#Not everything is about sex in this novel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 6 months ago

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Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I��I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader

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celestie0 · 2 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it.

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket.

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.”

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible.

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you.

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks.

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age.

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.”

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him.

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you.

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation.

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time.

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes.

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–”

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–”

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you.

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden.

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut.

“Heading back?�� he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.”

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating.

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw.

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape.

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you.

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist.

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now.

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives.

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains.

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

[the end]

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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caramelkoo · 2 months ago

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honeysuckle

boyfriend!jungkook, established relationship, smut

summary : according to your boyfriend, a little competition won't hurt anyone especially when the game is his favorite. Making you feel good.

warnings : mature, strong language, heavy on the smut, a little fluff thrown in there, fingering, pussy slapping, he asks for consent, they're freaky, dick piercing, ass slapping, hickeys, sex in a jacuzzi, reverse cowgirl, riding, jungkook wants oc so bad, dirty talk, he calls oc sweetheart, unprotected sex. if i missed something, do let me know.

a/n : hi my loves, here’s your promised smutty treat. tbvh that picture has not left my mind ever since i saw it lmao. I love you guys so so much. You're so loved and cherished. Please don't read this in front of your parents. also @rpwprpwprpwprw was the sweetest to ask for a tag <33 xoxo

"Oh yeah baby, just like that"

"You fuck me so good"

'Take my cock like a good slut you are"

Any other day, you're all about sex positivity and letting your body get what it wants but today of all days, your neighbors want to ruin the peace that you so desperately craved.

Your boyfriend, Jungkook had left early for a business meeting promising you to come back as soon as he gets done with it. As much as you missed him, you had felt the need to have some time for yourself. You thrive on being Jungkook's girlfriend, it's all butterfly in the stomach, princess treatment kind of love but you can't lie about wishing for some alone time just for yourself. Finally, you were getting it. You had it all planned bit by bit.

Step 1 : take an everything shower

Step 2 : cook something delicious for yourself while wave to earth plays in the background

Step 3 : read a romantasy novel you've been anticipating for a long time.

Step 4 : if sleepy, sleep. If not, take out your pink best friend from the bedside drawer and seek your pleasure listening to Jungkook's voice recording you had him record the other day. It always works.

Step 3 and you're already at the verge of giving up. It appears the people next door didn't exactly like your plan and they wanted to make you realize how lonely you are. Screaming at your face, "Haha guess who's not getting a dick". God forbid if a girl wants to have quite and peaceful night while romanticizing the shit out of it.

You slam the book on the bed and sigh. For a second you consider calling Jungkook but stop when you realize that you'll only be hindering his work. What are you even going to tell him? that you can't read because your neighbors have been fucking each other for hours now? No, that's just stupid.

Taking off your reading glasses you make your way to the kitchen. If you can't get sleep tonight, you might as well give them a tough fight. When and if they decide to let their horny asses take a break and decide to doze off, they'd catch on to the fact that there's someone next door whose mama didn't raise a quitter. Immature? you don't think so.

Once the woman's voice on the speaker alerts you that your phone has been connected, you start off with your favorite go to song when you need to cry your eyes out. "Fuck to an emotional song now" you think.

Coming in terms with the fact that you might have to pull an all nighter, you begin making coffee. The word itself brings a smile on your face. Coffee, which got you through your med school. Coffee, which got you Jungkook.

If you really think about it, hadn't you mustered up the courage to go on a solo date that day and have a coffee all by yourself you wouldn't have crossed your paths with him. It's funny actually because how many couples do actually last this long after meeting at a random coffee shop?

After dating douchebags for almost three years you had taken a break from dating all together. It was high time you focused on yourself. Honestly, it's not like they were the only one who was messed up in your previous relationships. You had some parts you had to heal as well and the moment you caught up on that, you went on a journey. Journey to self love, journey to find yourself and a journey which will leave you not perfect but healed.

As for the dimwits you dated in the past, sometimes it was "why do you always have to be like this? how much more space do you need?" or, "What do you mean you don't want to have sex right now? C'mon don't be a spoilsport".

Spoilsport, your ass.

Standing up on your tippy toes, your hands reach out for the coffee container but before you could even settle your foot down on the floor, two arms circle around your waist making you gasp in utter shock.

The need to defend yourself takes so strongly over you that you don't even turn around in order to check the person before your elbow connects with their nose.

When you finally do, you can't stop the scream from leaving your mouth. Your face all red and your eyes as big as saucers.

You panic, "JUNGKOOK?"

When you see blood oozing out of his left nostril after he lifts his face, you mentally curse your sister for forcing you to take self defense classes.

"What's with the song, sweetheart?"

"I told you you were gonna be my death someday but who knew it was gonna be tonight"

After cleaning up his nose and giving him a cup of coffee, you both were now sitting on the couch. You had turned off the music, though. God knew it was not making the situation any better.

You take a sip before speaking, "Oh, don't be dramatic. Who comes home like this and at this hour?"

"My flight was late, sweetheart. I wanted to get to you much sooner but destiny had plans--" he gets cut off as his eyebrows crease in wonder.

"What was that?"

"The neighbors. They have been going at it for hours now" you shake your head in disbelief.

"For hours? That's some stamina I must say" he breaks out in a fit of laughter as you place your cup on the table in front of you.

Turning towards him you ask, "You find this funny? I haven't been able to sleep because of them"

Your voice comes out a bit whiny and you wonder if you're acting a bit childish.

"Oh, sweetheart. How about this, I take a quick shower and we cuddle to sleep" a mixture of warmth and concern crossing his face.

Your smile is wide when you say, "I'd love that"

Jungkook finishes his coffee and pecks your lips as he saunters towards the bathroom. However, when he turns back and says the most unforeseen thing, your silly mind doesn't even think twice.

"Actually, _____. Why don't you join me?"

Bubbles form inside the jacuzzi as smoke fills your surroundings. The smell of warm water hits your nose making it feel tingly. Your stomach is doing summersaults as your boyfriend lets you down inside the water, heart skipping a beat.

Only when Jungkook lets himself sit on the other side of the tub, you can finally take a deep breath. His eyes never leaving yours. When you're with him, there's nothing you care about. Not your horny neighbors, not the world, nothing. It's just him and his presence that lights you up. A smile that could rival the sun.

Him.

Your fingers play with the water as you try to make a conversation. This moment right here, is peak level of intimacy for you. You're both naked, exposed and vulnerable yet you've never felt safer. Not to mention how you feel like a high school girl trying to talk to his crush.

When you were young, the bathroom was the only place you could run and cry in and no one judged you. The four walled room provided more comfort than people in your life. It holds memories but when you moved in with your boyfriend, you left those at your old house. To rot, because what else?

With him, every corner, every space in your house feels pure and blissful. It’s filled with laughter, moans and him.

Jungkook's legs are lightly brushing yours every now and then, the movement sending shivers down your spine. What's happening to you?

"So, how was the business trip?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how funny is it that you wanna talk about business while looking like that and all I wanna do is fuck that sweet mouth of yours because of how much I missed it?"

You shudder, the effect he has on you is beyond belief and now with the expression crossing his face, pure lust and longing, it's as though somebody has set your whole body on fire. A mix of hot and cold feeling running through your veins.

"Jungkook"

"Come here"

"Wh-"

He cuts you off, "Come here, sweetheart. Come to me before I lose my ever loving mind'

You don't have an option other than to scoot your way towards him. He positions your body between his legs, his taut and muscular chest touching your wet back.

Wetness pools between your legs as his hardness presses at your lower hip just above your ass. Your pussy throbs with need and you stop yourself from reaching down to relieve that tension.

His fingers ever so lightly graze over your arm, frequently making drawings on it.

"How long did you say they were going at it?"

You look at him, "About three hours. Why?"

He's up to something. You can feel it in your bones.

"Do you think they're still gonna be able to fuck each other after hearing your screams through the wall, sweetheart?"

Fuck. The idea of making them listen to you while your boyfriend fucks you into oblivion doesn't sound so bad. You missed him, you missed being in his arms and you missed him being inside you as well. So, where's the harm in that?

"You wanna give them a show? Let them know how well your man fucks you?"

The moan that leaves her as she lets her head fall back heavy on his chest tells him everything her words can't.

"Jungkook, please. It's been so long" she cries out.

She stirs making herself more comfortable but that just makes him hiss through his teeth as her ass grazes his cock, the metal on the tip leaving a cool sensation. He's not gonna give in easily though. He will make her earn that release.

His hands cup her tits, fully covering them and they fit so perfectly in his hands. Heavy, full, perfect. As if they're made just for him to suck, him to cup, him to cum on, him to leave purple love bites on.

"I know, sweetheart. Do you wanna know what I kept thinking about while I was away?" his voice trails off, "I kept thinking about how bad I wanna fuck your throat"

The sound that leaves her is filled with need.

"Jungkook, baby please."

He trails his hands down her chest and stomach before it reaches her pussy. Just around her clit. His finger are soft and light, not putting pressure when all she wants is for him to give her the release she so badly craves.

Jungkook's cock is already leaking with precum and his balls ache. He missed his girl so fucking much, so much that he lost count of how many times he had fucked his hand while thinking of her while he was away. When his colleagues saw his flushed face, he had no other option than to blame it on the cold weather.

His finger slide down and back up her slit, making her visibly shiver.

Shit. He's not gonna last long if she keeps making those noises.

"How many finger do you want, _____?" he asks as repeats the same motion.

His mouth comes on her in a searing kiss, it's possessive, passionate, burning and everything nasty. He's straight up claiming her mouth as her tongue tangles with his own.

Pulling back he waits for her response, "Two. Please"

Following her command, his two fingers slide inside her. He tightens the hold on her stomach to have her stay in place when she bucks her hips forward.

She screams.

"That's my girl"

He slides his finger out before sinking it deep inside her cunt again. Crooking them in such a way that he hits her g-spot. Desperate moans fill the room mixing with the steam coming out of the hot water. Her hands ghost over his, fastening his pace.

"You want it faster, sweetheart?"

"Yes, much faster. I wanna cum so bad"

Happy to give her what she wants, he begins rubbing at her clit while his other fingers work their way in and out her wet cunt.

"Oh my fucking god"

"That's right. Get what you want. Such a good girl for me"

He's an animal at this point as he tries to mark her his more than she already is. Jungkook has always been open about sex with his girlfriend, his needs, his wants, his desires and she'd done the same. You compliment each other perfectly. It's easier that way, not leaving any room for doubts.

