won't let anything happen to you. He's aware of your vitals, — how you feel, how much you can take, — without you even having to tell him. Even if it takes him all night to walk you home, he'll make the sacrifice. He takes care of you like that. 

Now, he's squeezing your shoulder, leading you towards the door as he guides your breathing. "In and out, okay? Slow." The two of you step out of the bar and into the night. Luckily, it's relatively cool outside, not allowing for the weather to worsen your lightheaded state. "Talk to me when you can handle it, alright?" 

You inhale the cool night's air before speaking. "I'm scared people are staring."

He shrugs. "If they stare, they stare." He nudges you gently. "They aren't gonna know," he says quietly. "Far as they know, you slipped and fell or something." His arm tightens around your waist. "Freak accident."

You smile weakly. "Freak accident," you echo. "Yeah."

By some miracle, you make it back to your apartment complex without incident. Before you can attempt to scale the stairs, Trey picks you up, carrying you as though you were no heavier than a grocery bag. 

You lean into him with a shaky sigh. It's so strange, the way that he could accidentally kill you at any moment, yet he makes you feel so safe. You know that he would die and/or kill for you in a second. He loves you just as much as you love him, if not even more. 

He stops in front of your door, delicately maneuvering past your body to pull the key from his pocket. Still, he quietly asks before sticking it in the lock: "May I come in?"

You chuckle quietly, leaning against his shoulder. "You may." 

He turns the key in the lock and steps over the threshold before closing the door behind him. 

He saunters over to the couch and sets you down gently. As soon as you begin settling against the cushions, he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

He lets out a shaky sound akin to a sigh as he clumsily pushes your dress up around your hips, revealing the open wound on your leg once more. It's still steadily dripping blood, causing the hungry look in Trey's eyes to intensify by the millisecond. 

Propping yourself up on the cushions, you offer him a murmur of encouragement. "Go ahead."

As soon as he gets his permission, he wastes no time sinking his fangs back into you.

You hiss, throwing your head back as your fingers tangle in his hair once again. Your eyes squeeze shut as the agonizing euphoria overwhelms you. His venom clouds your head, washing you in a warm, heady haze. You feel wanted and needed and loved as he takes what he needs from you, his grateful moans muffled against your raw, bleeding flesh.

He laps up the blood with a surprising amount of precision, considering his obvious state of desperation. Despite his obvious hunger, he doesn't take from you in a manner that seems greedy or ungrateful. In fact, he does quite the opposite. He tastes you as though you were the world's finest wine, appreciating every last drop. He could damn well suck you dry, here and now. And yet, he doesn't. 

Instead, he pulls back, flashing you a bloodstained smile that makes your head spin even more. Through the muddled haze of your mind, you make out his words: "My beautiful girl."

His praise simply inspires a lovesick whimper from you as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. 

He chuckles before lowering his head again, this time to press a series of gentle kisses above the wound. 

"So fucking perfect," he mutters in between kisses. "My good little pet. My girl." He stops at the hem of your skirt before hiking it up even higher. By this point, his voice is little more than a growl as his still-hungry gaze lands on your bare pussy.

He lets out a low groan. "Fuck, baby," he says. "I could fucking devour you." 

You believe him in every sense of that word. Furthermore, you want him to. 

"Please," you whine. "Need you so bad, Trey. Fuck."

He lets out another grumbling groan as he reaches for your ankles, pulling your legs up to rest over his shoulders. "You've got me," he assures you before diving in.

You gasp, your back instantly arching. 

Every time he eats you out while you're venom-drunk, you swear you could fucking ascend. You're already so lost in him after he bites you, and then he drops down to his knees and worships you with his tongue. 

That's how you think of it, — a way to thank you for being his life source, the closest thing to divinity that he can bring himself to believe in anymore. 

You feel pretty close to divine yourself as his tongue laps over your clit, over and over again, inspiring the most beautifully overwhelming pleasure you think you could ever feel. Your thighs involuntarily clap around his head, keeping him trapped exactly where he is. Luckily for both of you, it isn't like he needs to be able to breathe. 

Somehow, you manage to open your eyes enough to look down at him. The sight alone is enough to cause your knees to buckle and the knot in your stomach to tighten. 

There's blood everywhere, — on his face, in his hair, all over your legs and surely between them, too. His eyes are heavy, clouded by his utter focus on your aching center. 

His mouth moves in just the right way, his tongue hitting all the right places. It's so much, almost *too* much. The fact that you know he's reading your mind, — figuring out exactly what you want without you even having to ask, — makes it all the more intense. 

Without thinking twice, you find yourself rolling your hips up against his face, only for two inhumanly strong hands to pin you down a moment later. You swear you could cry as he lifts his head, bringing the waves of pleasure to a halt for one terrible moment before his fingers take the place of his tongue. You continue to squirm as two fingers pump in and out of you, strategically curling against the spot that he knows makes you scream. 

"Don't fight, sweetheart," he says, as though he honestly believes that your writhing is an attempt to get away rather than a plea for more. "You know that just makes me want it more." He laughs, a flash of red-stained fangs as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine, eyes fluttering as they threaten to roll back into your head. 

"That feels good, huh?" He's laughing at you again. At this point, it just makes you tighten around his fingers even more. You're his. All his. 

You give a weak attempt at a nod, your affirmative hum turning into a muffled moan halfway through. 

Another mean chuckle. "I know it does, pet," he coos. "You fucking love it when I curl my fingers right here, don't you?"

A rush of heat washes over you, causing your pussy to tighten and your knees to get weak. You let out another, louder moan, nodding your head fervently. 

"Yeah?" Clearly, he thinks your reactivity is fucking  hilarious. Bastard. "That's the spot, huh? Oh, you're so tight, baby…" Without warning, he begins to move his fingers faster, managing to hit that fucking spot every single time. 

You clap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to drown out the noises that you can't control at this point. 

As it turns out, this is a mistake. 

"Trying to be quiet, hmm? Don't wanna bother the neighbors? You're so fucking cute." He begins to lower his head again. Panic rises up within you when you realize that he's not going for the aching place between your legs, but the thigh that he hasn't already taken a chunk out of. 

You pull your hand away to formulate a surely futile warning. "Trey—" Your hand returns to your mouth as his fangs pierce the plush skin, another shrill sound escaping your mouth as he goes all the way in, the venom beginning to make the burning turn a bit fuzzy. He keeps fucking you with his fingers all the while, lapping greedily at the brand new wound as your head spins. 

You keep tightening around him with every thrust, threatening to tip past the point of no return. Before you can remove your hand to let out another debauched whimper of his name, he pulls away, licking up an errant droplet of blood before posing you with a warning. "Don't come yet."

With the way your stomach is currently tying itself into a knot, that request sounds quite impossible. "I can't —"

"You can hold off. I know you can." He says it with so much certainty just before he latches on to your leg again, sucking as his fingers continue their unrelenting pace and his venom continues to flood your veins. 

It's all you can do not to burst into tears. You can't hold off. You can't. "Trey," you try again, though you know it's a lost cause. You're already so fucking close, clamping down around him like a vice. Even if he pulled back now, you would probably still fall apart, clenching around nothing. 

But he isn't pulling away, or even slowing down. He just keeps moving his fingers, and feeding off your blood, and…

Fucking looking up at you with those icy eyes, the intensity of a killer trapped within the body of a man who loves you with all of his being. 

That's enough to make the trembling in your thighs intensify. You scream into the palm of your hand, eyes squeezing closed as heat rushes between your legs, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. 

Once your shaking begins to die down, Trey pulls back from your leg with a disapproving hum. "You never listen, do you?" 

You swallow hard. "I— I couldn't—"

He chuckles. "You could have. You just didn't try hard enough."

You flinch as he pulls his fingers out of you, only to roughly spread your legs further apart. He spreads you open with two fingers, collecting the wetness from your orgasm. "And now you're gonna give me another one," he says matter-of-factly before his mouth returns to your dripping core.

You gasp, squirming slightly at the overstimulation before reminding yourself to hold still. Luckily for you, the brief discomfort soon morphs into ecstasy as he gets you hurtling towards another release. God, is he good with his fucking mouth. 

You go back to tugging at his hair, your head falling limp against the couch cushions. He works his mouth against your hot cunt with the same urgency as he sucks the blood from your wounds, like any bit of you could keep him alive, just because it's from you. 

His words keep echoing in your head. You're gonna give me another one. Yeah, you're definitely going to, — soon, if the building warmth in your stomach is any indication. Your grip on him tightens, — as though, just for a moment, he was your prey. 

You hold onto him for dear life as he keep his face buried between your bloody thighs. Scarlet drips down to stain the couch cushions, but you'll worry about that later. Your mind is a muddled mess of Oh God, right there and please don't stop, and he knows. He fucking knows what he's doing to you, and he's devoting his eternity to doing right by you in every way possible. 

The waves come faster, and you know it's inevitable. He doesn't tell you to stop this time, — he just digs his fingertips into your thighs and moves his tongue faster, as though he's inviting it. 

You don't bother to cover your mouth as the pleasure overtakes you, nor do you pay any mind to the fact that you're rolling your hips up into his face like an animal in heat, so desperate and greedy for him. 

He stays exactly where he is until your grip relaxes and you physically push him away. When he looks up at you afterwards, he looks a little drunk himself, eyes hazy as he flashes you a lazy, self-satisfied smile. 

Though you know that he knows exactly what you want, you don't hesitate to reach for him. You grab him by the face and pull him in, kissing him hungrily. The taste that floods your mouth is just as intoxicating as it is strange, — metallic and sweet with a cool undertone. Blood and cum and, underneath it all, Trey. He overwhelms your senses, his tongue in your mouth, his venom in your veins. You need him like air. No, more than air. 

So you reach down, managing to undo the button and zipper on his pants without pulling away from the kiss. You wrap one leg around his hip, pushing him towards you before coming up for air. 

"Need you… Inside me," you force out between heaving gasps. "Please."

He doesn't say anything in response. Instead, he tugs at one of your dress straps, hard. The harsh pull causes a seam to rip, leaving the dress unraveling around you. 

You roll your eyes. "Jesus Christ. You're a fucking animal."

"Mmm-hmm." Unbothered, Trey dips his face into the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of wet, — but thus far unintrusive, — kisses. "Your fucking animal."

You can't help but giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he hovers over you, taking his sweet time focusing on your neck. "I pussy-whipped a creature of the night. Awesome." 

"Mmm… I'll buy you a new one, baby." His lips stop at your collarbone before traveling back up to just below your chin. Then, he pulls away, tugging down his pants and boxers. He has the decency not to rip those. 

As soon as he's able, he pulls you back close to hip, your legs tightening around his waist. His lips return to your neck. He kisses his way to the spot just below your ear. "Hold still, alright?" he whispers before inching forward, pushing inside of you all at once. 

You gasp quietly, leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder. 

"Head up," Trey commands you, tilting your chin up to look at him. You let out another whine as your eyes meet his. It's already all so intense, — the feeling of him inside you, his hand still cupping your chin, the lingering effects of the venom from his earlier bites. He gives a satisfied hum, lips brushing against yours before he begins to move. 

Unlike most times, he starts slow, — something you appreciate considering the amount of blood you've lost tonight. Still, needy noises seem to escape your throat with his every movement, your nails digging into the cold skin of his back. Every bit of you wants to hide your face again, partially out of embarrassment from being so damn loud, partially to be as close to him as possible, but you know he won't let that happen.

"Look at me," he orders now, surely reading your mind. 

You do look at him. He is just as terrifying and beautiful as always, cold and bloodsoaked, eyes on fire. You want to lean up to kiss him, but you physically can't bring yourself to move. Every part of you feels simultaneously heavy and alight with nerves. 

Trey closes the distance for you, pressing his lips hard against yours. You close your eyes, reveling in the pleasure that overwhelms you as his hips snap against yours, faster now. You vaguely register the sound of the springs on the couch creaking as he moans into your mouth. 

The two of you melt into one another as though you were a single being. You are consumed by the taste of your blood in his mouth in the same way that he is consumed by the fact that you want him so bad, your thoughts flooding his mind. 

You tense underneath him, crying out as he hits the same spot his fingers honed in on earlier. Of course, he takes note. You let out a string of desperate moans as he somehow manages to reach the exact right place with every thrust. 

He pulls away from your lips to murmur in your ear. "You love this, don't you?" he asks, as though he doesn't already know. "You like it when I bite you until your brain turns off? Like it when I fuck you stupid?"

You let out a sob in response, your legs tightening around his waist. Yes, you think, allowing your thoughts to tell him what your mouth can't at the moment. I love it when you fuck me like this. Fucking love it when you make me go cockdumb.

He must get the message loud and clear. A low laugh rumbles in his chest, pressed against yours. "You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" he presses on. 

Despite the effects of the venom weighing down your body, you manage a nod. Yes. Yes. God, yes.

"Good girl," he coos. "Would you let me bite you again? Get you real fucking wasted while I'm inside you?"

Another desperate moans passes your lips. Please. Please, Trey. Please, please, please, fucking bite me.

He groans at your mental admission. "Holy fuck, you're perfect," he says from between gritted teeth, driving into you harder and harder. "You can take it, right, baby? You always take me so fucking good…" 

Another brainless nod. Anything. I'll take anything you give me.

"Mmm… Good fucking girl," he praises you. "Where do you want it, baby?" Your heart flutters as his finger stops to rest, directly next to an artery. "Right here?" 

Your breath hitches. You know that he could kill you if he bit down on that area with too much reckless abandon. You also know that he will only go as far as he possibly can without threatening your life. 

Contrary to what many people might believe if they saw the bloody mess you and your boyfriend have made on your couch, he values nothing more than he values your life. 

Yes. Right there.

"Fuck." He gives a shaky groan just before sinking his teeth into your neck. 

You scream then, neighbors be damned. 

He keeps his teeth in your neck as he fucks you at a bruising pace. Equal parts pain and pleasure engulf you as your legs turn to jelly. You go limp in his jaws like a small animal being devoured by some terrible beast, succumbing to complete, helpless submission. 

The pain soon fades into the background, being replaced by the pleasant numbness that comes along with his venom. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the fresh rush of intoxicating poison as you sink into the couch cushions, letting him take as he sees fit. 

He has no problem with this, letting out a satisfied grunt against your neck with every harsh thrust. One of his arms wraps around your waist, superhumanly strong, holding you up as he continues to ravage you. 

Even when he's distracted by the fresh blood filling his mouth, he is precise in the way he fucks you, each snap of his hips bringing you closer to climax. 

Your head spins as the feeling washes over you. You offer Trey a mental warning just before you begin to tighten around him. 

So fucking close, oh my God, please…

You let out a strangled whine as his mouth leaves your neck. He leans in to whisper in your ear as he continues his steady pace. "Go ahead, baby. Cum," he encourages you as he keeps fucking you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Oh, that's it. Good girl. Fucking… Cum all over me, that's fucking it…"

You let out a series of pathetic whimpers as you tense up underneath him, only to fall apart a moment later. You whine as you cum hard around his cock, trembling beneath him as he releases your hips in favor of pinning your wrists to the wall above the couch. You swear you hear him fucking growl in your ear as he works you through your orgasm… and then afterwards. 

It seems like every nerve in your body springs to life as you realize he isn't stopping. You momentarily panic at the overstimulation washing over you, causing you to dig your fingers harder into his back. 

Too much, you think. Don't know if I can take it.

Not a moment after the thought crosses your mind, Trey is cooing in your ear. "You've got it, sweetheart," he assures you. "You can take more, baby. I know you can. Just cum one more time for me…"

If he says you can take it, you know that you can. You squeeze your eyes shut and cling tighter to him, bracing yourself as the overwhelming sensation slowly becomes a pleasurable one. 

Soon, you find that you're approaching yet another peak. As it would seem, you aren't the only one.

"Fuuucckkk." Trey buries his face in your bloodied neck. "Gonna fucking… fill you up, holy fucking shit, you feel so good…" 

You cling on tighter to him as he licks the stray scarlet droplets from your skin, digging your nails into him as you prepare to fall apart completely. 

"You're mine," Trey goes on as he continues to drive into you. "All fucking mine. My girl. Mine." 

You let out another lovesick whine, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. All yours, you promise him, just before your fourth orgasm of the night overtakes you, causing you to melt into a trembling mess beneath him. 

Trey's eyes damn near roll back as you tighten up around him. "Oh, fuck…" He goes still on top of you for a moment, only to relax as he releases inside of you with a loud, drawn-out groan. You use the opportunity to bury your face in his shoulder as you attempt to come back to earth. 

After a few moments, Trey seems to relax along with you. He stays inside of you for a moment, face still buried in your neck. "Holy shit," he mutters. "You're unreal."

You laugh weakly, brushing your fingers lightly over his back. "I'm not the one who's an actual vampire," you manage, your first words as the venom haze begins to uncloud from your head. 

"Hmm… Fair point." He presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back, eyes staring deeply into yours. His hand comes to rest on the side of your face, uncharacteristically delicate. "You okay?" he asks softly. 

You nod slowly. "I am," you confirm. "Just a little… sticky."

He smiles slyly, fangs flashing. 

You roll your eyes before taking on an additional comment on your condition. "I'm a little dizzy, too," you confess quietly. 

Trey leans in, pressing a kiss against your cheek before pulling back with a gentle pat on your cheek. "Stay there," he orders you before pulling his boxers up and wandering off to your bedroom. 

You allow your eyes to drift closed for a moment, only livening up when you feel a cold hand gently brushing against your bare leg. Your sleepy gaze wanders down to Trey as he kneels in front of the couch again, this time holding a warm washcloth. He uses it to wipe the blood away from your thighs first, then moves his attention up to the wound on your neck. Though you hiss at the initial contact, you sound find yourself leaning into his surprisingly tender touch. 

"There we go." He pulls the washcloth away before pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, only pulling away when he reaches for the bottle of rubbing alcohol that he brought along. 

You allow your mind to go blank as he takes care of you. This has become a familiar routine since you've been together: washcloth, antiseptic, situationally-inappropriate cutesy Band-Aid, in that order. You come back around for the last part, zoning back in for Trey's inquiry: "Hello Kitty or Snoopy?"

You grin lazily before pointing at your selection. He huffs out a chuckle as he obliges, sticking the cartoon-dotted adhesive strips over each disinfected wound with undeniably pure focus. Once he's done with that, he reaches for something else on the floor. 

"Here you go," he says as he hands you a bundle of white fabric.

You melt as you unbunch it, only to find that it's his concert shirt from when he saw The Cure in the early 90s. You smile as you pull it over your head. "Thank you so much."

He waves a hand dismissively before reaching for one last object. "Can't forget the most important part." 

Before you even register the sight, you know it's going to be a bar of dark chocolate. Still, you feel it's your duty to roll your eyes as you look at it. 

"Your iron…" Trey chides as soon as he sees your expression. 

"I know," you cut him off, beginning to tear the wrapper away from the bar. 

He chuckles before reaching for your heated blanket. He retrieves the remote, kicking it up to the exact setting that you like before draping it over your lap, and, finally, climbing underneath it with you. 

Even though he's ice cold, you immediately find yourself wrapping yourself around your boyfriend, letting out a contented sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder. Despite the manner in which he has been deflecting your affection all night, you finally feel him relax into your touch, looping his arm around your waist as he pulls you further into his side and presses his lips to your temple. 

You hum quietly before murmuring the first thought that comes to mind. "You're cold," you comment, threading his fingers through yours. 

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. "You gotta stop doing that," he warns you. 

You grin. "Stop doing what?"

"Being so fucking cute," he replies. "Makes me wanna…" He leans over, burying his face in your neck before making a dramatic snarling sound as he pretends to attack you with reckless abandon. You laugh at the grotesque display of endearment, halfheartedly shoving him away. 

He settles down then, happy to simply lean against you under an especially warm blanket for a while. 

Just when he starts to believe you've fallen asleep, you let out a drawn-out whine. "The couch…" you murmur, face pressed against his shoulder. 

He reaches out to run gentle, reassuring circles against your back. "I'll get it tomorrow," he promises. "I swear, angel. I'll do anything you want me to do all day." 

Your interest is piqued by that offer. "Anything?" you ask. 

"Anything," he confirms. 

You begin to drift off as the possibilities unfold within your mind. You figure you'll start him off with a few things as unconsciousness takes over. 

Wake me up with a warm drink. Clean the couch for me. Eat me out for hours upon hours. Let me do your makeup. Online window shop for a dress to replace the one you ripped.

"Alright, alright." His arm tightens around your waist as he holds you closer. You. His life source. His reason for still being here. His reason for still wanting to be here. 

"Anything you want," he promises you again as your eyes grow heavy. 

-

taglist: @nathanyoungsupremacy

[peachycoreroo]

the forbidden fruit | zeke yeager

summary: zeke was like a second father to you and you were his favorite little girl. maybe, it wasn't normal to like your dad's best friend that much, but who cares if it's normal when it feels this good.

pairing: dad’s best friend!zeke x college fem!reader

genre: smut, pwp

word count: 5.4k

warnings: age gap, vaginal penetration, lowkey pseudo-cest bc you call zeke 'uncle', daddy kink, oral fem!receiving, fingering, oral m!receiving, mini degradation, praise kink, a few spanks, choking, zeke spits in your mouth, usage of ‘slut’, ‘whore’ and ‘slutty’, bunny as a pet name, kinda exhibitionism?, manipulation, corruption kink, dub-con vibes but you actually want it, jealousy, mentions of alcohol, smoking, dumbification, manhandling, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up kids), creampie, size kink

authors note: this is for @weepinglevi​‘s adult movie tropes collab, thank you sm for letting me join!! def check out the other amazing fics in this collab<3 this is a lot darker than my other stuff so far, but i had so much fun writing it, so enjoy my first piece for aot!! here’s a link to my masterlist

uncle zeke, or uncle zuzu as you liked to call him when you were still a child, has always been your favorite person since you were little. technically, you weren’t blood-related, but you might as well have been with how integrated into your family he was.

him and your father were best friends since middle school and you did call him ‘daddy’ a lot back then as a three-year-old, when you couldn’t grasp the concept of him not also being your dad. he was there for your birth, your childhood, your embarrassing teens and now even for your 20th birthday.

you don’t exactly know when the thing happened though.

one day, you were all a big, happy family and the next you suddenly realized, how attractive zeke yeager really was. maybe, it was the way you noticed that he was so much more athletic and broader than your father as they walked around your pool in their swimming trunks on a hot summer day. maybe, it was the way you suddenly became aware of how tall he really was, when you tried to reach a cup on a shelf too high, only to feel his presence directly behind you with his chest against your back as he reached his arm above your head and grabbed the cup, only to hand it to you with a teasing ‘you should really try this thing called growing. i heard it does wonders against high shelfs.’ or maybe, it was the way you finally registered how his gray eyes shamelessly checked you out as you walked around in your flimsy crop tops and shorts, barely covering anything.

it was so wrong, but that didn’t mean you would stop your little teasing. your dresses got shorter and shorter, dropping your keys on purpose on the way out just to flash him your lacy panties. hugging him longer than usual as he was leaving, just to press your breasts up against his hard chest. you wanted him to know you weren’t a little girl anymore. you wanted his mind to be filled with lewd thoughts about you. only you.

even when you left for college, you couldn’t stop thinking about the blond man, especially when you were in your bed late at night, with your hand stuffed in your panties and your mouth whimpering his name into the pillow. images of him, with his hard cock in a large palm, pleasuring himself with you on his mind, groaning your name, always brought you to an orgasm, but it wasn’t enough. you knew the only way to quench your need for this man was by having him, no matter how rotten your desire was.

at last, it was finally your birthday, and you couldn’t wait to get home and act upon your ploy to seduce zeke yeager. it was a foolproof plan really. nobody would even suspect you were trying to rile your favorite uncle up, and he would only react, if he wanted you just as much. what better gift for your birthday, than ultimately having the forbidden fruit you’ve been trying to deny yourself of for so long.