She like dirty talk, he gives it to her.

When her hips lift forward matching his thrusts, he smirks. Biting her slender neck as she chases her orgasm.

"Aghh"

It finally happens, her hands grasp his even more tightly, other hand gripping the edge of the jacuzzi as she lets out a scream. Her breath fastens as sweat beads her forehead, Jungkook never stopping with his praises.

When she settles back down between his legs, he takes his finger out and sucks them clean. Brown eyes never leaving hers.

"Do you think they heard us, sweetheart?"

Her laughter brings smile to his face, "You're crazy"

"And you're mine" He pecks her cheek, letting his lips linger there for a bit. Basking in the feeling of her love's skin against his lips.

At the beginning of your relationship when you were just getting comfortable with intimacy, jungkook loved kissing her cheek. It was his way of showing her that she's adored by him. Then he realised that quite frankly, it's her. He likes kissing so much because it's her that he's kissing.

He holds her for a while before speaking up, "You wanna help me with a problem?"

He doesn't need to tell her twice but soon as her next words leave her mouth, he takes a double take.

"Sit on the edge and I'll suck you off" he hears her say as she kneels before him.

"Later" he grabs her by her shoulders as he positions her back between his legs. This time facing him.

Her legs wrap around his waist and his thick cock presses against her navel. He knows how badly she wanted to take him into her mouth and he could have let her do that only if he was strong enough to resist himself from sinking deep inside her.

"Now, I wanna fuck you. Raw and nice just like my girlfriend deserves" his voice comes out breathy.

"I love you"

"Me too, sweetheart. More than you know" he assures.

Knowing he can't take it anymore, he lifts her up and sits her body down on his cock. Slowly by slowly as she moans her way through it. ____'s head falls into the crook of his neck and his grip tightens on the curve of her waist. The ampallang piercing multiplies the pleasure tenfold as you both roll your eyes at the back of your head.

Jungkook got madly drunk the other day and came back with a dick piercing which resulted in her getting mad at him and him fucking her to show how good it gets with it.

Having said that, he presses a searing kiss on her lips and his breath knocks out of his chest in the process. It's almost like he's dreaming. The feel of her body on him, his cock deep inside ____, her arms caging him. It all feels surreal. At this point, the neighbors are long forgotten. It's you and him now.

He takes one of her sensitive buds in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Moving it in circular motions.

The next few seconds involve him spanking her ass as if he wants to leave marks, him guiding her up and down his cock as she bounces and giving her frequent kisses. Wet slapping noises fill the entire room as his balls ache with need.

"So good, baby. You feel so fucking good. Wrapped around me like this while I fuck you good, huh?" he slaps her pussy lightly.

Thrust Thrust Thrust

As she falls back again into his arms, crying loudly with utter pleasure, he tightens his hold on her body. Hugging her close as both of your heartbeats sync together.

"Thank you for letting me love you, sweetheart. Thank you for coming into my boring ass life and filling it with laughter. Fuck"

Your sweaty and now tired bodies are wrapped around each other as you both revel in the warmth of intimacy.

He lets out a grown followed by her whine and before he can say anything, you’re both cumming together, sighing and kissing as you come down your high.

A chaste kiss is pressed on her forehead, "So perfect, my girl"

"That was…" you bite your lip.

"Amazing, I know" he says as he mindlessly plays with her black locks.

his hands rub her back. "Sweetheart, I want one more from you"

"One more?"

"Yeah, this time I wanna see your beautiful back. Will you do it for me?"

He tries to ask her as gently as possible. Pride filling his chest when he sees her nod.

Guiding her up with the support of her knees he sits her down on his lap, his balls brushing against her clit as he sinks back inside her. A man can only take so much before he snaps. This was the moment for him. His girl's back glistens in the most beautiful way ever. Sweat droplets mixed with water dripping down her spine that he can’t help but kiss.

"Fuck baby, you look like a goddess right now." he halts,

"So warm"

Trailing his hands up the back of her neck he threads his fingers through her hair, gripping it lightly but also putting enough pressure just so she can feel a sweet pain.

His heart skips another beat when she starts moving forward and then backwards, teasing him. Her movements are painfully slow. He wants to ask ____ to move faster but at the same time, he also wants to make this special for her.

So, he waits and watches her back arch as he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

"Jungkook" she moans his name, holding on to his thigh as he pounds into her from the back. It’s even deeper now, his cock hitting places he’d never hit before. Jungkook mentally thanks himself for trying out this new position because he’d just about take any chance to feel more connected to ____.

Just when his stomach contracts and hardens, he asks, "____ I’m gonna need you to spread those ass wider. I’m very close"

When she hums in response he gently pushes her upper body so that it’s flat on his legs, immediately letting him see more of ____'s ass. Her asshole clearly visible to him. It’s such a vulnerable position that you’re both in. Her more than him.

He has to ask her, "Sweetheart, if you don’t feel comfortable we can always stop, alright? You just have to ask"

Her whiney voice reaches his ears, "I’m okay, baby. Just- Just fuck me"

So, he does. His hips thrust forward as he fucks her mercilessly, letting her have the pleasure. She moans, he moans, she cries out, he groans. It’s unbelievably perfect. His hands roam over her smooth back, her ass and even down to her pussy. Both bodies working in a graceful sync.

Suddenly, it’s like the earth comes to a stop. His hands grip his hair while the other one grips hers. His stomach hardens, balls tightening and the moment _____ clenches around his cock, he cums inside of her. Filling her up with hot, white liquid. She follows him soon enough.

"I fucking love this body of yours"

She straightens up and lets her wet body fall heavy on his chest seeking warmth and his arms around her. He’s more than happy to do so. His muscular arms bring her closer to his chest as he relaxes.

Before the next words leave his mouth, he has to make sure ____ is sound asleep.

"I can’t wait to ask you to marry me, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you in that white dress walking towards me like the angel you are"

He hopes she says yes, he hopes the ring brings the biggest smile on her face.

He hopes.

2K notes · View notes

witchywithwhiskey · 3 months ago

Text

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

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godsfavdarling · 4 months ago

Text

How does that feel?

my masterlist

+18!!!

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You've been having a hard time finishing in bed and you finally tell Spencer what's going on. words: 4,4k warnings: smut - oral (fem! receiving), breast/nipple play, unprotected sex (don't do that) a/n: this was a request! also, i've stared at this thing for so long i don't know anymore what's going on, but i hope yall like it <3

You sat at a cozy corner table in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by your closest friends - Penelope, Emily, and JJ. The four of you had met up for a much-needed girls' night out to finally have a chance to unwind and catch up.

"Can you believe the latest case we worked on?" JJ said, shaking her head. "Sometimes it feels like we're living in a crime novel."

"Tell me about it," Emily agreed. "But PLEASE! Let’s not talk about work. I need to decompress."

Penelope raised her glass. "To decompressing! And to… friends!"

You all clinked glasses, smiling at each other. Very quickly the conversation shifted towards more personal topics.

"So, how are things with Will?" Emily asked, turning to JJ.

JJ smiled. "Things are great, actually. We're planning a little getaway next month, just the two of us. What about you, Em? Any romance on the horizon?"

Emily shrugged. "I'm enjoying the single life right now. Besides, it’s not easy to find love having this job. When am I supposed to do that?"

Penelope grinned. "Don’t you worry about it, pumpkin! You’re gonna find someone soon. I can feel it in my bones!."

The conversation continued in this vein for a while, each of you sharing updates about your romantic lives. You listened and laughed along, but Penelope's observant eyes caught the slightly distant look on your face.

"Alright, spill it," Penelope prompted, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's been going on with you lately? You've seemed a bit off."

You sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. These were your friends, after all, and you knew you could trust them. "It's just... I've been having a hard time finishing in bed lately. It's been… really frustrating."

Emily raised an eyebrow, her expression sympathetic. "Have you talked to Spencer about it?"

You shook your head. "Not yet. I mean, I want to, but I don't want to make him feel bad or think it's his fault. He's always so attentive, and I don't want him to think he's doing something wrong. And he’s not doing anything wrong. He’s perfect. Obviously."

JJ leaned in, her voice gentle. "Hey, communication is key. Spencer loves you, and I'm sure he’d want to know what's going on so he can help. I’m sure his big brain knows exactly what to do."

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Plus, it could be an opportunity to explore new things together… Sometimes all it takes is a little experimentation."

You smiled, feeling a bit more encouraged. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'll talk to him."

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

Later that evening, you found yourself back at home, sitting on the couch next to Spencer. He was engrossed in a book, the dim light casting soft shadows across his focused face. He set the book aside when he noticed your pensive expression, concern immediately clouding his eyes.

"Hey, is everything okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but laced with worry.

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart pound in your chest. "Spence, there's something I need to talk to you about."

He turned to face you fully, his full attention on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Of course. What is it?"

You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap as you searched for the right words. Finally, you decided to dive in. "Lately, I've been having a hard time finishing in bed. It's been really frustrating for me, and I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want you to feel bad."

Spencer's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding and concern. His mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but he hesitated, clearly processing what you had just revealed. "Oh…”

You immediately regretted saying anything. It wasn't the end of the world, after all. You still enjoyed sex but just couldn't reach the high. Maybe you were just too stressed.

It had nothing to do with Spencer.

Tears welled up in your eyes as Spencer seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed as he tried to find the right words. Why would he know what to say? You felt like you were just making things difficult.

“Forget it. It’s fine,” you said quickly, trying to dismiss the conversation and spare him the discomfort.

“No, no, no, wait,” he said, reaching out and grabbing your hands as you started to stand up. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding you. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me. I just… how did I not notice? I… I’m just trying to remember, well, I remember everything and I just… I can’t believe I… couldn’t tell.”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I didn’t want you to know. It’s embarrassing.” Your voice wavered, and you looked away, feeling tears start to spill down your cheeks.

“No, it’s not. It’s not embarrassing. I want you to feel good.”

“It does feel good. Always. I just… I don’t know. I just can’t cum. It’s like I get almost there and it feels good, but it never happens.” At this point, you were crying openly, the frustration and embarrassment overwhelming you.

Spencer pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you securely. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth and steady beat of his heart. He rubbed your back soothingly, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out together. I want to help."

You clung to him, feeling the weight of your frustration starting to lift just a little. "I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to think it was your fault."