“happy birthday, angel!”, your family exclaimed excitedly as you came downstairs. you quickly scanned the room to see uncle zeke already sitting in his usual spot on an armchair in the corner of the living room, getting up and joining your parents at the bottom of the stairs when he noticed your presence.

knowing that he was there, you finally smiled happily, thanking them softly before being pulled into a tight embrace by zeke. “yeah, happy birthday, angel”, he lowly murmured into your ear as he pressed you firmly against him, goosebumps erupting at his slightly suggestive tone.

“thank you, uncle zuzu”, you whispered back, squeezing him tight, hoping to get the message across that you were more than happy to be in his arms.

alas, you were forced to part as your mother shoved him to the side to embrace you, your dad jokingly complaining about you going for a hug with your favorite first instead of your parents, in the background.

“well, i can’t help that i’m so much cooler to her than you”, zeke retorted playfully, earning him a light-hearted punch to the arm from your father.

the rest of the day felt like an eternity. it’s not that you didn’t enjoy spending time with your parents, especially if zeke was there, but the prospect of getting the blond male to act upon your, hopefully, mutual desires, had you looking at the clock more times than you would like to admit.

“are you waiting for something?”

you quickly snapped out of your daydreams of what could happen later, as the man with the main role in them sat down closely beside you, your thighs brushing against each other. you couldn’t help your gaze lingering where your skin touched before blinking up at him through your lashes, only to see him grinning down at you, clearly amused by your stare. time for the first part of the mission.

“oh yeah, i’ll be going clubbing with a few friends later.”

“clubbing?”, zeke pressed with a frown, “and your parents are letting you?”

zeke has always been very overprotective of you. your dad joked that it’s because you’re basically like his daughter, but you hoped it was more than that. that’s why you were counting on his overprotectiveness to eventually lead you to the desired outcome of the day aka you, stuffed full of his cum.

“mmm, yeah. it’s my 20th birthday uncle zeke, not my 10th, you know. i’m an adult”, you retorted provocatively before getting up. “’m gonna go get ready.”

you could swear you felt his irritated glare burn into your back as you made your way upstairs, grinning at the first bit of your plan succeeding.

the second step, was your appearance. just a week before that, you went shopping for the shortest dress you could find, ready to turn heads, or specifically, one head. shower, hair, makeup, baby pink lace underwear, see-through tights, black dress. you haven’t felt this hot and confident in a while with college forcing you to wear hoodies and sweatpants all day every day. no way in hell were you going to make yourself suffer through endless lectures in cute skirts and dresses.

five minutes before your friends came, one of your essential male friends included, you decided to head downstairs to make sure zeke had enough time to admire how hot you looked.

as you came downstairs, you could hear your dad exclaiming ‘look at my beautiful girl, all grown up’, making zeke turn around. goosebumps erupted as you felt his eyes slowly trail along your figure, your skin tingling where his gaze burned into your exposed skin.

you did a full spin, showing off your outfit to the three people in your living room, but only caring about the opinion of one. to your disappointment, you didn’t quite get the reaction you wanted, with zeke turning back around to your mother, continuing to talk about whatever.

no matter how much you hated it, you couldn’t stop the jealousy crawling up your tightening throat, making you sick with disgust. you knew your mother was just as much as a friend to the man of your desires as your father, but it didn’t stop you from feeling this way. you wanted his eyes on you and not some other woman, even if that woman was your own mother.

as if on cue, the doorbell rang out, your mood immediately lifting at the chance that the third step of your plan finally elicits a much-craved reaction from zeke.

you opened the door, your best friends immediately throwing themselves at you, screaming their congratulations and complimenting your attire. just like you hoped, the boy you’ve been friends with and flirted with since high school, jean kirstein, was the last one to congratulate you. he hugged you tight, leaning down, whispering a low ‘happy birthday, pretty girl. you look good enough to eat’, at the same time as your parents and zeke came into the foyer.

the hug you shared with jean lasted just a tad too long for it to count as appropriate, with you giggling excessively at his comment just to be sure that zeke heard it. and as you parted to say goodbye to your family, your flirty friend kept his strong arm around your waist, as though it belonged there.

you don’t miss the way zeke glared at jean’s arm around you or the way he had the slightest frown on his face as he told you to ‘have fun and be careful’, but when you turned around and left the house to get into jean’s car, disappointment filled you when you realized that the blond male didn’t do anything to keep you from going. all this planning and finger crossing for nothing. ‘happy fucking birthday to me’, you bitterly thought, as you drove off into the night, mood already completely ruined.

after hours of trying to enjoy the end of your birthday even for a bit, you finally had enough. jean took you home, trying to make out with you on the backseat of his car in the parking lot, but as tempting as the idea of letting him fuck zeke yeager out of your mind sounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to. the fact that today was supposed to be the day you got your dad’s best friend right where you wanted him, was enough to make you crave a nice shower and your warm bed. you couldn’t wait for this day to end.

when jean pulled up to your house, you parted ways with a quick kiss and a cheeky promise of tomorrow, before making your way into the house. it was already 3 a.m., so you were sure everybody was already asleep, as you quietly made your way inside.

“there you are. welcome back, pretty girl.”

at hearing zeke’s raspy voice out of nowhere, you flinched and let out an unvoluntary squeak. what was he doing here?

you brought your hand to your heart, feeling it hammer against your chest, your eyes snapping to the spot your dad’s best friend was sitting in, in the kitchen. “uncle zeke! you scared me, what are you still doing here?”

as you made your way into the kitchen, you finally noticed the empty tequila bottle on the table and your unconscious father, snoring on the coach in the living room, just a few feet away.

“mmm, wanted to make sure you come home safely after your dad passed out, so i waited for you”, he casually retorted while his grey eyes inspected you from head to toe. smeared lipstick, a light sheen of sweat on your skin and your dress hiked up dangerously high on your thighs.

feeling small under his calculating gaze, you once again looked at your sleeping dad and gestured towards the bottle. “guess you also had a wild party going on?”

“mh, your dad’s just a lightweight.”

the air inside the kitchen was heavy and suffocating. you knew something was wrong with the way zeke wouldn’t stop staring at you and only answered with short sentences, his usual playful chattiness nowhere to be seen.

trying to get rid of the awkwardness and your nervousness, you asked: “where- uh, where’s mom?”

“asleep”, was the short answer you got, making you even more uneasy than before. “oh, w-well. i’m gonna go and also hit the hay. thanks for staying up for me uncle zeke, good night.”

“stop.”

this one word made you halt in your tracks just as you were about to turn around, making you look questioningly back at him. what you didn’t expect however, was to see zeke yeager spread his thighs and pet one of them with a simple ‘sit down, angel.” somehow, the pet name sounded condescending as it left his lips, but that didn’t stop your pussy from clenching at the sight of him with his legs wide open, looking positively inviting like never before.

your gaze quickly flickered towards the unconscious figure in the armchair, but even that couldn’t stop you when uncle zeke was offering you to sit on his lap, like you dreamed of for so long.

your legs slowly took you towards the spot he was sitting in, only for him to pull you on one of his thighs as soon as you were in his reach. his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, while the other found its place on your thigh, your heartrate skyrocketing at the close proximity.

not really knowing what to do with your hands and where to look, you once again brought your gaze to your dad in the living room, having the perfect view of him from your position on zeke’s lap, your fingers interlocked in your own lap as to not touch him too much.

“how was the party?”, he questioned seemingly nonchalant, but his tone had a certain edge to it, that made you feel as if you were being scolded.

you chuckled nervously, keeping your eyes locked on your unconscious father, as you started uttering: “oh, uh… it was- “

only to have zeke’s palm grab your cheeks, squeezing them together in a pout, as he turned your head towards him, forcing you to focus your gaze on him.

“did you fuck him?”

zeke was watching your expression closely when he practically growled the question, taking note of how your eyes widened, your breath deepened, and your thighs automatically pressed together as the meaning of his imposing words settled in.

the jealousy could practically be grabbed as it rolled off the blond male in waves and you knew, that if you wanted your birthday wish to come true, you had to play the part of the innocent and unsuspecting little girl.

“wha-? no!”, you exclaimed supposedly offended and distraught that he would even ask such a thing, as best as you could with your lips pressed together in a pout by his large palm.

the man’s dark grey – were they always this dark? – eyes narrowed as you seamlessly pretended to not know what he was hinting at, but the way you immodestly battered your eyelashes at him, one hand finding it’s way onto the palm that was squeezing your plush thigh, showed him at you weren’t as oblivious as you feigned to be.

“no, huh?”, he chuckled darkly, his hand leaving your face to push you down onto your knees between his legs instead, “then you’re not against helping your dear uncle with a certain issue, or are you baby?”

stammering out a little confused ‘what?’, you quickly checked whether your dad was still asleep, only for yeager’s palm to return to its place on your cheeks, squeezing them once again as he yanked your head back towards him. “don���t act like a brainless, useless slut, angel. it really doesn’t suit you. you’re my smart little girl, aren’t you?”

the sickly-sweet tone he used worked like a charm on your praise-starved brain. you wanted to please him and be his good girl, no matter what it took.

looking up at him with big, wide eyes, a drop of drool fell from your pouty lips onto his jean-clad crotch when he tightened his hold on your cheeks as you nodded like an obedient little toy, making him smile proudly.

“that’s my girl. now,”, he declared, unbothered by the tiny wetness seeping into his pants, his veiny hands made quick work of his belt and zipper, “show me how much you want to help your uncle zeke.”

just the sight of him whipping out his hard cock out of the confinements of his jeans and boxers, was enough to make a small pool of wetness gush out of your cunt, not that it mattered anyway. your lacy panties were already long soaked just from sitting on his lap.

zeke’s cock was longer and definitely thicker than you could’ve ever imagined, bigger than any you’ve ever taken with a prominent vein running on the underside, the tip flushed in a pretty pink. the saliva collecting in your mouth at the prospect of having him down your throat soon made you swallow hard, while you waited for his next instructions, not wanting to disappoint him by acting impulsively.

seeing his best friends’ daughter so submissive and eager-to-please on her knees between his legs as said best friend laid, passed out, just a few feet away, made zeke’s cock twitch. he knew it was sick and wrong, but he has always been a weak man when it came to you.

“go ahead, sweetheart. make uncle zeke feel good.”

at his permission to go, you nearly lunched forward, your pretty lips coated in sticky lipgloss instantly wrapping around the sensitive tip of his dick, making him groan deeply somewhere in the back of his throat.

you alternated between swirling your tongue around his cockhead and slowly sucking, as zeke put a cigarette between his lips, lightning it. normally, you hated the foul smell of nicotine and complained numerous times about how much you hated smokers but… the sight of it dangling between his thick fingers, as his other hand lost itself inside your hair, guiding your head to bob up and down on his length, awakened something deep in you, that you didn’t even know existed.

it didn’t help that while every other person reeking of smoke repulsed you, the same scent clinging to zeke brought you a sense of comfort. the fact that he also looked hot as fuck doing it, certainly didn’t hurt.

above you, the tall man made sure to let his eyes wander to your father from time to time, mostly keeping them locked on your lewd expression and your full lips wrapped around his cock though. he knew that the man a few feet away was a heavy sleeper, especially when drunk, so he wasn’t afraid of letting you know just how pleased he was with you.

“that’s a good girl. doing so good for me, want me to cum down your throat, sweetheart?”  

you mumbled a small ‘please’ around his cock, causing him to groan huskily as your vocal cords vibrated against his sensitive tip. knowing he was almost there, you hallowed your cheeks and tightened your throat, wanting him to lose himself in the inviting warmth of your mouth.

as soon as zeke felt himself teetering at the edge, he couldn’t stop himself from quickly putting out the cig in his hand and holding your head still with his large palms as he started frantically thrusting up in your mouth. having zeke use you to chase his own high made you clench around nothing as you gagged around his length, doing your best to try and keep your jaw slack just so you could hear the man praising you again.

at the feeling of you choking on his cock, zeke’s head fell back as he moaned hoarsely, the sound going straight to the fire in the pit of your stomach already forming just from sucking him off and hearing his erotic grunts.

on the next thrust inside your warm, wet mouth, zeke emptied himself in the back of your throat with a low growl of ‘good fucking girl’, making you whine around his dick. the blond pulled you off as you started coughing, instructing you to ‘swallow, angel.’ being the whipped, little toy you did as you were told, looking up at him as you licked the remaining cum of your spit covered lips.

zeke smirked at your sensual display, whilst he stood up, pulling you up to your feet, only to push you against the dinner table and impatiently smash his lips against yours.

you had half the mind to think about how he didn’t even seem to care that his sticky cum still lingered in your mouth as he kissed you before your brain completely shut down because you were making out with zeke yeager.

strong palms wandered up your thighs under your short dress, cupping your ass while the flimsy fabric rode up as a consequence of his wandering hands. the display of strength as he easily lifted you up on the hard surface behind you, made your head spin. everything this man was doing had you weak in the knees and if you weren’t already seated, you were convinced your legs would’ve given out underneath you.

as yeager made room for himself between your thighs, spreading them in the process, your arms found their place around his broad shoulders, pulling him down even closer towards you as you tasted the whiskey and smoke on his slightly chapped lips. you could hear his soft chuckle at the displeased whimper you let out when he removed himself from you, before tracing his thumb faintly over your clothed clit. just that slightest contact with your puffy bundle of nerves had your hips twitching up, your face heating up at the obvious display of his effect on you.

“aww, is my slutty little baby desperate for her favorite uncle?”, he asked in mock empathy, ripping your tights like it was nothing, before his eyes soaked up the sight of your baby pink lace panties completely ruined by your slick.

“i see you were ready for something to happen today. were you hoping the little boy from earlier would fuck you?”, he almost snarled the question, before adding: “or were you hoping for me, bunny? are these pretty panties just for me?”

as your core gushed out more of your juices at the pet name, you obediently shook your head at his accusation of you dressing up for jean, mewling out: “y-you, daddy. only you.”

zeke closed his eyes to compose himself when his cock twitched alive once again at the sweet melody of you calling him daddy. he knew this was the point of no return. he could’ve stopped this before, he was sure of that, but not anymore. not when you oh so sweetly called out for your daddy to take care of you.

in one swift motion, your panties were gone and thrown into a dark corner of the kitchen, the only light illuminating the space coming from the turned-on lamp in the foyer from when you came home. forcing you to recline back as zeke lifted your legs up on his muscular shoulders, you shuddered as his hot breath hit your drenched pussy.

after just one kitten lick to your core, you heard zeke’s pleased hum, mumbling something along the lines of ‘just as sweet as you, bunny’, but you couldn’t tell for sure because the very next second he was diving tongue first into you, sucking, licking, and slurping like it’s his last meal. the moan that left you at his intense ministrations was downright pornographic and you could only clench around nothing as his large palm came up to silence you.

“as much as i’d love to listen to your cries, sweet thing, gonna wake your parents up if you keep at it”, he muttered against your sensitive clit, the vibrations only making you mewl against his hand.

your hands tried to find purchase somewhere, the hard surface of the table, your plush thighs, before your nails finally got a grasp of his blond locks, using the leverage as an advantage to push his face even further into your slick cunt.

the obscene, wet sounds that echoed in the room were making your face heat up, but the embarrassment didn’t stop you from grinding desperately against his tongue, his thick beard rubbing painfully but oh so deliciously against the delicate skin of your inner thighs.

when you felt two of his thick fingers probe at your entrance before pushing in, instantly hitting that one spot inside you, you threw your head back as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, thighs trembling against his head as you reached your peak around his digits. your back arched off the wooden table, thighs snugly pressing against the sides of his head, almost suffocating him in the process, while you moaned a long, high-pitched ‘daddy’ against his palm.

zeke yeager could proudly say that he’s had his fair share of women, but the sight of you, succumbing to the pleasure he was providing you with, was by far the most erotic he had the privilege of witnessing. the mix of your cross-eyed expression, your sloppy cunt clenching impossibly around his thick fingers and your body twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, only fueled his desire to see you go dumb on his fat cock.

a hard slap against the fat of your right thigh caused you to squeal, your legs sliding down from his shoulders, completely limp from all the spent energy. zeke leaned down, once again capturing your lips in a heated make out. his warm tongue still had the distinct taste of your release on it as it slipped between your lips, his full beard soaked in your juices scratching against your cheeks and chin, but you certainly didn’t mind as long as you could have him between your legs, mouths interlocked.

“wanna see your cute lil’ ass while i wreck you, bunny. can you turn around for daddy?”, he questioned, voice raspy, but he didn’t actually wait for an answer, grabbing your hips in a bruising grip and flipping you over on your stomach, ass pressed up against his crotch already. not being able to control yourself at another clear display that his muscles weren’t just for show, your hips automatically grinded back against his painfully hard cock.

another strong blow was delivered, this time to your bouncy behind, your small mewl echoing in the large space. “slutty, desperate whores aren’t appreciated here, bunny. thought you were daddy’s good, little girl? guess daddy was wrong about you”, zeke sighed in faux disappointment, knowing you would do anything for him to keep praising you.

“n-no! am your good, little girl! ‘m sorry, daddy, please don’t leave”, you practically sobbed out, to drunk on his touch to realize the manipulative undertone in his phrasing.

smirking victoriously, the blond tenderly smoothed his huge palm, with his fingers covered in your already dried up essences, over your ass check, his fat tip nudging against your soaked entrance, whilst he shh-ed you, promising that he’s ‘not gonna leave you bunny, ‘m all yours.’

at the promise of him belonging to you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head, just as yeager decided to push his aching dick into your tight pussy. at the first bump against your gummy walls, you both knew no one would ever be able to compare. it was a tight fit as he continued to push past the resistance of your cunt, hissing at the continuous contractions around his sensitive cock. no way in hell, he thought to himself as he already had to hold himself back from cumming as if he were some virgin all over again.

when he finally bottomed out, his patience was close to non-existent, so without waiting for you to adjust, he started thrusting in you like a mad man. your hands flew out to grab the other edge of the wooden surface to have some kind of support, as his powerful thrusts made the whole table shake and drag across the tiled floor.

“’s too much, daddy! slow down!”, you wailed, knowing full well that this was exactly what you waited for all this time. the dark chuckle that left his panting and grunting mouth told you that he was also very aware of the fact that you didn’t actually want him to slow down, so the only reaction you got, besides his acknowledging chuckle, were his thrusts picking up in speed.

after another strong hit to your jiggling ass and a groan that sounded suspiciously like ‘such a perfect ass’, zeke leaned over you, completely covering you with his large frame. his hand found its way to your front, giving your tits a quick squeeze through your dress, before continuing its journey up, finally settling around your neck.

as it constricted around your neck, thick fingers expertly pressing against the pressure points, restricting the air flow oh so deliciously, your spit-covered lips fell open in a silent ‘o’, the act lurching you impossibly closer to your orgasm. at this point, the only coherent words you were able to formulate were ‘yes’, ‘daddy’ and ‘please’, causing the tall man’s chest to fill with pride at your dumbed out state.

“my cute, submissive, little bunny. have i fucked you stupid with my cock?”, he teased, only to get his confirmation by the lack of response on your side, too far gone to process that he asked a question.

the rhythmic clenching of your warm core reminded him that his dick was practically begging him to let it stuff you full of his sticky cum, so as his grip on your throat and hip tightened even more, he let his carnal desires take over as he rutted impossibly faster inside you.

every thrust caused his fat tip to poke harshly against your cervix, the feeling of pain only fueling your pleasure, as you silently took all your favorite uncle was giving you. somewhere in the back of your mind the thought of your father sleeping just in the next room flew around, but it quickly got fucked back out by zeke’s fat cock.

at the next rough plunge inside your warm walls and the low growl of ‘cum on daddy’s fucking cock, bunny’ directly beside your ear, you came undone with a loud moan of his name. you were pretty sure the force of your orgasm made you blackout for a second, because the next time you came to your senses, zeke was shooting his load inside your inviting cunt directly at your cervix, your name leaving his lips like a prayer.

you were exhausted. your whole body shook and twitched, your stomach hurt from being pressed against the edge of the dinner table for so long, sweat dripping down on the surface from your face and neck.

suddenly the room was way too quiet, safe for the heavy breathing and your occasional whimpers. slowly, zeke pulled out, only to spread your cheeks apart to take a good luck at your abused pussy pushing out his white cum. it slowly trickled down your legs, mixing with your leaked juices on the tiles beneath your feet.

not having the energy to move, you let the blond male pull down your dress back over your ass, listening to the rustle of fabric and belt clicking as he got dressed again. just as he gently helped you stand-up again, you could hear a yawn coming from the doorway that led to the living room.

“what’re you both doing?”, your half-awake father asked as he made his way through the kitchen past you to get to the foyer. your nails dug into zeke’s muscular forearms as the panic of getting caught formed in the pit of your stomach, only to hear the older man murmur a casual, seemingly sleepy ‘she just got home, gonna go sleep now’, as though he wasn’t blowing out your back just a few minutes prior.

with an unsuspecting ‘’aight, night you two’, your dad disappeared in the shared bedroom with your sleeping mother.

“fuck”, you breathed out, stressed at almost being caught and your legs buckling, only for zeke’s strong arms to hold you up right.

“hey, look at me, angel”, the male softly demanded, gaze tender as your eyes met his. “i’ll bring you to bed and clean up here, okay? don’t worry about a thing.”

a sleepy, but happy smile stretched itself across your lips at him caring for you so deeply.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

without second-guessing the request, you obediently opened your mouth, only to feel his saliva hit your outstretched tongue. the taste made you mewl needily as you realized what it all meant. you were his and he was yours.

zeke chuckled, amused by your blissed out expression, before pecking your lips, picking you up and caring you to your room with you mumbling a satisfied ‘best birthday ever’ against his neck.

[sugarylawliet]

May I pretty please have a nsfw Light x Fem!Reader fic where Light is horny af and tries to seduce the reader but since it’s so rare to see Light needy like that, the reader decides to use this and pretends like she’s busy etc. and drives Light crazy af which leads to angry Dom!Light sex ;)

WHEW i got outta breath just reading this req-

warnings: nsfw/smut, dom! light, degradation with slight praise, this one has more plot than usual i think

taglist: @ygm1slt

"Y/N, do you mind?"

You glanced up from the dozens of tan manilla folders you held in your hand, spread out like a hand of playing cards, each one filled with documents upon documents about the legend you and your coworkers were chasing. The stacks of papers felt like the scribblings of a child in your hand; useless to you, because you knew who Kira was already. Hidden in plain sight, he was the man who had just called your name from the front of the room where he sat, beckoning for you to come near.

You let out a long sigh under your breath, slowly placing the papers onto the desk you stood in front of. You and Light were not dating, no, in fact you could barely stand to be in the same room as the man. His aura was suffocating, despite the large and sprawling rooms of the headquarters building, you could always pinpoint just where Light was; you could feel his arrogant energy wafting off of him, making it clear who the superior one was in the room. It was asphyxiating, and his words were even worse. Everytime he called you to come closer to him, your heart skipped a beat- and though you were sure it was from disgust, you never denied any of his requests. Your love-hate relationship with him only made your interactions more intoxicating. You weren’t gonna deny yourself the excitement.

Your footsteps echo through the almost empty room as you walked towards Light, the only other people at the task force at the moment being L, Matsuda, and Soichiro, all of whom were working together on the right side of the room, their focus on L’s computer.

“What is it?” You ask as you approach Light, stopping next to him.