Spencer pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and filled with love. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault. Sometimes these things happen. What’s important is that we’re in this together. We can try new things, we can talk and see what works for you.”

You nodded, sniffling a little. “Okay. I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, smiling gently, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. “We’ll take it slow and explore together. Your pleasure is important to me, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re satisfied.”

As you snuggled into his arms, the tension slowly easing from your body, you wondered why you had been so scared to tell him in the first place. Spencer always knew what to say, always knew how to make you feel safe and loved.

This was Spencer - your Spencer - and you realized you had nothing to fear.

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

Spencer was clearly waiting for you to initiate anything, respecting your pace and comfort. In the meantime, he very carefully tried to understand you.

Despite his constant reassurances that there was nothing to be ashamed of and that he was more than happy to figure this out together, you couldn't shake the lingering embarrassment about your problem. He was understanding and supportive, trying to create a safe space for you to open up about your frustrations.

You spent several nights just talking, diving deep into the details of your intimate experiences. Spencer approached it with a mix of curiosity and determination, asking thoughtful and sometimes probing questions.

You discussed every position you'd tried before, analyzing what felt best and why. You talked about your feelings toward toys and whether they might help.

Spencer inquired about foreplay - whether it felt too short, too long, too intense, or not intense enough. He wanted to understand what was most pleasurable for you in terms of finishing. Was it when he was eating you out, fingering you, or through penetration? Or did you find that a combination of these was most satisfying?

He also asked if you enjoyed it when he talked to you during the act. What were your favorite things for him to say?

He wanted to understand everything about your experiences. What went through your mind when you masturbated? What kind of porn did you watch? Each question, while sometimes making your face flush with embarrassment, was asked with genuine care and focus.

Spencer treated it like a meticulous scientific research project, aiming to solve the problem with the utmost care and attentiveness. His dedication and focus made you feel deeply cared for, as he was on a mission to be the one to help you find the satisfaction you deserved.

On Saturday night, you and Spencer lay in bed with your books, enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's company. He was engrossed in a thick classic novel in a foreign language, while you were absorbed in your favorite author’s new romance. The plot had just reached the point where the two protagonists had sex for the first time. The scene stirred something deep within you, making your skin feel hot and your heart race. You bit your lip, trying to concentrate, but your thoughts kept drifting.

As the scene ended, you finally allowed yourself to look over at Spencer. He was completely lost in the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Having problems, genius?” you teased, your voice carrying a playful edge.

“What? No!” he replied, not even looking up from the words on the page. “How’s your romance? Is it good?”

“Oh... it’s very good,” you said, scooting closer to him, propping your head on your hand. Finally, he looked at you, curiosity mingling with his usual attentiveness.

“What is it?” he asked, sensing your change in mood.

“Nothing,” you replied with feigned innocence, placing your hand on his chest.

His eyes stayed on you, studying your expression. Your breathing grew heavier as you stared at his neck, unable to hold back any longer. You lowered your face to the side of his neck, your lips brushing against his skin.

Spencer's breath hitched slightly, and he set his book aside, his attention fully on you now. "Are you sure it's nothing?" he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

You smiled against his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. "Well, maybe it's something," you admitted, your voice a whisper. Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his chest, feeling a now quicker beat of his heart beneath your touch.

Spencer’s hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “Tell me,” he urged softly, his eyes filled with desire.

The room felt charged with electricity.

“Well… I was just reading this scene… where, you know… the girl and the boy finally fucked. On the floor. It made me think of us.” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

“You want to have sex on the floor?” Spencer asked with a serious tone.

You laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “No, too many germs,” you said with a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, his eyes softening with affection. “Alright, not on the floor then,” he said, his voice low and inviting as his hand gently caressed your cheek. “But I get the idea.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart pounding with anticipation. “I just want to be close to you,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone.

Spencer's eyes darkened with understanding, and he leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft yet insistent. “Then let’s explore that together,” he whispered against your lips, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip, pulling you closer.

His kiss was deep, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

His hand, now resting on your hip, guided you closer, pressing your bodies together.

You instinctively rubbed your thighs together, seeking some friction, and Spencer, ever observant, immediately noticed. It seemed impossible for him to be more attentive, yet somehow he was.

With a gentle but deliberate motion, he turned you so that you were lying on your back beneath him. As he shifted, you felt the press of his already hard cock against your core, making you lift your hips slightly, yearning for more contact.

“We’re gonna take things slow, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “I want you to feel good.”

You wanted him, you wanted him now, but you understood his approach.

After all the endless conversations, you and Spencer had reached a few conclusions about what worked best for you both.

For one, you often found yourselves too excited, mostly you, to slow things down. Foreplay, though it was present, had usually been quite brief due to the intense need to get naked and feel him inside you. So, longer foreplay became a new priority.

Two, you discovered that you felt most connected when he was close to you, every part of his body touching yours.

Three, you both agreed on the importance of more kissing. Spencer had given you what felt like a comprehensive college level lesson on erogenous zones, emphasizing the need to focus on and cherish these areas.

His lips, his touch, his breath - every aspect of physical intimacy was to be savored and explored in greater depth.

With these insights in mind, Spencer leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. His hands roamed your body with a slow, deliberate grace, each touch designed to explore and stimulate.

His kisses traveled from your lips to your neck, then lower, each movement a careful balance of passion and tenderness.

He paused to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with both love and a hint of playful mischief. “Ready for us to take our time?” he asked, his voice a soothing murmur.

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of excitement and relief. “Let’s take our time.”

Your nipples were already hard against your tank top, the fabric offering little barrier to the stimulation. Spencer grazed the side of your breasts with his hands, his touch both teasing and tender.

As his lips kissed and nuzzled your collarbones, his thumb began to circle your nipple through the thin material of your shirt. The sensation made you shiver with pleasure, and you melted further into his touch.

His leg, now firmly pressed between your thighs, rubbed gently against your inner thighs and core. The pressure of his length pressed into your hip, amplifying the heat building in you.

“Please, take it off,” you whispered, your voice quivering with need.

“Take off what?” Spencer murmured, his face still buried in your chest, his hair brushing against your face with every movement.

“My shirt. Please,” you pleaded, a hint of desperation in your voice.

He chuckled softly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he slid his hands lower, pushing up your top to reveal your stomach. He showered your exposed skin with soft kisses, his lips warm and affectionate against your belly.

As you reached for the hem of your shirt, you quickly pulled it off, tossing it aside.

“What happened to taking things slow?” Spencer asked, looking up at you with a teasing grin, his chin resting against your stomach.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be,” he replied with a smile. “I just want to make sure you feel really good.”

“I do,” you whispered, your voice filled with need. “Keep going.”

“Whatever you say, angel,” he murmured with a soft chuckle.

With that, Spencer moved between your legs, lifting them and resting them on his shoulders. He positioned himself comfortably, and you felt the anticipation rise as his face moved closer to your core.

He inhaled deeply, his breath warm against your sensitive folds, making you whimper in response.

“Please,” you begged softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into you, pulling down your underwear with careful, deliberate motions. He started with a gentle kiss on your nub, his lips exploring with a tenderness that made you gasp.

He then trailed his kisses down to your thighs, peppering them with soft, teasing pecks. The sensation was delightful, and you giggled, placing your hand on his cheek.

He turned his mouth to your hand, kissing the inside of your palm before taking it in his hand and guiding it back to rest gently beside you. His fingers lingered, his touch warm and reassuring as he held your hand.

He then looked at your cunt.

“You’re already so wet. For me?” he asked, his voice filled with both awe and desire.

“For you? Always,” you replied, your breath hitching.

He chuckled against you, the sound and the vibration making you shiver. “Don’t do that,” you said with a laugh, trying to steady your breathing.

“Sorry,” he murmured with a playful tone.

Before you could say anything more, he gave you a long, slow lick from your entrance to the top, his tongue moving with a deliberate slowness. He stopped at your sensitive nub and began to suck gently, his mouth working with a rhythm that made you arch your back and moan in pleasure.

Spencer’s mouth was a world of sensation against you.

He kept going with long, languid licks, his tongue gliding from your entrance to the top of your sensitive nub. Each stroke was deliberate, exploring every inch with a careful, loving precision.

The warmth of his tongue, combined with the perfect pressure, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you gasp and moan.

You felt your breath quicken as his movements became more focused.

He moved his tongue in quicker, teasing circles around your clit, his mouth creating a constant, delightful friction.

You squirmed under the intensity, your hips instinctively bucking in response.

When you no longer felt him on your clit, a desperate cry for him almost escaped your lips. But then, he gently slipped his tongue inside you, and a wave of relief and pleasure washed over you.

He moved with precision, his tongue exploring deeper while maintaining the steady, teasing motions that drove you wild. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to elicit the maximum pleasure from you.

His nose brushed against your folds and clit with each movement, adding an extra layer of sensation. The combination of his tongue inside you and the gentle pressure of his nose against your most sensitive spot made you tremble.

Your hand clutched at the sheets, your body arching toward him, seeking more.

You could feel the build-up of tension and ecstasy swelling inside you.

Through all of this, Spencer held your hand firmly in his, his fingers intertwined with yours.

As you felt your orgasm approaching, you squeezed his hand tightly, your fingers gripping his with a mix of desperation and pleasure.

Spencer responded by tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch soothing and intimate amidst all the intense sensations he was creating.

With a final, expert flick of his tongue, he sent you spiraling into a powerful climax.

Your body tensed and then released in a wave of pleasure, your moans filling the room. Spencer continued his slow, consistent movements, savoring every moment of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, he slowly eased his mouth away, leaving soft, lingering kisses along your inner thighs.

His hand remained clasped with yours, and he looked into your eyes from between your thighs, his expression a mix of content and desire. “Wanna keep going? We can stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, a determined glint in your eyes as you pulled yourself up and crushed into him, pressing your lips against his with an almost desperate intensity.

The kiss was fervent, your tongues dancing together, both urgent and consuming as you tasted yourself on his lips and on his tongue. He was covered in you.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your back, his touch warm and gentle, but firm at the same time.

Tonight felt different. It was more intense, more electric.

As your kiss grew deeper, you moaned into him, the sound mingling with his own soft groans of pleasure. With a deft maneuver, he turned you so that you were straddling him, his hands firmly on your hips.

“Is this okay?” he managed to ask, his voice a low rumble as he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes. The effort it took to break the kiss was evident, his breaths heavy and laden with desire.

“Yes,” you responded quickly, your need palpable as you crashed your lips back onto his, kissing him even harder.

“Baby, slow down,” Spencer said softly, though his voice was tinged with longing. “We were meant to go slow.”

You moved your lips to his cheek and jaw, leaving a trail of kisses that were tender but laced with urgency. “I need you. I need you so bad,” you whispered against his skin, the words laced with an aching desire.

Spencer gently cupped your face, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your jawline. He guided your gaze to meet his.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice a gentle promise and his eyes filled with affection “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. We have all night and even more.”

He leaned in and kissed you with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of moments before.

“How do you do it?” you asked breathlessly, your curiosity blending with the haze of desire. You wondered, as you looked into his eyes, how he managed to maintain such control over himself amidst all the passion.

“What?” Spencer’s voice was a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

“Stop yourself,” you clarified, your voice barely above a whisper. “How do you manage to hold back?”

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he gave you a reassuring smile. “It’s not about holding back,” he said, his voice calm and sincere. “It’s about making sure you feel good. I want this to be perfect for you, for us, every time. That’s what matters.”

His words stirred something deep within you, and you were hit by a wave of warmth and appreciation. As he leaned in to kiss you again, the tender, loving nature of his touch gave you goosebumps.

“Can we fuck now?” you asked, your voice husky with need.

Spencer looked at you with a warm, eager smile. “Yes. Yes, we can,”

You gave his cock a few teasing strokes, feeling the way he reacted, his breath hitching as he moaned softly into your shoulder. You slowly guided him to your entrance.

The sensation of him pressing against you was both thrilling and comforting, a familiar solace you will never get tired of and always makes your world shudder.

With a gentle, deliberate motion, you positioned him at your core, and you slowly lowered yourself onto him.

The gradual stretch and the way he filled you completely was exquisite, causing you both to moan into each other’s mouths softly.

You took your time, savoring each inch, feeling every subtle shift and movement.

Spencer’s hands were steady on your hips, guiding and supporting you as you adjusted to his size. His breaths were heavy, matching the rhythm of your movements.

The room was filled with only the sound of your shared pleasure, a mix of gasps and moans.

As you slowly rode him, the rhythm of your movements became more synchronized, each motion building both of you up to the peak.

Spencer’s hands were not idle - he moved with purpose, his touch exploring every inch of your body with a deep, loving attentiveness.

One hand continued to support you around your lower back, while the other trailed up to your breasts. His fingers began to play with your nipples, gently pinching and rolling them as you moved.

That was one thing you had confessed to him during one of your intimate conversations, and Spencer had clearly taken it to heart. You had shared with him how much you loved when he played with your breasts, revealing, a bit embarrassed, the deep pleasure it brought you.

“How does that feel?” he asked in between the kisses he left on your neck, his voice a husky whisper against your skin.

“Fuck,” was all you managed to say, a breathless gasp that made him chuckle, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire.

He massaged your breasts tenderly, his fingers moving with a practiced ease, adjusting his touch to match the rhythm of your thrusts. His lips covered every inch of your neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

The combination of his hands on your breasts, the feeling of him inside you, and his lips on your skin was overwhelming. Your body responded instinctively, arching into his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Spencer’s breath came in ragged gasps, his groans of pleasure mingling with yours. His hands worked skillfully, keeping your nipples sensitive and aroused as your movements became more frantic and desperate. Then his eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of concentration and passion evident in his gaze.

While you stared into his brown eyes, he finally teased your nipple with a light lick of his tongue.

You almost screamed.

He started kissing it while his other hand worked on your other breast, his mouth hot and insistent. His tongue traced circles around your hard peak, sending shivers down your spine, while his slim fingers squeezed the other one.

At that point, you screamed into his ear, unable to contain the intensity of your pleasure.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your voice a trembling apology.

“It’s okay. You’re so beautiful,” he replied, his eyes softening with affection as he looked at you, his hands never ceasing their tender ministrations. His words and touch combined, making you feel cherished and desired in every way and that made your heart swell.

His lips returned to your other nipple, sucking and teasing it with more insistence now.

Finally, the pressure inside you reached its peak.

With a gasp and a shudder, you came, the wave of ecstasy crashing over you while his lips stayed on your breasts peppering them with kisses.

Your body tensed and then relaxed as you rode out the climax, your moans filling the room. Spencer continued to stroke your breasts gently, his touch both soothing and stimulating as he guided you through the final throes of your orgasm.

As you slowly came down from the high, you leaned your head against his, your fingers gently threading through his hair, the other arm wrapped around his neck. He held you close, his hands now lingering on your back with a soft, affectionate touch.

He squeezed you tightly, turning his face to kiss your neck, which elicited one more moan from your lips.

You could feel him smiling against your skin as he squeezed you tightly one more time.

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #request

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solarsturniolo · 3 months ago

Text

𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 // 𝕸.𝕾. // 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕺𝖓𝖊

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You never got along with him. Even after years of being friends with his brothers, he never gave you a second glance. He’s hated you for almost six years, what could one weekend at their family’s lake house do to change that?

𝔇𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: None of my stories are real, they are all fictional. You are responsible for what you read. Please read with caution. Practice safe sex. A tritoon is a type of boat. This is a two part story, there will ONLY be two parts and they will be long. THERE WILL NOT BE A THIRD PART TO THIS STORY.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: This basically turned into a novel. lots of plot (you’ve been warned) / Toxic!Matt (if you squint) / tension building / enemies trope / cursing / SMUT / dumbification kink / p in v / unprotected sex / Dom!Matt / spanking / pet names / lots of dirty talk / a true breeding kink / creampie /

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 15,140

©Solarsturniolo 2024

You were never friends.

How could you be?

His brothers were easy to get along with. Nick cherished you. He had a hard time maintaining friendships, people came and went like the seasons or the wind. It took a while for him to open up fully, afraid that it would be the same with you. But you were different. You stayed during the hard times, loving him when he felt like he couldn’t love himself. It made a change in how he perceived friendships. He rarely went anywhere without offering you an invite. All of his social media pages; an intricate collage of pictures and videos together, capturing your happiest moments with each other. His camera roll practically bursting with memories. Years worth of polaroid pictures remained tacked onto his wall, even as time passed he never took them down. He made his appreciation of your friendship known, never shying away from his platonic love for his best friend.

Chris adored you. In his words, you were like the sister he never had. You immediately clicked the first time you had met, something he wasn’t used to. He was fairly reserved around new people, but you brought his personality out so naturally and easily. People made their assumptions about your relationship with him, it was difficult for them not to when you were both practically joined at the hip; doing everything together even if it was insignificant as going to the garage for a soda or making a trip to the nearby convenience store. He knew everything about you, and you, him. Though his love was platonic, he made it known to everyone: he loved you. Things weren’t perfect, you had arguments and disputes, but at the end of the day he would do anything to repair the cracks and wears in the foundation of your friendship.

Matt despised you. Or, at least, that was how it felt. He never went out of his way to initiate conversation with you, and it was rare for him to acknowledge you in social settings. Sometimes you could feel him looking at you. It was a feeling that made your blood run cold, your skin crawling with goosebumps. It was worse when you caught him; the way his eyes scanned over you, a shit eating smirk plastered on his face as he looked away, paying no mind to you for the rest of the time you were there. It was a weird feeling, one that would keep you up at night. Part of you wanted to smack that grin off of his face, to pluck his wandering eyes right out of his head. You hated the way his gaze objectified you, making you feel weak and helpless while everyone around you remained ignorant to his behavior. You hated the way he’d cut you off when you’d speak, a satisfied smirk creeping onto his face when you’d shut down and shy away from the conversation, only speaking again if prompted by another person.

You knew that he did it for some weird power trip. To control you, at least to a certain extent. Years went by, but his behavior remained a constant variable. How he could go years of giving you the cold shoulder, you had no idea, but he managed to do it with ease. But as the years went by you cared less and less. As long as his sour mood and crude behavior didn’t intervene with the friendships you had built with his brothers, you couldn’t care less…

Or that's what you told yourself.

It ate away at you, no matter how much you told yourself that you didn’t care. Why doesn’t he like me? What did I ever do to him? What do I do to fix it? Why don’t his brothers see it? The way that he looks at me and treats me…Why does it all get swept under the rug? It swirled around your mind, haunting you with hypothetical ideas of how you could have changed everything. Anything you could have done differently just to be on okay terms with him. You weren’t asking for much; you didn’t expect him to be best friends with you, and you certainly had no expectation of him to fall to his knees and declare his undying love for you. But a smile every now and again, a kind word here and there…it would be enough.

It certainly would have made this trip more enjoyable.

“MATT! Quit skipping my music!”

“Or what, Chris? You’ll just queue more-”

Chris leaned over the center console, getting into his brother’s personal space. Matt kept his eyes glued to the wide stretch of road in front of them. “I built that queue from the ground up, I very meticulously chose each song-”

“Chris, what’s the definition of meticulous,” Nick spoke up, his head still resting on your shoulder, eyes glued to his phone. He really wasn’t paying much attention to his brothers squabbling, but his bullshit radar could pick up their nonsense from miles away. The way he interjected himself into the conversation made you smile, he always found a way to be included in their arguments, even if it was just to feed the flame.

Chris turned his head to look at Nick, furrowing his brow at him. “Why do you need the definition if I know how to use the word right?”

“Did you use the word right?” Nick rebutted.

Their argument continued for another ten minutes, even after Chris had Googled the word and passed his phone around as if he were in a blunt rotation, the definition displayed on his screen for everyone to see. His smug demeanor was short lived, though. Matt and Nick very rarely lost an argument with their brother, but when they did, they would share a mutual look and move into Phase Two: gaslight the motherfucker until his brain fried.

Sometimes it was entertaining to watch, but after being trapped in a car with them for, going on, four hours, you were ready for some peace and quiet. The sound of their quarreling became muffled as you put your airpods in, the noise canceling feature kicking into high gear once both pods were snug in place. You flicked through different playlists on your phone before selecting one that was a little less…intense than the music Chris had been playing previously. Pressing the shuffle button, you let your phone fall into your lap, resting your head against the window and watching the endless line of trees pass by. Nothing but brush and trees for miles ahead. You were excited to be going on this trip with some of your best friends, but you couldn’t help the sense of dread that lingered like a shadow in a dark alleyway. Something terrifying looming in the air, a figure of black lurking just out of sight. A bottomless pit of existential worry formed in your stomach just thinking about anything and everything that could go wrong.