“I’d like to know your thoughts on this, a second opinion would be helpful.” He gestures towards his computer screen, which was packed with data you could barely read. As you attempt to decipher the text, Light places his hand on your upper thigh, gripping it horizontally. You hold back a gasp, trying not to draw attention to yourself. Light stares at you, your eyes unwavering from the screen in front of you.

“Umm, well, it’s....”

Light’s hand slides up your thigh, his fingers inching up your skirt and brushing the fabric of your panties. He moves his fingers slightly with the slowness of a lover brushing their thumb up and down your hand as you hold theirs. Your breath stutters as you found yourself craving a harder touch from the man you thought you hated.

You break your gaze from the computer screen and glance at Light- his eyebrows were turned downwards, and the image gave you an idea. You grab Light’s hand, peeling it from your leg and dropping it into his lap. “Actually, Light. I’m kind of busy with these documents right now, sorry.” You smile, walking away and returning to your spot at the other table.

You sort through the papers, your mind off of Light before you feel the vibration of your phone from the table. You check to make sure L wasn’t looking before checking your phone, opening the message notification.

Light Y.

brat.

You glance over your shoulder before typing a quick response.

                                                                                                                        Y/N

                            i’m sure i don’t know what you mean.

You place down your phone screen-first on the table and turn your ringer off, not bothering to see whatever quip Light would respond with. You catch him rolling his eyes out of the corner of your view before returning to his work. He places a hand over his mouth and throws one of his legs over the other, crossing them. You smirk to yourself.

This was a back and forth you and Light Yagami often shared ever since you joined the Japanese Task Force. Light, the esteemed man he is, never places doubt in his ability not only to seduce women, but to get what he wants, whatever that may be; in this case, it was you. You, on the other hand, prided yourself on being strong- a stubborn person with an unwavering will, someone who could out-work and out-show the men who thought they were better than you. Often you forgot the end goals of your little adventures to prove yourself better than, getting caught up in the chase of it all. You and Light’s relationship was a quite hectic blend of both of your guys’ stubborn behavioral habits, and neither of you would settle for losing.

-----------------

“Light-kun, it’s getting quite late. You two aren’t tired?” L asks, glancing at you and Light, as the three of you were the only ones remaining in the main area of task force headquarters. Everyone else had either gone home or gone to their designated rooms in the building.

“No, There’s a lot of work to be done so I’m fine with sacrificing a little sleep.” Light glances at you briefly. You knew he was expecting to be left alone with you, but you decide to push the envelope a little further. You refused to give into him; at this point, your ego and desire to not lose rivaled his.

“Actually, Ryuzaki, you’re right. I’m gonna head to bed.” You wave goodnight to the men, sending Light an innocent smile as you walk upstairs to your room. 

You made yourself comfortable in your bed, as surprisingly Light had taken several hours to come upstairs- he didn’t want to chase after you, you assumed. Though, you could see how desperate he was through his facade.

Eventually, though, the door to your room opens with a creek, as Light steps his way inside and locks it behind him.

“Oh, hi Light. Do you need something?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Light runs his fingers through his caramel hair, frustrated. He walks over to where you sat on the edge of the bed, taking your jaw in his tight grip and forcing you to look at him.

“What was that all about, huh?” He places his hand on your leg, sliding further and further upwards as he speaks. “Teasing me as if you have the right. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I don’t appreciate the bratty behavior.” His fingers return to the position they were earlier, softly brushing up and down over your clothed heat. You bite your lip, holding back a moan; you weren’t going to give into him this easily. No, this was a competition for pride, and you were determined to win.

“Actually, Light,” You push his hands away from you, standing up, “I’ve had quite a long day. I’m gonna go get some rest, maybe you should too?” You remark before leaving, shutting the door behind you and finding another room to sleep in. You were going to win.

----------------

“Are you guys coming with?”

You stand in the main hub of task force headquarters near Light, as L was on a seperate floor working and the rest of the task force was getting ready to leave for lunch.

“No, sorry, I wanna finish this work as soon as possible. But Matsuda, do you mind bringing Y/N and I something back?”

You whip your head towards him with a sour look as he volunteered you to stay with him- alone.

“Sure, text me what you want!” Matsuda exclaims cheerfully before leaving with the other detectives. 

The loud slam of the door echoing through the large half-vacant room did not draw your attention away from your work, as you were determined to remain focused.

“You know, Y/N,” Light stands up from his chair, approaching you from behind where you sat. You take in a breath, preparing yourself for the antics he was about to pull.

“You never did apologize to me.” He places his long slender hands on your shoulders from behind, slowly rubbing up and down.

“Apologize? What do I need to apologize for?”

“For being a fucking brat.”

Light abruptly grabs the sides of the chair and spins you around to face him, his nose almost poking yours and his hot breath tickling your face, flushing your cheeks red. You take the opportunity of your close proximity to lock eyes with him, slightly shaking your head no, your confidence unbreaking. 

With haste, Light knots a finger in your hair and roughly pulls you towards the nearest table, shoving you chest-first into it. He smacks your ass, earning a yelp from you. “How hard is it to follow fucking instructions? God, is your ego that big?”

He creeps his hand up your legs, dipping under your skirt and pulling your panties down to pool around your ankles. He runs his fingers up your slit, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Just give into me...”

You shake your head as best you can with Light still gripping the roots of your hair and whine out a small “Nuh-uh.”

He dips two fingers inside you, curling his fingers upwords and making a beckoning motion inside of you. Quickly, he pulls his digits out, extending his hand to force you to suck on them. “Hmm, taste all that? It sure looks like you want to give into me...”

You pitifully whine around his fingers, pushing your backside to press against the bulge forming in his pants, asking for more.

“See? I knew you were needy for me.” He removes his fingers from your mouth and slips them back into your cunt, pumping in and out at a steady pace before adding a third finger. You pathetically squirm under his methodical movements; he was too good at this. You try to bite back your moans to save your confidence, but soon fail as Light scissors his fingers inside of you.

“Mm, I love the sounds you make, you sound like such a slut.”

Light increases his pace and depth, curling his fingers against your walls until his fingers were no longer visible. His manipulation of your senses drew your orgasam out quicker than you expected, causing you to clench against his digits. Light, sensing this, promptly removes his fingers from you, causing you to whine.

“Light...”

“What, you think I’m gonna let you finish?” He chuckles leaning down to speak in your ear, “Just say you’re sorry, Y/N. It’s not that hard, really.”

“I have nothing to apologize for.” You pant. 

He smacks your backside again, the hand-print stinging with the frustration building up inside the man. “Don’t talk back to me, brat. You know, you’re really being difficult and I don’t appreciate it. Maybe I should just leave you here...” He removes his grip from you and begins to walk away, and you’ve never felt more alone without your arch enemy.

“No, Light...” You bite your lip as you call him, the swing to your ego panging your chest.

“Hm, what’s that?”

“Light...” You look away, feeling embarrassment bubble inside your stomach.

“You only get what you beg for, Y/N. I can’t hear you...” He walks closer to you, a smirk forming on his lips as he backs you against the table, “C’mon, pet. Beg for me to fuck you, I know you want to.” He places a soft touch on your clit, rubbing it slowly in circles.

Against everything you’ve been fighting for this whole time, against your pride, your body was aching and obeyed, “Light, Kira, I need you so badly, please, please just fuck me already.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Are you sorry?”

“Yes, yes, I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” His tone grows more stern.

“For being a brat, for teasing you, for not listening to you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just please, touch me....”

Light hums in appreciation as he unbuckles his belt, tossing it on the floor and pulling himself out of his tan pants, “Mm, that’s Kira’s good girl, I knew you’d come around.” He pumps himself a few times, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slit, pushing slightly in every now and again just to evoke a mewl from you.

A slew of “please”s and begging whines spilled from your lips like a desperate prayer as Light continued his torturous teasing.

“You’re nothing but Kira’s pet, right?”

You nod rapidly.

“And you’d do anything for me? You’re mine, mine to use how I please and dispose of? Mine to use as a fucktoy?”

You nod again without question.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” Light rewards you, finally pushing himself inside of you after what felt like an eternity. He rocks his hips to meet yours as he stretches your walls out, the moans from both of you mixing in the echoey room.

“God, Y/N, you feel so good. All this time I’ve waited...”

“Fuck, Kira,” You cry, wrapping your legs around Light’s waist, pulling him as close as possible. Your fingers curl into the hard, cold desk beneath you in an attempt to grapple with the amount of stimulation you were receiving.

His forehead came to rest on yours as he pounded into you relentlessly, “God, you’re such a good little slut for me Y/N, yeah? Nothing but a dirty fucking slut for my cock, fuck you take me so well.”

“Light, I’m gonna cum...” Your loud moans were hiccuped by the rhythm of Light rocking into you.

“Cum for me Y/N, cum all over my cock like the slut you are, make a mess so everyone knows how good I make you feel, how you’re mine and only mine to use for my pleasure.”

The harsh words that tickled your face encouraged your on-coming orgasam as you soon came around Light. He continued to thrust into you until he threw his head back with a groan, cumming inside of you.

Light pulled himself out and tucked himself back into his pants, tidying up his appearance with still labored breath. “Don’t even bother to clean up,” He head tired at the sticky liquid that was leaking down your legs and dampening the table beneath you, “Everyone knows you’re just a slut anyways, might as well let them know you’re my slut.” He winks before leaving the main room, walking off into a seperate hallway presumably to collect himself.

You stood up from the table, still panting. The fight was over, you had lost. Lost. Lost to the man who always seemed to win despite being plagued by misfortune. You huff, pulling your clothes back on and allowing the sting of losing your pride battle with Light Yagami to overpower the pain you felt in your lower half.

[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[ericspinkhair]

quarantine longings

pairing: best friend!kevin x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: you and your best friend have sex because quarantine made you horny

warnings: best friends to lovers, takes place during the pandemic, spoiler of 356 days (but not the end, just generally the plot), no use of condoms but only the pill, creampie, sexual fantasies, fingering, hand-job, sex, slight angst at the end if you squint

a/n: I would literally die for kevin, I love him so much. I'll be writing a multiple parts series about him after I'm done writing scenarios for every member first.

requests are open!

masterlist + requests

you slammed your foot hard against the wall and cursed in pain. you hopped on one foot to your bed, holding your other leg in agony and tasted blood as you bit your lip to keep the volume of your suffering groans in check. someone knocked on the door.

'are you okay?' your roommate asked concerned.