This was going to be a long weekend.

X O X O X O

Gravel crunched beneath the tires, loose pebbles flying up as the beast of a vehicle slowly came to a stop in the unpaved driveway.

It was late.

There was still some light outside, enough to see the cluster of dark clouds beginning to close in. The faint warm glow seeping through the windows of houses just across the stream contributed some light, but not much. The dark shadows from the trees absorbed most of it before it could get very far. As the van shifted into park, you lifted your head from where it had been resting, somewhat uncomfortably, against the window. The roar of the engine, that you had all unknowingly grown accustomed to, died down to a soft purr before stopping entirely. The overhead lights flickered to life, illuminating the interior of the car with a hazy yellow glow. For a brief moment, everything came to a complete stop.

Within the next five seconds, three truths became very evident: One; Chris was asleep. Two; Nick was asleep. And three; you were not.

Someone else realized this as well, and his sharp icy glare penetrated your skull like an ice pick through the reflection of his rearview mirror. This didn’t go unnoticed by you, it never did, but it was easier to pretend like it did. As you took out your airpods and tentatively placed them back into their case, you shifted in your seat, the squeaking of the leather just barely being drowned out by the music still playing in the car. The song that softly drifted through the speakers was different from what had been playing earlier; smoother, languid, sultry. The lyrics were alluring and sensual, covered by an addictive instrumental that complimented the underlying provocative tone perfectly. It was sexy, it was passionate…

And it made no appearance on any of Chris’s playlists.

You shifted in your seat again, a sharp inhale coming from the front of the car as the leather squeaked again. “I’ll start unloading the back,” you spoke up, your voice faltering towards the end. He responded with silence, his gaze shifting away from the mirror to stare out of the windshield instead.

Gravel crunched beneath the soles of your shoes as you stepped out of the van. You took a deep breath as you escaped the tense atmosphere in the car, not realizing you had been holding your breath until now. The air was crisp, underlying earthy and musty tones accompanying the clean, fresh breeze that swept over your shoulder. The faint smell of rain began to grow heavy in the air, the dark clouds overhead drawing in. Treading to the back of the car, you opened the trunk and began unloading the bags that were messily stacked on top of each other.

Chris and Nick emerged from the passenger side of the car, both of them trudging over to collect their things. It was clear they hadn’t woken up willingly. Nick’s cowlick stuck out like a sore thumb, his eyelids heavy with sleep. Chris yawned obnoxiously, earning himself an irritated glare from his brother. You laughed softly at the sight, handing them their respective bags. Like a bat out of hell, Matt came around to the back of the car and tugged his luggage out from the trunk, his elbow knocking into your arm in the process. He didn’t pay you a second glance as he slammed the trunk shut, his footsteps heavy and dragging as he walked down the gravel driveway.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Great. We just love grumpy Matt,” he huffed, his tone laced with sarcasm. You offer an apologetic smile, feeling somewhat responsible for Matt’s attitude. It was nothing new, this was his behavior any time you happened to be around, but you knew his brothers must have been getting tired of the same old practices coming from him.

As you followed the other two, Chris slowed his strides to walk with you. Carrying his luggage in his right hand, he hooked his left arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Hey, you know I can see what you’re thinkin’, right?” He starts, his hand giving your shoulder a soft squeeze. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I feel like I did…” you sighed, not looking up at him. Nick was oblivious to the interaction, his spatial awareness being almost entirely eradicated when he was half asleep. It didn’t take long for him to disappear from view into the house.

Chris shrugged. “Well, what did you do then?” he questioned. This time you did look up at him, brow furrowed and a glint of confusion in your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what I did…”

“Then it’s not you,” Chris smiled. “All him. Don’t pay him any attention. I don’t know what’s got his fucking nuts in a knot, but he’s gonna have to get over it,” he continued. Chris took your bag from your hands as you approached the front porch steps, carrying it up to the door for you. “We’re gonna have fun this weekend, even with Miserable Matt here. Don’t let him get to you.”

Chris handed your bag back to you, his all too familiar boyish grin making an appearance on his face. It was hard not to return the favor, smiling back at him as you slung the strap of the bag over your shoulder. Chris reached out, his fingers brushing the underside of your chin. “Head up, kid,” he tells you. The loud rumble overhead makes both of you flinch, mirroring each other as you and him look up to the sky. Charcoal clouds flood the open sky, blocking out the vivid shades of orange and pink that would have painted the heavens in their beautiful hues. Chris blindly reached out, opening the door to his family’s vacation home. “C’mon,” he mumbled, beckoning you inside.

You didn’t move for a second. Getting struck by lightning was almost more appealing than being trapped in a house with Matt for an entire weekend.

Almost.

You step through the doorway and let the strap of your bag slip off of your shoulder, the bag landing on the floor with a soft thud. The door shut behind you as Chris came inside as well, the deadbolt lock clicking into place. Muffled arguing could be heard from upstairs, followed by the loud slam of a door. ‘We’re gonna have fun this weekend.’ His words taunted you.

“Not likely,” you huffed.

X O X O X O

What started as a movie night (an attempt to relax and unwind after your long, tiring road trip), quickly began to progress into a memorable night, just not for the better. You should have known to dismiss yourself when Nick suggested watching a romantic comedy, earning an annoyed grunt from his brother who was sulking at the far end of the sectional. His feet kicked up onto the coffee table as he reclined deep into the cushions on the couch. His blatant disregard and disrespect for his parents’ beautiful (and expensive) furniture made you scoff.

He shot you a hostile glare, testing you to say what you had been thinking; His electric blue irises, like icicles piercing your skin. Thoughts swirled around in your head as you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at the television as Nick flicked through page after page of options, stopping occasionally to read the summary of something that caught his eye. The silence was deafening, you were sure they could all hear you swallowing the lump that had been lodged in your throat. You felt a chill run through you; Even with Chris sitting so close you couldn’t help but feel cold. Frozen.

“Or we could watch something that won’t bore us all to tears,” Chris suggested, his arm hooking over the back of the sofa. In a spur of passive aggressive frustration, Nick hurled the remote at his brother. The impact was intense enough to draw a groan out of him, and he scowled at Nick as he picked the remote controller up. “I hope the bed bugs DO bite, tonight,” he grunted.

Nobody even cared about what was put on anymore, just as long as it would break the uncomfortable tension that surrounded them. Finally deciding on a horror movie, Matt switched off the lamp that was next to the couch, the only light in the room coming from the television. Muffled thunder could be heard from outside, and occasionally a white flash of lightning would light up the sky with deep purple shadows. The rain had started a while ago, though it was much more noticeable now as it created a steady rhythm on the roof. The aged wooden boards of the house moaned and creaked with the howling of the wind. Chris turned the volume up on the television to drown out the outside noises.

Nick was the first to leave. Halfway through the movie, he got up from his spot and shuffled out of the room without a word. Nick wasn’t very chatty when he was tired, usually just communicating through soft grunts and hums, but he was too exhausted to even do that. The floorboards on the stairs groaned with each step he took, though it was only really noticeable if you had been paying attention.

And you had been paying attention.

Chris looked down, seeing that your focus wasn’t on the movie playing in front of you, but instead you were staring off towards the staircase that was hidden in the dark shadows of the entryway. He nudged you softly with his arm to break your focus. “He’s just tired. ‘S okay,” he assures you.

“He seems mad,” you pointed out.

“He’s not mad. He’s been up since seven this morning, and we all know he’s not a morning person.”

Matt shifted in his spot, inhaling sharply and exhaling just as obnoxiously. Your gaze shifted from Chris to his irritated brother. He didn’t even have to look at you, you could tell exactly how he felt. His posture was as terrible as always, but he was tense, the outline of his shoulder blades evident through his t-shirt. His jaw clenched, emotionless eyes glaring at the television. Arms crossed over his chest, the veins in his arms standing out as his biceps flexed. It didn’t take a body language expert to tell that he was angry, or at the very least annoyed.

You went quiet as you turned your attention back to the television. You hoped that Chris hadn’t noticed your change in demeanor. The last thing you wanted was to ruin this weekend just by being present; by doing something to make it all about you. Arguing and fighting with Matt would make it about you. Talking to Chris or Nick about it would make it about you. Showing any emotional response to it would make it about you. The easiest thing to do in this situation was stay reserved.

But Chris was much too conscious of you and your feelings, he always had been. That was one thing you loved so much about him; he was just as in tune with your emotions as he was with his own. However, when he turned his head to glare in his brother’s direction, you wished, for once, that he hadn’t been. “What, Matt.” His voice was gruff and demanding, not even a hint of questioning in his voice. He had gotten sick of Matt’s nasty attitude approximately four and a half years ago, and he officially had enough. “What’s pissing you off this time.”

Matt spared his brother a glance, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “You know how you’re not supposed to talk in the movie theater?” Matt started, pursing his lips as he waited for his brother to reply. Chris rolled his eyes in response. “Same rule typically applies at home.” His tone was passive aggressive, and that was when he finally made eye contact with you. “It’s quite rude.”

“You’re one to talk,” Chris scoffed.

“The fuck does that mean?”

You tugged softly at the sleeve of Chris’s t-shirt, attempting to pull his attention away. “It’s fine-“

“No, it’s not fucking fine,” Chris interrupted. He paused the movie, tossing the remote controller in his brother’s direction. “I don’t know what weird ass Netflix Original Series you think you’re in, but this fucking attitude is insufferable,” Chris snapped. He stood up, grabbing his phone off of the coffee table, stuffing it into his pocket. “You give me a fucking headache.”

“What are you fucking talking about? Netflix Original Series? What kind of comparison is that?” Matt scoffed.

“A pretty fucking good one. You’ve got this weird ass angsty attitude and nobody can fucking stand it.”

Matt shifted in his spot, his confidence faltering. “Wh- I don’t-“

Chris shot his brother another glare. “Oh, but you actually do. And you act all big and tough until someone finally calls you out on your bullshit. You’ve been on this shit for six fucking years and I’ve fucking had it,” Chris grumbled. His demeanor changes quickly, the flame inside of him burning out. He rubbed his tired eyes as he walked away from the sofa, blindly making his way to the staircase. He grunted out a soft ‘m goin’ to bed’ before disappearing up the stairs, just as Nick had done earlier.