'no, leave me alone, kevin,' you croaked out. you wanted to suffer by yourself.

there was an awkward silence and then you heard him sigh. soon after, the door next to your room closed shut.

why were you so frustrated, one might ask? well, the pandemic was kicking your butt and you just couldn't take it anymore. when the news of the virus had first spread, no one thought it would become this serious. but suddenly everyone was walking around with masks and spent most of their time staying at home.

after graduating high school, you and kevin had decided to move in together for college because both of you were broke and couldn't afford to live alone. you had been best friends since middle school and had been convinced that it was a smart idea at the time.

and everything went smoothly for the first one and a half years. however, after not seeing anyone else since the start of the pandemic over a year ago, it became increasingly difficult to share an apartment, but not in the way one might assume. you were neither sick of each other nor did you fight a lot. to tell the truth, it was quite the opposite.

earlier, before you had kicked the wall in anger, the two of you had painted together. kevin was majoring in art and, since you didn't have anything better to do, you joined him while he did projects for his classes. you might have been majoring in journalism but you had always liked drawing and painting, even though you weren't particularly skilled. you were a naturally clumsy person, always tripping over air and dropping things. today you were hecticly moving around your hands while telling him about a stupid video you had seen and you accidently let go of the brush in your hand. it hit the side of kevin's face, leaving a wide splodge of red paint on his right cheek.

to get back at you, he jerked his paint brush and splattered some green color on your white shirt. you saw this as a challenge and soon both of you were both drenched in the colors of the rainbow, laughing hysterically on the floor, not caring that you were spreading the paint on the poor carpet.

you turned your heads to look at each other and you felt absolutely in peace. you loved this man and couldn't be more glad that it was him and not anyone else you were stuck with inside of this apartment.

he stood up to take off his stained shirt and your smile quickly faded off your face. your lips slightly parted and you couldn't help but stare at his now exposed biceps and abs.

your mouth watered and you felt heat pooling between your legs as you took your time to study his architecture. thoughts about how badly you wanted him to thrust into you while his strong arms held you up invaded your mind. you tried to shake them off but it was impossible.

occasions like this were slowly becoming a common occurrence for you.

having mostly stayed inside for over a year, also meant that you didn't have sex for that long. it's not like you were the horniest person on the planet but you still had needs that were being neglected. with kevin being home all the time you didn't even dare to masturbate, scared that he would be able to hear you through the frustratingly thin walls. you must have gone insane with all the lust building up inside you and that's why you suddenly craved to have sex with your best friend. this whole thing was destroying everything. it was hard to act normal when he was making you this nervous and heated but you tried to pretend that everything was fine anyway for the sake of your friendship.

that was the reason why you were angry and had hurt yourself. you hated the way you felt about your best friend and you hated the pandemic for not giving you an outlet to escape so you could recollect yourself.

what you weren't aware of was that kevin was no stranger to the exact same frustration.

he would need more than his ten fingers and ten toes to be able to count the amount of times he had to run to the bathroom to hide his boner because he had done so much as look at you bend over or stretch. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable but it was a challenge to try and calm down his hormones.

whenever he jacked off, images of you flashed through his mind; your sweet curves and pink lips drove him insane.

last week, you two were cooking together and you had asked him to get the salt. he stood behind you to reach for it on the highest shelf. he was forced to press his crotch against your butt cheeks and his dick hardened against his will. he quickly handed you the salt, excused himself and ran off before you could figure out what had happened.

he might not have known the cause of your sudden outburst but he sympathized with your fury because he had a lot of pent up anger towards covid as well.

he lay in his bed and tried to focus on the book he was reading but he couldn't tune out the groans coming from the room next to his. he cursed.

'stop it!' he was panicking as he saw a familiar tent forming in his pants. your sounds triggered some weird perverted part of his brain that sent signals right to his genitals. his dick was hardening and he saw no other solution to his problem than to give in to his subconscious desires.

he pulled down his pants just far enough so that his cock had enough room to spring out. it only needed a few strokes before it stood tall and angry. kevin pressed his head into his pillow and moved his hand fast. he wanted to get over with it quickly. he emptied his cum on his stomach while imagining your greedy little mouth being stuffed by his cock. he lay there panting as yet another round of shame flushed over him.

'get yourself together,' he whispered, mentally slapping himself.

***

'do you want to order japanese or italian?' you asked kevin. today was friday which meant it was time for your weekly tradition of ordering take out and watching a movie.

'definitely italian. we've already had japanese for the past four days. I need something else for a change,' kevin complained and shuddered at the thought of having to eat sushi again. the japanese restaurant prepared absolutely delicious food but he just couldn't stand it anymore.

you laughed at his pained facial expression. 'fine, italian it is.'

within twenty minutes the doorbell rang and after about half a minute kevin came back with two huge boxes.

he opened them on the small table situated in front of your couch and the smell of freshly cooked pasta seasoned with basil made your stomach growl.

kevin wanted to dig in already but you stopped him. you had to choose a movie first.

'let's watch tall girl. I saw everyone hate on it on tiktok,' you suggested.

'I think we should watch 365 days, that was all over my for you page as well,' kevin argued. you hadn't heard of it so you weren't sure whether it would be the right movie for you. the rule was that it had to be as bad as possible.

'according to what I have heard, it's apparently even worse than 50 shades of grey,' kevin added which piqued your interest. the both of you had watched 50 shades about two months ago and you were honestly shocked by how awful it actually was. you couldn't understand why everyone had been so obsessed with it when it was first released. if 356 days was really worse, then you'd hit the jackpot. you clapped your hands.

'fine, you win. I swear if the movie isn't as horrible as you say it is then you owe me something!' he intertwined his pinky with yours to promise.

watching horrible movies was way better than watching good ones. making fun of bad storylines, stupid characters or horrible editing was one of your favorite past times.

'I guess I'll have to add are you lost, baby girl to the top 10 worst lines ever spoken. who thought ah yes this is sexy, let's have him repeat it over and over again', you complained, shoving some pasta into your mouth.

'so he's like I won't do anything without your permission while he is literally groping her boobs against her will, like make it make sense, massimo', added kevin, ruffling his hair in frustration. he almost completely forgot about the food.

'so let me get this straight: he drugged her, kidnapped her, tied her up, hung up a painting of her just because he saw her face when his dad was shot?'

'totally relatable.' both of you giggled.

you were enjoying complaining about the plot. it was horrible.

there were plenty of erotic scenes but they were honestly so funny and kinda gross that you could bare it without really being affected by them. kevin, on the other hand, had placed a pillow over his hard-on to hide the embarrassing fact that these terrible, smutty scenes had turned him on.

and then the infamous boat scene came.

massimo and laura had a huge fight, she fell of the boat, he saved her and now she was suddenly so in love with him that she begs him to fuck her. which he does.

you felt your panties become increasingly wet as the couple had steaming hot sex.

'this is embarrassing but I'm so horny,' you admitted but in a way that should have suggested that you meant it as a joke. something about this statement stirred something in kevin.

'well, what can I say?' he replied and lifted the pillow. your pupils widened at the sight of your best friend's bulge.

his eyes darkened and he looked at you with lust clearly written on his face. you reciprocated his stare with the same intensity. you tried to focus on his dark brown orbs instead of his boner but the image you had just seen was present in your mind.

his gaze shifted to your lips and, before you knew it, kevin climbed above you and pressed your back flat onto the couch.

your lips locked and you immediately buried your hands in his hair to pull him closer. you moved in sync, his lips fitting perfectly onto yours. you bucked your hips up against his crotch and earned a moan from kevin. he opened his eyes in shock as realization hit him. he quickly pulled away and jumped off the coach.

'I'm so sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have just done that. I don't know what came over me,' he apologized profusely, staring at his feet. did he really think that you didn't want this?

'give me your hand,' you told him and held out your hand.

'why?' he raised his eyebrows in confusion. you rolled your eyes.

'just do it.'

you took his hand and led it to your crotch.

'what are you- oh my god.' your juices had completely soaked through your panties and your sweatpants. 'you are so wet.'

'for you,' you added. 'there's no need to apologize. I'm literally begging you to continue.'

you didn't have to say that twice before he pulled you closer to him by your hips and engaged you in another desperate kiss. his hands were groping your butt while you let yours slide under his hoodie. you felt his naked skin and toned abs, as you rubbed his stomach. you lowered your hands and bravely palmed his boner through his clothes.

'y/n,' he hissed out against your lips. you hooked your thumbs in the elastic of his pants and underwear, and pushed the material down to his thighs. he struggled to get them off.

you stroked his hard dick as he slipped his hand into your panties to massage your pussy at the same time.

he slipped one finger inside and began working it in and out. you finally were getting the relief you had been desperately craving for for so long. kevin was skilled and your walls were trying to swallow his slim finger. you were quickly coming close to your orgasm after having abstained for more than a year. you pulled his hand out.

'I bet you can make me come even better with your dick,' you challenged kevin.

'you bet I will.' he was confident.

'let me just look for a condom.' he was already turning away to go search in his room but you held him back by the arm.

'forget about it. I'm on the pill and I want you raw. I want you to come inside me and not spill into a stupid condom.'

the idea of this sounded very tempting to kevin. he picked you up and threw you back onto the couch, drawing your hips closer to him so he could pull off all the pieces of clothing that were hindering him from accessing your pussy.

he propped up his arms next to your sides and spread your thighs apart. strings of arousal were hanging from your folds and he saw your hole desperately clench around nothing. his dick hurt from how much he wanted to finally be inside of you. he wanted to find out how close he had been able to imagine how you would feel around him.

your hole took him in easily, welcoming him happily by embracing it tightly. kevin swore he could've cum right here and there.

he went slow at first to give you a chance to adjust but you were already fully ready, rocking your hips forward to meet his thrusts.

he crashed your mouths together and you kissed him like he was oxygen and you were short of air. you smiled and your eyes rolled back, satisfied with how things had played out today and the prospects of coming looked fairly promising.

desperate for release, kevin picked up the pace, his eyes closed while fucking into you like a horny animal. he couldn't help himself and all the 'faster's and 'harder's spilling from your mouth only encouraged him to drive himself deeper into you.

you wrapped your legs around his torso in an attempt to regain the control you were losing.

'fuck fuck fuck,' you cursed, feeling your muscles starting to contract. kevin brushed away some hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.

'it's fine, I'm coming too,' he announced and it took only a few more thrusts before a body shaking orgasm flushed over you, making you see only white. this drove kevin over the edge too and he spilled inside you, filling you up with his hot cum. he continued to slowly ease his dick in and out of you, fucking his semen right back into you until you had ridden out both of your orgasms. he let himself fall onto the couch right next to you, panting hard.

'I very much needed this,' you sighed in content.

'same, I wasn't sure whether I could hold out any longer without having a proper orgasm.' he watched his cum drip out of you.

'we should've thought of this sooner,' you said. 'this was a great idea.'

kevin hummed in agreement.

***

so now you and kevin were having sex on a regular basis, your high score being five times in a day. it felt good to finally live out your sexuality and not having to restrict yourself. sure, you guys did it more than necessary but it was a great way to pass time and it felt fucking amazing.

today you had done it in the shower after waking up, then on the kitchen counter and you had just finished having sex in his bed.

he was spooning you from behind, his cock still placed inside of you. he nuzzled his nose into your neck.

'stop, that tickles,' you chuckled.

'sorry.'

after a while of comfortable silence you heard him let out a big sigh.

'what's wrong?' you asked as he pulled out of you. you turned around to be able to look at him.

'I don't think I can do it like this anymore,' he confessed.

'what do you mean?' you asked. 'are you talking about us having sex?'

he nodded. your heart dropped and you started feeling dizzy. you tried to search for answers in his eyes but he avoided looking at you.

'w-why?' you stuttered, trying to hold back the tears that were welling up in your eyes.

'it was amazing at first,' he started and finally raised his head to meet your gaze, 'and I went into it without much thought. I went crazy during quarantine and began fantasizing about having sex with you. then it became reality but now I understand that was probably wrong of me. I've always thought of myself as a gentleman, yet I slept with you without much thought. you see, my issue is this…'

suspense hung in the air and you were impatiently waiting for him to get to the point.

'I like you.'

you quietly gasped in surprise. you had been expecting him to say you were bad at sex and that he regretted everything but not this.

'I shouldn't be sleeping with you unless you were my girlfriend,' he finished off his ramble. you felt immensely relieved.

'do you want me to?' you asked him.

'want you to what?' kevin was confused. he had been a hundred percent sure you'd immediately jump out of the bed in disgust when he confessed.

'be your girlfriend. after all, I like you too, you moron.' you realized that you had known this for a while. you might have even been crushing on your best friend since way before the pandemic struck but it was kind of hard to track your feelings. still, you were sure you liked him too. now that he had admitted his feelings, you were able to admit yours not only to him but to yourself as well.

'wow, I didn't expect this,' kevin confessed surprised. you laughed.

'yeah, we should've realized this sooner.' he pulled you closer and kissed you. it was different than the other times. his lips moved softly against yours, in contrast to all of your rough and passionate kisses you had exchanged these past few weeks. he conveyed his emotions through the kiss.

'you're ready again?' you groaned as you felt kevin's dick harden against your upper thigh. he chuckled.

'sorry, you just turn me on so much.'

so then you did it for the fourth time. that day, you set a new record of having sex six times. you might have been happy now but still just as horny.