The floorboards from upstairs could be heard with each step Chris took, muffled creaks and squeaks barely filling the uncomfortable silence in the room until they stopped all together. The dull drumming of the raindrops on the roof filled the uncomfortable silence that engulfed you and Matt as you sat there, refusing to look at each other. There was a soft crackle of television static, and the faint roar of the thunder outside, but nothing else.

After a few minutes had passed (which had felt more like an hour) you finally decided to steal a glance. Between the light illuminating from the TV and the flash of lightning from outside, all of his features seemed to stand out more so than ever before. The deep shadows beneath his jaw, the light reflecting off of his perfect skin. He pursed his plump lips, almost as if he was about to say something. His earrings glimmered in the dark room, swinging as he turned his head. You felt your heart drop as his eyes locked with yours for the third time that evening. But for once, his gaze held nothing hostile or hateful. His gaze faltered, looking at the couch cushion beside you. He didn’t say anything. He seemed apologetic. Regretful. Remorseful; Something you weren’t sure he was capable of feeling. His fingers picked at the loose threads on the armrest of the sofa, his eyes darting back and forth between the cushions and you.

You could have drowned in the tension; it flooded the room out of nowhere. It had never been like this before, but then again you had never been left alone with Matt before either. As the tension grew, so did the pit in your stomach. Is he going to snap? What is he thinking? Why hasn’t he said anything? Does he want me to apologize? Why is he acting like this? Why won’t he just get it over with and yell at me? As the thoughts began to consume your entire being, you found your chest constricting, the air catching in your throat with each breath you tried to take.

“Are you-”

You stood up from the couch the second he spoke. “Yeah, I’m going,” you replied, gracelessly stepping around the coffee table. His brow furrowed as he followed you with his gaze. You paid little attention to it. You were much more focused on getting the fuck out of there. Before he could get another word out, you had already left the room. Making a beeline for your designated room down the hall, you closed the door behind you, finally taking a second to catch your breath.

This was going to be a very long weekend.

X O X O X O

“Why can’t I drive the boat?”

“You can’t even drive a car, why the fuck would we let you drive the boat?” Nick scoffed, looking at his phone attentively. He had gotten comfortable in his seat, taking one of the captain's seats under the shade of the tritoon. His feet were kicked up, heels resting on the leather lounge seats along the inside of the boat. “You need a boating license.”

You had decided to sit on the lounge seats opposite to the ones Nick was using as a personal footrest, soaking up the rays of the sun as they beamed down from the heavens, spears of light penetrating the clouds above.

Chris stepped onto the boat swiftly, putting down the cooler that he had carried all the way from the house. You weren’t sure why he didn’t wait to fill the cooler once you all had gotten onto the boat, but Chris insisted that he could carry it by himself. You also weren’t quite sure why he had decided to wear a hoodie in 95-degree weather, which surely wasn’t making the job any easier on him. He let out a soft breath as he placed the cooler by the driver’s console, popping it open and pulling an orange Fanta from where it had been buried in the ice. “...Like from SpongeBob?” Chris questioned in response to Nick’s previous comment. He cracked the soda open and brought it to his lips.

“Or like legally?! You fucking moron?!” Nick retorted, a dumbfounded look finding a way onto his face, his gaze tearing away from his phone to look at you as if to say, ‘are you hearing this shit too?’. You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a laugh.

Chris narrowed his eyes, scowling at his brother. After he had finished taking a much-needed drink, Chris put the can in a random nearby cup holder. “No need to be rude.”

Nick shook his head in disbelief. “You’re unreal,” he muttered, looking at his phone once again. “If you get pulled over without one-”

“You can’t get pulled over on the water.”

Slowly, Nick turned his head toward you, the same dumbfounded look on his face. You couldn’t hold back your laughter, his reaction was unexpected, but hilarious at the same time. “Am I- Are you-” Nick started, gesturing toward you with his phone. Finally, he looked over at Chris again. “Are you a real fucking person? There is no fucking way you just said that with a straight face. Like, I’m genuinely shocked…No, you know what-” he cut himself off, opening his safari app. He made a quick google search before continuing his harangue. “I am stunned. I am astonished. I am dumbfounded, oh that’s a good one… I am aghast. I am appalled. I am flabbergasted-”

“Alright, man,” Matt interrupted him, stepping onto the boat with a few bags in his hands, all of them filled with snacks that the boys had stocked up on earlier that morning when they went on their grocery store run. “I think we got it.”

He looked sickeningly good this morning. Nothing about what he was wearing was very out of the ordinary, for him at least. A simple white tank top, his renowned blue flannel pyjama pants, and his signature horse pendant: it was simple, it was effortless, it made you want to rip your hair out. You truly envied Matt’s ability to always look good, no matter the time of day or what he was wearing. It wasn’t fair how he could just roll out of bed and look like he had just walked out of a Calvin Klein photoshoot. Then again, nothing about how he looked was fair. His high cheekbones, his sharp jawline, perfectly clear skin; It was a shame he was such a dick.

Chris pouted, crossing his arms over his chest before slumping down into the seat next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You tore your gaze away from Matt, looking back in Chris’s direction, giggling softly upon seeing the look on his face: defeated and sulking. Nick rolled his eyes at his brother’s childish behavior. He leaned over, pulling an ice-cold Dr.Pepper out of the cooler, cracking it open to take a sip. Chris uncrossed his arms so that he could mock his brother before slinging his arm behind your back, resting it on the railing of the boat. Chris used his free hand to lift his sunglasses, eyeing Matt who stepped off of the boat and back onto the dock. “You sure you don’t wanna come? The Rogers’ are blowing the tube up,” Chris commented, an attempt to persuade his brother into joining them.

Matt scratched the back of his neck, meeting Chris’s gaze while completely avoiding yours. “In a bit. I haven’t been able to focus a lot back home and I wanted to try to work on Yesterday’s Problem stuff while we’re out here,” he explained, his arm dropping back to his side. “I’ll call you in a bit when I’m done, I just…” Matt trailed off, looking back toward the cabin. “I dunno, I feel inspired, I guess. Motivated.”

“Good,” Nick said simply, placing his beverage in the cupholder in his seat. “It only took you ten months.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware how long it’s been taking,” he grunted. For a moment, his eyes flickered toward you, though you had stopped looking at him a while ago. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw clenching as he forced himself to look away.

“Alright. Just call me when you’re ready, we’ll come back around and get you,” Chris shrugged, not caring either way. Matt mumbled something under his breath before turning and heading back towards the house. Chris rolled his eyes as he picked his drink up, taking another sip from it. “Fucker. Probably still mad about last night,” he huffed, pulling you in closer to his side. “Whatever, we’re still gonna have fun, right?”

For some reason, you felt a weird tightening in your stomach as you watched Matt trudge back towards the house, the sounds of his footsteps growing fainter as he stepped off of the dock. You weren’t sure why you felt this way, almost disappointed that he wasn’t coming too. It was a strange feeling, because you knew deep down that even if he had come, he wouldn’t spare a glance or even a breath in your direction. There was no logical explanation for it, there was no reason why you should want him there, but you did.

Maybe a part of you hoped that you could sort out your differences. That maybe one conversation alone was all you would need to build a healthy foundation for your friendship. But you didn’t need a time machine to know that would never happen. Having a one-on-one heart to heart with the man that refused to speak to you or look at you…Disney couldn’t find a way to romanticize that one even if they tried.

“Hey.”

You looked up, his voice dragging you from your thoughts. Chris smiled as your gaze met his, holding out his fist. “Forget him. We’ll have fun without him.” You offered Chris a sheepish smile, gently bumping your fist against his.

“Whatever you say, Chris.”

X O X O X O

“You sure you wanna be in a house alone with Miserable Matt?”

The time had flown since that morning, hours passing in what felt like minutes. The boys’ neighbors were an absolute delight. You were afraid that they wouldn’t like you, or that they’d be standoffish towards you, but you were pleasantly surprised at how welcoming they had been. Nothing but kindness was directed your way, making it far easier to relax and enjoy your excursion out on the boat with everyone. But by the time you had gone on your third tube ride with Chris, you finally started to feel the fatigue kicking in.

“I don’t plan on interacting with him,” you laughed lightheartedly, looking over at Chris as you stepped off of the boat and onto the dock. “But I am in desperate need of a shower and a nap.”

Chris pouted, resting his chin on his arms that were folded over the edge of the lounge seats. “You sure you don’t wanna hang out just a little longer?”

“You’ll see me in a little bit. Spend some time with Nick,” you suggested, watching as the two boys turned their heads to make eye contact. Nick grimaced, shaking his head at the thought. You let out another quiet laugh at their typical brotherly behavior. “I’ll see you guys when you get back,” you stated, waving your hand dismissively as you started the walk down the dock. They called out their farewells as their neighbor expertly maneuvered the boat back out onto the lake.

Getting into the house was easy; Matt didn’t bother to lock the door behind him when he stayed back. As you quietly slipped into the kitchen, you heard the faint music that was playing just down the hallway. ‘As long as I stay quiet, he won’t even know I’m here.’ With that thought fresh in mind, you paid extra mind to close the door behind you with attentiveness, a dull click floating in the air for a moment as the latch slipped into place. Once a few seconds had passed, you made your way through the kitchen, shifting your weight with each step you took to keep your footsteps silent.

Making your way upstairs was tricky, but once you had made it to your room without drawing his attention, a wave of relief washed over you. You closed the door gently before letting out a deep exhale, taking a few steps into the room before collapsing back onto the bed. You weren’t sure why you were so afraid of your presence disrupting whatever it was that he was doing. Sure, he was an asshole, but he had never done anything to strike that much fear into your heart. Still, the adrenaline rush of not getting caught was like a drug, your heart pounded, you could feel it in your ears as the blood rushed to your head. Nothing you had done was wrong, but it almost felt like it as Matt unknowingly sat in his room just below.

It only took a few minutes for you to undress, your body wrapped in a bathroom towel as you went around your room to collect the things you would need for your shower. Your heart dropped into your stomach as your toiletries bag slipped out of your hand, landing on the floor with a loud thud. The products that had been securely tucked inside, now scattered around the room. “Motherfucker- Shit!” you hissed under your breath as you got down to clean them up, stuffing them back into the toiletry bag in your hand. A gleam caught your eye, your head turning to see that some of the products had rolled underneath the bed as well.