[levworship]

Okay but I just read what the other anon requested and that was so good?? I didn’t think I had a thing for receiving oral but wtf 😭🤚could I maybe request smth if you got time?? Could it be a reunion between volleyball teams from miyagi and tokyo? So nekoma, fukorodani, seijoh, Johzenji (terushima’s tongue piercing PLS), karasuno, itachiyama You were the old manager of nekoma and was friends with literally everyone, during the talk kuroo somehow mentioned that in the nekoma reunion like 2 years ago it somehow ended with the main guys all taking turns eating you out and that pisses off the rest of the guys because that was their fantasy?? This ends up with you (with consent ofc) being sat down on kuroo’s lap as the guys also take turns eating you out (inspired by the other anon because 😩) I understand if you obviously can’t mention everyone, but pls mention terurshima, sakusa (who would only let you make a mess on his face) and bokuto if you could <3 ALSO the idea of two people eating you out at the same time, maybe bokuto and terushima?? IM NASTY OKAY BUT PLS DO THAT

Ty in advanceeee

i’m usually pretty fast but this took me a whole two days to write smh i’m sorry anon. hope you enjoy tho <3 i wanted it to be a lil longer but i’m so tired and i rlly wanted to get this out for you.

cw: group sex (like.. big group), hella sub reader, also fem reader, anal lol, oral (fem reviving), kuroo is the ringleader, humiliation ig, reader kinda into it doe, dirty talk, degrading + praise, squirting, overstimulation

summary: basically everyone wants to eat out/fuck y/n. explicitly written in here is kuroo, oikawa, sakusa, bokuto, and terushima. the rest is implied.

word count: about 1.9k

your face was buried into kenma’s stiff shoulder, your whole body feeling hot as your group of friends continued to talk about you as if you weren’t even there. but clearly they hadn’t forgotten about you too much considering the way their eyes burned holes into you from all around so indiscreetly that you couldn’t even sit your ass still.

you weren’t quite sure how the previous conversation had shifted so suddenly, but kuroo seemed more than happy with the subject change as his signature asshole smirk never left his features. “- yeah, ‘bout two years ago i’d say. she was a good fuck too. poor thing was so eager to make us feel good that she passed out.” kuroo continued to drag his story as if to intentionally provoke the others, and the staring at you only got worse. your nerves were shot.

you looked and felt like a precious bunny being stared down by a bunch of wolves. and honestly? it was hot as fuck.

which is why you didn’t bother to argue when you were practically dragged into the locker room of the old gym, daichi hurriedly locking the door behind all of you. you couldn’t help but feel bad for just a second. ‘didnt some of these guys have girlfriends? couldve sworn i saw terushima enter with some girl.’ but how could you possibly focus on that when your clothes were being literally ripped off of you and disregarded to who knows where?

your legs felt weak, both out of shock and nervousness from being handled so roughly. “bring her here, bo. sit her down on my lap.” bokuto (for perhaps the first time in his life) was silent as he dragged you over to the other ex-captain, setting you down in his lap on his spot on the bench just as he’d requested. kuroo snickered and raised a hand to cup your cheeks, squeezing them together like you were a little baby before releasing.

“ease up, will ya? so damn tense i can feel it from here. you know we’ll take good care of you.” he spoke so lowly and reassuringly that you couldn’t help but to nod like a fool as he turned you around in his lap to fit the others. he tapped your thigh once, twice, and you quickly picked up on the hint and opened your legs for their viewing pleasure. you tried to put your face down as you were smothered in shame from just how quickly you got wet from their rough handling, but kuroo gripped onto your face once again and forced you to look up.

“look up, baby. so many big strong men dying to make you cum so fucking hard. be a little more thankful, yeah? say it.” “thank you.” he shook his head with a small laugh before releasing your face, but not before lightly tapping your face twice with soft slaps. still, you remained out of it even as oikawa settled himself between your legs, looking up at you with the same lazy smile you frequently saw him wearing around you.

“smells so damn good. finally gonna let me get a taste, cutie?” he spoke lowly as if he were to himself before diving in and holy shit. you figured he’d be pretty experienced. the guy was a literal chick magnet. but damn, this exceeded your expectations by far. your body threatened to curl over itself if it hadn’t been for kuroo’s sturdy grip on your twitching thighs. the way he sucked vigorously at your clit while swiping his tongue along your folds to capture more of your essence had you drawing nothing but blanks up there.

“haven’t even cum yet for us and already going dumb?” kuroo teased, planting a kiss just behind your ear, a shocking contrast to the way oikawa’s tongue worked against you just right.

the air around you was so thick you felt as if it could be cut with a knife. some of the guys surrounding you couldn’t figure out what to do with themselves, nervously shuffling their feet without taking your eyes off of you. others had clearly overcome any former shame, already slowly pumping their cocks in their hands as they hoped and prayed that they would get a turn soon. the whole scene made you feel so dirty— so wanted. the desire that leaked from their looks on you had your orgasm approaching faster than ever.

oikawa seemed to have noticed this, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart to make sure you felt him deep, muttering a quick “cum on my fucking mouth, princess.” the simple phrase alone made your orgasm crash down on you finally. your fingers tangled in his soft hair, which was now messy and tossed thanks to you.

you nearly passed out right there when he continued to lick you clean even as you violently shook in kuroo’s grasp, the black haired boy having to shove the other away forcefully just to separate his mouth from you. “that’s enough of that. did he make you feel good baby?” your eyes are still shut as you cling onto the leftover bliss, only offering a quiet “mhm.” “good girl. think you can give us another?” the question was clearly rhetorical, which should’ve been clear by the was he was already gesturing someone else forward. but still, you shook your little fucked out head ‘no’ and prayed upon some god that he’d have mercy on your poor quivering cunt.

but you knew better than to expect mercy from kuroo of all people. especially when it came to your body, when he kept whispering to you about how you were such a “perfect little toy,” and his “favorite doll to use.” before you knew it sakusa was diving into your pussy quickly without giving you time to do so much as muster up the energy to open your eyes again. his mouth was quick and desperate to get you off, moving with a sense of urgency as his hands busied themselves palming at his covered dick. he wasn’t nearly as precise or experienced as oikawa was, but his eagerness made up for it as he ate you out like a starved man.

your hips threatened to buck against his face wildly, cries of “please, please, please” falling from your mouth even though you didn’t even know what you were begging for. all you knew was that you needed more than what he was giving you right now. the man above you seemed to have read you like an open book once again as he released one of your thoughts to reach a hand around to your sensitive bud, pressing down on it softly. “see this?” he murmured, only receiving a small “hm.” in acknowledgement as omi continued his assault on your little hole. greedy fuck. “try touching her here. she loves that shit.” you cried out for more again, clenching tightly at the way he spoke of your body as if you weren’t even there.

the second sakusa tore himself away from your folds to wrap his lips around your clit, you were a goner for sure. there was a distant scream that you didn’t even recognize as your own until kuroo muffled them with his hand, body twitching and jerking more than it had the previous time. the room fell to a sudden silence even as you came down from your high, causing you to let out a confused hum.

kuroo’s chuckle broke the quietness, his large hand slapping your wet overstimulated mound and making you yelp. “didn’t know you were a squirter, baby. how come you didn’t do this for us the first time hm?” another rhetorical question. his hand trailed down lower, collecting some of your juices before he began to prod a finger at your other hole. “fuck- gonna let me bury myself in here again? want both of your holes fucked out?” and you couldn’t help but cry out because fuck yes! you couldn’t think of anything you’d want more. you nodded your head and panted like a sex craved mutt, and perhaps you would’ve been as humiliated as you were before if you weren’t so damn thirsty for it. every inch of you was begging to be ravished and destroyed, and you couldn’t help but grow more and more impatient as the time passed.

kuroo didn’t take his eyes off of you as he nodded towards the crowd once again, sakusa taking the hint and reluctantly scurrying off to palm at himself through his sweatpants just as he previously had. kuroo’s command must’ve been unclear though, as both of you were pulled away from your eye contact at the sound of a comical bonk followed by two grunts of “ow.” perhaps you would’ve laughed if the two aforementioned fools weren’t kneeling in front of your drenched pussy, ready to service you eagerly just as the other two had.

a chill ran up your spine as you surveyed each of their features. while both of them shared the same underlying expressions of lust and desperation, you couldn’t help but note how bokuto’s face resembled one of an excited puppy dog that perhaps would’ve been adorable in another circumstance while terushima’s was much more primal. “look at that” kuroo’s voice in your ear dragged you back out of your own head as he slowly sunk another finger into your tight ass. just because he was going to treat you like a whore didn’t mean you didn’t deserve prep. “making a fool out of themselves, all because they’re so desperate to get a taste of that perfect pussy. doesn’t that make you feel filthy?”

kuroo couldn’t do anything but shake his head at your lack of response, finally releasing your thighs for a moment to grab at both of their napes, silently demanding for you to hold them open yourself. “well? since you’re both so impatient, think you two can work together as a team? if i hear her complain even one time, i’m not letting either of you touch again.”

the two of them nodded obediently, and your eyes nearly rolled back at how demanding kuroo was being right now. it was clear that everyone knew who was truly holding the ropes here, and yet no one was complaining about the arrangement. seemingly satisfied with their responses, kuroo released their necks and his hands smacked yours away so he could replace them and hold up your thighs himself once again. “think you’re ready to take my cock now in here, y/n?” he smirked as he lined himself up. “gonna let me fuck this ass while you let both of them eat that slutty pussy? such a dirty girl. so fuckin’ good for us” he continued to spew filth at you as he lined himself up at your entrance, allowing you to sink down slowly.

you hissed at the stretch, but of course didn’t have much time to focus on the sensation because bokuto and terushima had finally decided that they’d been waiting for long enough. they worked diligently, the cool metal of teru’s tongue piercing flicking against your bud while bokuto slurped on your juices so loudly that the sound filled the room in the most embarrassing way possible.

yeah. you were in for it tonight.

sorry for mistakes or inconsistencie. requests for bnha and haikyuu are open.

[messy-nonbinary]

Going Back Home..

TW: dark!loki, forced age regression, kidnapping, manipulation, gaslighting(Lemme know if I need more though I’m pretty sure this chapter is pretty tame compared to some of my others)

Paring: Soft!Dark!Daddy!Loki x Asgardian!little!fem!reader

Summary: You ran away from him 3 years ago and came to Midgard and joined SHIELD. You were an agent known for getting people to say the truth, it was your power. No one could lie as long as you were near them. So when Fury said that a prisoner wouldn’t talk and that sending you in would be the best option, you didn’t hesitate. But when you saw him, it was already too late.

A/N: I tried to make it seem like the reader was battling with her own thoughts. Hope it came off okay.. And requests are open!!

Masterlist

*GIF not mine

“He’s very egotistical and only cares about himself. He’s also got powers of his own. They might contradict yours.” Fury explained. “Are you at least going to explain to me who he is?” You asked, rolling your eyes. “It’s not relative. He’s pretty manipulative. And knowing his name is the first way to make a connection.” He said, finally stopping you at a door.

He had been leading you to the prisoner's whereabouts. You were a SHIELD agent that had the power to get people to tell the truth. No one could lie when you were in their presence. Except for one person… No.. Stop thinking about him, Y/N. He’s gone. He hurt you and you left him. Why did you keep thinking about him? It’s been 3 years! Get over him! He’s no good for you!

The things he forced you to do.. The name he forced you to call him.. Why is it that you want to go back to him? To feel that comfort.. No! Stop it! There was nothing comforting about the way he made you wear a pull-up. There was nothing comforting about how he made you act as though you were a baby. And there was absolutely nothing comforting about what he did if you didn’t listen to him.

“You ready?” Fury asked, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Of course. Though I’d like to be alone with him? It’ll help me keep my powers focused solely on him.” You said. You still had no clue who you were meant to be extracting information from, though. Fury nodded and opened the door. You stepped inside, not noticing who was in the glass cage until the door was slammed shut. You looked at Loki with widened eyes. He smiled at you and you were compelled to walk closer to him.

He’s locked up.. He’s locked up.. He can’t do anything to you.

You had to assure yourself. “Hello, Y/N.” Loki said, smiling at you. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything back, let alone smile back at him. “Hmm. It seems you have lost your manners since I’ve been gone. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to teach them back to you. Now let me out of this cage.” He demanded. Your legs wanted to move, to press the button and let him out. But you willed yourself to stay put and look him in the eyes. “I can’t- I can’t do that, Loki.” Loki growled, his eyes darkening. “And why’s that?”

“You- You did some bad things, Loki. I’m only here to ask you why.” You said, your posture straightening as your breathing slowed down. “Is that so? It seems you’ve forgotten about all the things I’ve done for you. I gave you everything you asked for and this is how you betray me? Let. Me. Out.” He demanded again, banging his fist on the glass with each word.

“No! Loki I can’t! They’ll hate me!” You said, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to let him out. You wanted to hug him, tell him how sorry you were for leaving. You wanted to accept him again, have him fill that pit in your heart that emptied when you left him.

“They already hate you! If you let me out now, I promise I will forgive you for running away.” Loki said, face softening in faux remorse, and he knew how badly he was getting to you. You looked to him with pleading eyes. “Forgive me?” You asked. It was something you wanted, sure. But at what cost? What if he was lying to you? What if when you let him out he goes right back to hurting you?

“You promise you won’t hurt me?” You asked. “Darling, I have never hurt you, and I never will. Will you please open the door like the good little girl I know you are?” He didn’t promise and you knew that but for some reason you still felt compelled to walk to the panel. The grip he had on you was strong, firm.

Even locked in a cell he was still able to get you to do what he wanted. You hated the fact that he had that effect on you. You stood in front of the control panel. “Come on, baby. I know you can do it. Just press the button. Let me out and we can both go home.” He said, his voice softening. Home? You hadn’t had one of those in a while.

Being with SHIELD, you were often very busy. You only went home to sleep, and get a change of clothes. And sometimes you didn’t even sleep at home, you would bring an extra pair of clothes with you and end up falling asleep at the SHIELD Agency. When Loki said the word ‘home’ you felt comforted. A flash of memories hit you when he said it.

You remembered the way he took care of you. And the way he always knew what you needed when you were upset. You remembered those nights he would rock you to sleep, feeding you with a bottle. It was oddly comforting. Why? Why? Why? Why!? You shouldn’t be feeling this way! You should be running, getting Fury! Telling him you can’t do this! The internal war you were having for yourself was agonizing. But you took a deep breath and realized what part of you had won. The part of you that had always won. Except this time, you accepted it.

You pushed the button. An alarm went off but Loki was free. You ran to him, arms out to hug him and he hugged you back, pulling you into a kiss, one filled with hunger and desire before pulling away and back into a hug. “My sweet girl. I knew you could do it. Because you’re my good little girl and you’d do anything for your Daddy. Isn’t that right?” You nodded into the crook of his neck, tears streaming down your face as you spouted out ‘sorry’ and ‘please forgive me’ over and over.

Loki pulled away from you and looked you over. “Such a beautiful face you have. It is a shame you denied me the access of looking at it for so long. But as promised, I forgive you. Though I am going to have to punish you for disobeying me the first time I asked you to let me out. Understand, little one?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You said without hesitation. It was as if you were on autopilot. The door to the room slammed open and you saw the Avengers in the doorway. “Lady Y/N?” Thor asked, confused. He had helped you escape Loki, set you up with a new name and everything, along with the help of Natasha. Neither of them knew you joined SHIELD, however, and you made sure of it.

“No. Y/N, listen, he doesn’t love you. You know this. Just step away..” Natasha said, looking to you with pleading eyes. You knew she was righ- No! She’s wrong! Loki does love you. Why would you even think otherwise? Why would you even think about leaving Loki again?

Loki wrapped an arm around your waist as he smirked. “Loki, Y/N, no!” Thor yelled as the two of you disappeared.

You appeared back in the home you lived in before you left Loki. Within an instance, Loki had used his magic to get you in an outfit he preferred, a black and green onesie and a pull-up in place of your panties, as he carried you towards your room. He gently placed you in an adult sized crib, handcuffing one of your wrists to a bar. He shoved a pacifier in your mouth and smiled at you. “See? Doesn’t it feel better to be home?” He asked and you nodded.

Home.. That word again. The word that pulled you in so deeply and you didn’t understand why. It was as though as soon as he said that word, you wanted to obey him- no- needed to obey him. You instantly became his.

“Good girl. We will be having a talk about your manners tomorrow, little girl. But until then, sleep..” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead and leaving, closing the door.

You were home..

You were back with him- your Daddy.

You were his, once again.

[doctorstethoscope]

Couldn’t Wait || A. Hotchner x Fem Reader

summary: reader has a hard time waiting for Aaron to get home from a case

pairing: soft!hotch x reader

warnings: oral, m receiving, penetrative sex, praise kink, degradation kink if you squint, cursing

18+ CONTENT MINORS DNI

wordcount: 1.6k

Aaron was completing paperwork on the otherwise silent jet when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He smiled when he saw your name and picture on the screen.

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispered, and you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach, even after two years of being together. 

“I miss you,” you whined by way of greeting. 

“I miss you too. I’ll be home in about an hour.” He tells you.

“Why are you whispering?” You asked. 

“Everyone else on the jet is asleep. Come to think of it, why are you awake?” He asked, a barely-perceptible air of concern floating around his question. 

“The bed’s cold,” you said noncommittally, and though he couldn’t see it, you shrugged. “So, you’re the only one awake?” You confirmed. 

“Uh, yeah,” Aaron said, distracted as he tried to quickly wrap up the paperwork so he could come home to you. 

You smiled to yourself. “Hmm, then I think you should check out the picture I just sent you.” 

“Baby--” he started, and the gravel in his tone shot right through you. But you were on a mission, and you couldn’t be distracted.

“It’ll be worth your while,” you promised. “Go ahead, stay on the line with me. I’ll wait.” 

Rolling his eyes, he did as he was told, and opened up the text from you, revealing a picture of you in a lacy lilac corset with matching panties and garters. He cleared his throat audibly and you let out a little giggle. “Is that, um. Are you--”

“Yes, I’m wearing it now.” You answer the question he couldn’t ask, saving him from his stammering. Aaron closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Hurry home,” you told him in a sing-song voice. 

“I’ll see you soon. I love you,” he told you, as he always did.

“Love you.” 

Aaron was on his feet as soon as the wheels of the jet touched down. If anyone else on the team was making remarks about his hasty departure, he wasn’t sticking around to hear them. He didn’t have any way to defend himself, anyway. 

The door is unlocked when he arrives. “Honey, you know I don’t like it when--” He calls into the house, not realizing you are right behind the door. You stop him in his tracks as soon as he crosses the threshold, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and kissing him soundly. He drops his go bag and swings the door shut behind him in an instant, raising his recently-freed hands to the small of your back and the back of your head, deepening the kiss. 

“Couldn’t wait another second for you,” you whispered against his skin as you moved your mouth from his lips down towards his jaw and his neck, deftly undoing the knot of his tie and making quick work of the buttons of his shirt to expose more skin. 

“How’d I get this lucky?” He asked breathlessly, pulling back to gesture at your lingerie before leaning in to nip at your neck. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his back, the fabric of his shirt soft and surely wrinkling under your fingers.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed with a sigh as you tilted your head to give Aaron more access to the sensitive skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Good,” he whispers against your skin. “I want you to forget everything and everyone else but me.”  he smirked, his voice dropping on the last word as reached around to give your ass a quick tap. You moaned into his ear and he groaned in response. “You weren’t joking, huh? You really have been waiting all day. What a good girl.”  He asked as he took your ass in his hands, palming at your rear. “Are you wet for me already?” He asked, ghosting his finger over your panties. 

“God, Aaron, yes.” you moaned out. “All day. I wasn’t joking,” you affirmed. “Please,” you begged, looking up at him innocently and batting your eyelashes. You pushed his unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders and he crouched, bringing his strong hands down to your thighs. You jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist so he could carry you to the bedroom. You could feel him, already hard against you, and you took advantage of your angle to run your hands through his hair and to leave marks all over the base of his throat. 

He placed you gently against the bed, your hair fanning out around you. He stood over you, taking you in as you laid there, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes lidded with desire and a blush in your cheeks.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he tells you, pulling his undershirt over his head before climbing over you on the bed and leaning in to kiss and suck over the exposed skin of your chest. You brought your hands back to his hair, tugging and pulling in all the ways you knew he liked. He groaned, and you felt it radiate through you. Aaron moved his focus down, hooking two fingers into the sides of your panties and pulling them down, replacing them with open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. 

“Aaron, wait.” you gasped out. 

“I think you’ve waited long enough, sweetheart. Don’t you?” He asked, still sitting poised at your entrance. He looked up at you tenderly and you could have come completely undone right then and there. 

“I want to take care of you first,” you told him. “Stand up,” you commanded, climbing off the bed and slinking to the floor in front of him. The corset wasn’t the most comfortable of your sexy outfits, but when he raked his eyes over your chest, you were glad you kept it on.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me,” he says with a reverence that almost knocks you over. “So fucking sexy,” he adds in a low growl, and you blush as you look down towards the ground, smiling. You reached for his belt, ridding him of the piece of leather before taking care of his slacks and boxers. You put one hand at the base of him and looked up. 

“Aaron,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he hissed out. 

“Don’t be gentle.” you told him before taking him into your throat. He groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. 

“So naughty,” he said with a wicked smile. “Such a dirty girl,” he moaned out as you bobbed up and down on his cock. He thrusted his hips as he took your hair in his hands, forcing himself further down your throat. “Such a good girl, you’re doing so good. Take it all.” 

You continued, motivated by his praise, until he found his release in your mouth. You swallowed before standing up and tilting your chin toward him for a kiss, which he granted, bringing a tender hand up to cradle your face. 

“That was one hell of a welcome home,” he murmured to you.

“There’s more where that came from,” you remind him, although you know he hasn’t forgotten. He’s never once left you unsatisfied. You climb back into bed, reaching behind you to release the clasp of the corset. You toss it off to the side of the room and collapse back into the mattress, letting out a deep breath.

“All this time you couldn’t breathe in that thing?” Aaron scolded you gently, shaking his head even as his fond smile betrayed him. 

“Can we do the lecture on safe seduction practices later? I need you to fuck me,” you whined, looking up at him. That was all it took. His eyes darkened and he slipped into you in an instant, dropping his head to your shoulder and leaving delicate kisses there as he thrusted in and out of you. 

“Shit, Aaron.” You moaned out, not sure if you could say anything more coherent. 

“You feel so good, baby. You make me feel so good,” he said, nipping at your neck before snaking a hand in between the two of you so he could rub at your clit. 

“Fuck. Aaron, if you keep doing that--” you started to warn, but he cut you off. 

“I know, baby. Go ahead, you’ve earned it.” He kissed your forehead as you spasmed around him, riding you through your high. Once your breathing evened out, he rolled over. 

“So, is now a good time for the lecture on safe seduction practices, or--”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when it was on.” You teased him.

“No, and you won’t. But I like you better when you can breathe, and you didn’t have to go to all that trouble just for me.” 

“Trust me, hearing boss man SSA Hotchner tripping over his words because of one little picture was reward enough.” 

“For the record, I also like you better when you leave the door locked. Especially when I’m not home.” He continued with his lecture. 

You let out a little chuckle and rolled your eyes. “I heard you coming, worry wart. I promise you the door has been locked for all of the past three days except for when I was passing through it and when I heard you coming down the hall.” 

“Three days?”

“Well, you left on Tuesday, and it’s… technically Friday morning, now.”

“Felt longer. Missed you,” he said, reaching out to take your hand in his, kissing your knuckles. 

“Well, you have three nights of cuddling to make up for, and I intend to cash in.” 

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