‘Now this is just the opening scene of a poorly directed porno,’ you thought to yourself, huffing in annoyance as you bent down, slipping your head and neck under the bed. You used your hands to push yourself forward, your shoulders and back now able to slip under as well. Upon moving further under the bed, it became increasingly obvious that the bottle was too far out of reach, but still you made an attempt. The floorboards creaked and groaned as you shifted your weight, trying your hardest to reach out and grab the mini shampoo bottle. You closed your eyes tightly, the noises almost sounding louder than they normally would.

You prayed that the music had drowned the sound out, that Matt hadn’t heard the numerous bottles rolling around or the sound of the old wooden floors that gave away any movement that was made in their presence. You especially hoped he hadn’t heard the sound of your head bumping against the wooden bedframe as you tried to slip back out, abruptly stopping when the towel caught onto a nail in the wood, preventing you from moving.

But of course, your luck had seemed to run out. You felt your heart racing in your chest, your voice getting lodged in your throat at the sound of his footsteps slowly coming up the stairs. You tried again to free yourself, but to no avail. You were screwed, he had caught you. You knew you’d be getting an earful from him once that door opened, but he took his time, his footsteps remaining slow and heavy as he made his way down the hallway. Your eyes screwed shut as the door to the bedroom creaked open slowly. It was quickly followed by silence, but not a regular silence. A thick silence. A silence that made your heart ram against your ribcage. A silence that made you feel like you were about to be torn apart, limb by limb.

“There’s no fucking way-” his voice was hoarse, like he had just seen a ghost. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

X O X O X O

Matt stared at the screen, a yawn slipping past his lips, eyelids heavy with boredom. He had made very little progress on his personal project, though that was no surprise to him. How was he supposed to focus on anything after this morning? Seeing you prancing around in that tiny bikini, leaving so little to the imagination. He tried to push the thoughts out of his head, he always tried but very rarely did he succeed. The image burned into his brain, your skin glowing from the sunscreen you had put on just a few moments prior, your head tilted back as you basked in the warmth of the sunshine.

He huffed, closing his eyes as he tried to avoid the thought all together. He groaned, his dick stiffening in his pants. His hand slipped over the bulge in his pants, his jaw going slack as he palmed himself slowly. His brow furrowed, eyes staying closed as he thought about how pretty you had looked laid out on those leather seats; Your collarbones taunting him, the valley between your breasts practically yearning for his dick to slide between them. Matt’s fingers wrapped around the outline of his cock, stroking himself through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants. Another soft groan fell from his lips as his imagination plagued him with filthy thoughts.

‘It’s fine, nobody’s home. Nobody will know.’

Matt shoved his laptop to the empty side of the bed. He situated himself, slightly lifting his hips to pull his pyjama pants down just enough for his cock to slip out. His eyes fluttered open for a moment as he wrapped his fist around his shaft, using his thumb to tease himself, gently rubbing at his tip.

‘Nobody has to know.’

He let his eyes fall shut again, his head falling back against the headboard. Oh how he wished he could have made his brothers disappear. To suddenly snap his fingers and have you all to himself. To be the only two people on that boat, out in the middle of the lake, bending you over the console with his hand covering your mouth. Matt whimpered at the thought of you on display just for him. Your top discarded on the floor, ample breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips as he held the fabric of your bathing suit bottom aside, having no patience to remove it. His forehead pressed to yours, heavy breaths fanning across his knuckles as he muffled your moans with his palm. “Other people are trying to relax on their vacation too, baby,” he would whisper to you, his cock driving into you deeper and deeper. “Can’t ruin that for them, now, can we? That’s not very fair, is it?”

Matt inhaled sharply, his hand finding a steady pace. He pumped his cock, a ring of precum forming at the base of his fist as it slipped up and down his shaft with ease. It was no use, this was how it always ended: Matt would try with every ounce of self control to focus, to work, to do anything of substance, and each time he would be distracted by you. Even now, with you on a boat in the middle of the lake, he could only focus on you. Your presence taunted him, consistently reminding him that he had to behave himself. That his brothers were there, and that he couldn’t just lay you down on the couch, sprawled out and writhing beneath him while he buried himself between your thighs.

His heart skipped a beat, his hand slowing to a stop at the base of his cock. Panting softly, Matt paused and looked towards the ceiling, the faint sound of plastic and glass rolling around suddenly grasping his attention. He waited, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, almost as if he was waiting for something else; Another noise to confirm his suspicions.

When he heard the loud thud, he quickly tugged at his waistband, securing himself behind the confines of his pyjama bottoms. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the nearest inanimate object on his way out of the room, which just so happened to be a random antique candle holder that his mother had bought specifically for their vacation home. She had a habit of decorating the cabin with numerous knick knacks and novelties, who knew they could potentially come in handy?

Matt circled the corner, beginning his ascent up the staircase. He cursed under his breath as the floorboards squeaked, surely giving himself away to any potential intruder that had snuck into the house. His grip tightened around the antique, his knuckles turning white. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Matt chewed on his lip as he braced himself for the worst. He stepped forward, making his way down the hallway in slow strides. ‘Somebody snuck in, they’re in your room going through your things. Thank God you went out with Chris and Nick today, who knows what could have happened to you if you hadn’t.’ He stopped just outside of the bedroom door, his chest tightening with fearful anticipation. Matt took a sharp inhale before he grasped the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open slowly.

His brain short circuited as he stood in the doorway. “There’s no fucking way-” he croaked out, licking his lips like a man starved, his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

There you were, in all your glory. His dick ached at the sight of you stuck halfway under your bed, your hips up and the hem of your towel just barely protecting your modesty. A soft whine from beneath the bedframe caught his attention. “I-I didn’t mean t-to get stuck,” you timidly spoke. Matt couldn’t do anything but watch, his jaw slack, the candle holder slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. “I just came back to shower, I wasn’t trying to bother you.”

There was just no way that this was an accident. Something had heard his prayers and delivered in the most pleasantly delectable way possible. He blinked a few times as he stood there, unsure if what he was seeing was just a figment of his incredibly active imagination. His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, adjusting to the reality of the situation. “I can’t have a single fucking day,” Matt muttered, towering over you as he approached the bed, his cock throbbing as you pressed your thighs together tightly. “Not one single goddamn day without you being there.”

You whimpered softly at the sound of his footsteps drawing in closer, the heat rising to your cheeks as you became painfully aware of how exposed you were in this moment. The only thing shielding his wandering gaze was the thin fabric tightly wrapped around you. His voice was thick with something, of what you weren’t sure. He had never spoken to you like this before, and something about it made your head spin. “I’m sorry, I-I-I don’t know-”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he interrupted, swiftly dropping to his knees. Your heart jumped up into your throat as you felt him move down between your legs, his hands gentle as they caressed your calves. The unexpected touch sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped as he moved himself closer, his hips pressing against yours. Matt nearly came in his pants as he watched your own hips press back against his instinctively, a sight he thought he would never see. He watched with a lazy gaze, his jaw slack as your hips molded against his perfectly, like you were made just for him. One of his hands reached up, grasping at the comforter on the bed in a desperate attempt to maintain his composure. “You want me to help you get out, princess?” he taunted, his other hand moving to gently grasp your waist.

You squirmed beneath his touch, unfamiliar with this side of him, though you weren’t complaining. His words made your head feel fuzzy, like tv static. Swallowing your nerves, you let another soft whine escape your throat. You knew it was wrong, allowing this to happen instead of fighting it after the way he had treated you for years. Still, you couldn’t ignore the ache between your legs as he touched you like you were made of glass, as if the slightest bit of force would shatter you. After years of getting the cold shoulder and nothing but passive aggressive comments, you had never expected that he would be so gentle. You whimpered at the sound of him chuckling, his fingers toying with the towel wrapped around you. “Oh no…you don’t want help getting out, do you?” he sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he moved his hips back, amused at the sight of your hips following, desperate to stay connected. “You like it, huh? Being at my mercy, stuck right here just for me,” he continued. “Like the universe wanted this. Wanted me to find you and ruin you,” he growled. His humiliating words made your face flush with a deep blush. “Come on, doll. You know I need to hear you,” he mumbled.

An embarrassed whine spilled from your lips. “Y-Yes, I-I like it.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear him inhale deeply at your confession. His hands slid gently over your lower back, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck, ‘s like you knew I was beatin’ my dick, thinkin’ ‘bout you in that tiny fuckin’ swimsuit,” Matt grunted softly. His words hit you like a semi-truck, completely blindsided by his suppressed feelings, but you had little time to process before he started again. “Fuck, you looked so fuckin’ pretty in that swimsuit, darlin’. Got my dick so fuckin’ hard just seeing your tits stuffed into that itty bitty top. Such a naughty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ me all riled up in front of my brothers.”

His words were filthy, his tone dark and hungry with lust. His eyes flickered down, the blood rushing right to his cock as he watched your thighs press together tightly. His firm hands slid over the curve of your ass, the towel still hiding your body from him. A voice in the back of his head screamed for him to tear it away from you, to leave you completely bare and at his mercy. Despite the burning desire inside of him, craving to feel you and see you at your most vulnerable, he knew he was already riding a very fair line. The last thing he wanted at this moment was to overstep the boundaries he was already inching closer and closer to. “What‘re you tryin’ to hide there?” he cooed devilishly, testing the waters as he slowly slipped his hand beneath your towel, his fingers softly grazing your inner thigh. “You don’t gotta hide from me, little one.”

He didn’t move further than that, his thumb rubbing circles into your inner thigh. Your knees wobbled, the tightness in your clenched thighs growing weaker and weaker. He could feel the trembling in your legs, and yet he didn’t react. It made you feel dizzy how your desperate state seemed to have no effect on him. You whined, your eyes glossing over with frustrated tears as you ached for him, your arousal slipping down your thighs.

He watched intently, a primal desire burning deep within him. He knew what he wanted, and he was more than ready to take it, but he needed to know that you wanted it too. He needed to know that it was mutual, that he wasn’t crazy for thinking that you could crave him in the same way he had craved you all of these years. He had to know that you desired him, that you wanted him, that you needed him. You had to need him. You had to crave him.

His mouth went dry as you arched your back ever so slightly, your hips pressing back against nothing as you made a blind attempt to feel him. A defeated mewl from you made his heart swell, his cock straining against the fabric of his pyjama pants, begging to be set free from its cotton confinements. His lips parted, letting out a shaky exhale. He was ready to stop, afraid that he was pushing you too far, though that line had been crossed the moment he knelt down between your thighs. ‘She’s helpless, I’m taking advantage of her, what was I fucking thinking?’ Just as he started to retract his hand, he heard the soft, pleading whine that was trapped from beneath the bed frame. It was unintelligible what you had said, and yet it still managed to make his body flood with warmth. He stilled his movements entirely, unsure if he had heard you correctly. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He couldn’t have made that up…

“Say that again for me, baby. I didn’t quite catch that,” he instructed.

You couldn’t deny it any longer. The desire was too overwhelming to push aside. “M-More, f-fuck please…m-more.”

Silence followed, making you uneasy with anticipation. His hand remained between your thighs, but you ached to feel more of him. “You know, I was supposed to be working.” Your body trembled as his fingers inched further up your thigh. “How am I supposed to get anything done with you around, hm? How am I supposed to focus? You weren’t even in the house and I still couldn’t think about anything but you,” he growled lowly. His fingers grasped the hem of the towel and he pushed it up past your thighs, his eyes darkening as he finally caught a glimpse of what he had longed to see for so long. Matt leaned down; he needed to get a better look. He needed the image to be burned into his brain. He needed to see it when he closed his eyes. His hands grasped the back of your thighs, spreading them with a gentle firmness; he didn’t want to hurt you or push you further than you wanted, but like an animal stalking its prey, he wanted to take his time. Matt didn’t want to scare you off, he didn’t want you to run away. He wanted to feel you surrender to him, letting him tear you apart, letting him devour you until you were nothing. “You’re a sight, darlin’. Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire as he watched your desire drool from your folds. “Beg me.”

Your body tensed at his demand, your stomach twisting into knots. He was teasing you and it was making your brain melt. “M-Matt, p-please,” you mewled weakly.

“Please what?”

“M-More-” you choked out.

“Come on now, you can do better than that, little bunny.” The nickname was unexpected, but the whine that it drew from you was enough encouragement for him to continue. He chuckled as your thighs filled his palms, your hips desperately pressing back once again, eager to feel anything more from him. Matt licked his lips, the creamy desire between your legs begging for him to have a taste, your pussy tempting him like a ripened peach on a warm summer afternoon, teeth penetrating the ample fruit, sweet juices slipping down his chin carelessly. “Go on, baby, try again,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning over your heat.

It was like he had flipped a switch in your brain, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. Your body reacted to every touch, his cold fingertips contrasting with the heat that surfaced your skin. Your lips parted to speak, desperate to tell him exactly how you needed him, everything that you craved from him; But nothing came out. You squirmed around in a pathetic attempt to free yourself just enough to close the space between you. “Oh, my dumb little bunny. Trying to run away already?” He teased, moving one of his hands up your thigh, thumbing slowly at your folds. “Before I’ve even gotten to taste you?”

Your knees felt weak as his thumb circled your clit, his strokes gut-wrenchingly slow. “Nowhere for you to run, bunny. You’re all mine.” It amused him, the way you attempted to grind your hips to feel just a little more friction from him. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until I’m done with this pretty little pussy.”

“Y-Yours,” you squeaked out. You wanted to say so much more, but that was enough for him. A satisfied smirk curled at his lips. He had you exactly where he wanted you. Years of him dreaming and fantasizing of having you all to himself, thinking that would be the furthest he would ever get with you…years spent daydreaming and envisioning every possible scenario with you...it had all paid off. This wasn’t a dream; this wasn’t his imagination. You were here with him. You were exposed for him, begging for him, giving yourself to him.

“You learn fast, don’t you? That’s my girl. Maybe you’re not so dumb after all,” Matt mumbled, burying himself between your plush thighs. His thumb slipped away from your clit and down between your slick folds, a chuckle eliciting from the back of his throat. He loved the sounds you made in response to his touch, and he never wanted it to end. If he could tie you down and lay with you, toying with you all day long just to hear your beautiful cries and prayers, he would do it in a heartbeat. He groaned softly, your arousal coating his fingers as he slipped them between your folds, spreading them apart. “God I can’t wait to watch you fall apart on my cock.”

In an instant, he closed the space between you, his tongue tentatively swiping over your dripping folds. You let out a soft cry at the contact, resting your cheek against the cool wooden floor. Pride rushed through him at the rewarding sound. He hummed at the taste of you on his tongue, a sweetness had never indulged in before now drowning his taste buds. A growl grew at the back of his throat as your hips pressed back pathetically and he tightened his grasp on the back of your thighs, holding you in place. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You dug your nails into the crevices in the wood floor, biting down on your bottom lip to contain your desperate pleas for more. You had never felt more sexually frustrated in your life. Sure you had sex in the past, but it had always been lousy and sloppy.

It had also always been planned. Expected. Predictable. And this was anything but.

“I can play nice with you, little bunny,” he taunted, his tongue tracing your creamy folds with patience. He planted a gentle kiss to your clit, his pride only increasing at the sound of your breath catching in your throat. “And I want to play nice with you. Make you feel good,” he continued, his breath hot against your heat. “But if you’re not gonna behave, I’m gonna have to play dirty,” he smirked, flicking his tongue over your clit, just barely enough to stimulate you. You choked out a whine and clawed at the floor as you tried your hardest to contain your desires. Using every last ounce of your self control to not grind your hips back, to not fuck yourself on his tongue. “You don’t want me to play dirty, baby. I’ll keep you here all night, just like this. For hours and hours and hours,” he continued to taunt, his tone raspy but controlled as he continued to speak slowly. He let his fingers replace his tongue for a moment, spreading your folds to admire the way your arousal drooled from your entrance. “I’ll keep you here and use this pretty pussy until I can’t fill it any more. Even when you’re so full, and my cum is oozing outta you-“ he paused, painting the visual out in his head. He didn’t think it was possible for his dick to get harder than it already was, but the image of you, defeated and squirming, knees wobbling, barely able to hold yourself up as his cum spilled out of you; It was all more than enough to make his cock stiffen even more. “I’ll keep you here just to watch you. There’s no escaping from me, little one. Now, are you going to behave?”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his finger slipping through your drenched folds, circling your entrance slowly. “Y-Yes,” you breathed out. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave-“

That was all it took for him to plunge his finger into your dripping heat. Surprisingly, he was the one to let out a groan. “So fuckin’ tight. Fuck, I knew you’d be tight-“ he grunted. In a slow motion, he retracted his digit from your entrance, watching with a predatory glare in his eyes as the light reflected from the arousal that coated his finger. A string of your wetness was all that connected his finger with your pussy, even as he brought his finger to his lips, licking it clean. “You ever been touched like this before?”

“Y-Yes,” you choked out. It wasn’t a lie, you had been touched like this before, but never in the same way he was doing it. The men you had been with were careless, rough, impatient, needy. Matt was the opposite. Despite knowing his brothers could come back from their relaxing day out on the lake at any moment, he was patient. He was slow, attentive to every sound and movement you made. He was gentle, his focus solely on making sure you were enjoying it, especially under the circumstances you were in.

Well, at least until he heard you say that.

“Really?” He tested. “Enlighten me, baby. Who else made you feel this good?”

You swallowed. Suddenly you felt nervous...shy...embarrassed. Nobody had ever made you feel this good before, not even close. But the last thing you wanted to do was feed his ego even more than it already was. He spent the last six years making you feel like shit, and now here he was between your legs, his fingers tracing softly over your clit again in gut-wrenchingly slow circles. You didn’t even need to see him to know he had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face right now, knowing that you were trapped, helpless, and enjoying it. “F-Fuck you,” you growled under your breath, biting at your lip as his fingers slipped between your slick folds again.

“Yeah? You might if you watch that pretty mouth of yours.” He watched intently as his fingers disappeared inside of you. “I asked you a question. Who else made you feel this good?” He asked again, his voice deep and demanding, a hint of a threat in his tone. You squirmed around, jaw going slack as his fingers sunk deeper into you. His free hand came down harshly onto your ass, eliciting a soft squeak from you in surprise. “One more chance, baby.”

“N-No one,” you huffed in defeat, though your tone changed almost instantly as he started pumping his fingers at a steady pace. “Just you.”

“So smart,” Matt praised. “Say my name this time, sweet girl. Who makes you feel this good?” Sweat glistened on his brow. His lips pursed, a breath of cold air over your sensitive bud making your thighs clench together. The sight pulled an amused sound from deep in his chest. “Try again.” He leaned in again, flicking his tongue over your clit in slow, controlled strokes.

“F-Fuck, please Matt! Y-You, Matt! Only you! Please just-” you blabbered, frustrated tears glistening in your eyes. “Do something! P-Please! Do anything!” You pleaded.

“...Anything?” He smirked, kissing your soaked heat. “Any ideas in mind, little one?”

Matt pulled down the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, allowing his painfully erect cock to spring free. His free hand quickly wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking his shaft a few times as he watched his fingers plunge deep inside of your pussy. He licked his lips, still tasting you on this tongue. “Words, little bunny. Use your words,” he rasped. Matt almost wanted you to kick him, to knock him out of this fantasy, because there was no possible way that this was real life. He had spent years dreaming of you beneath him, years full of yearning desires, years of hormonal frustration. And now here you are. All for him.

Still kneeled between your legs, Matt straightened himself up, his fingers slipping out of your cunt and leaving you feeling empty and desperate. He brought his hand down roughly onto your ass, a sharp smack ringing in the air from the contact. “Naughty little thing. Oh you’re gonna fit around my dick so nice, baby.” Matt held his cock sturdy in his grasp, rubbing his tip over your slick folds. “This what you wanted, baby?” he cooed, his free hand resting on your waist.

The only thing you could get out was a pathetic whine. You wanted him, that was no secret, especially now. You had no way of hiding your arousal towards him, the excitement you felt as he slapped the tip of his cock against your sticky entrance. What you would’ve given to free yourself from under the bed so that you could roll over and watch him; Watching his dick glide between your dripping heat with ease, watching his face scrunch up as he thrusts into you for the first time. You lifted your head off of the cool wooden floor, wincing as you accidentally bump it against one of the planks above you.

Matt chuckled softly. “Easy, little one. Y’know ‘m not gonna hurt you,” he hummed. He slapped his tip against your entrance again, groaning under his breath. “Come on now, princess. Need you to tell me what you want.”

He patiently waited for a response from you. He honestly didn’t mind, he quite enjoyed teasing you for as long as he could. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth as the tip of his cock leaked with precum. He thrusted his hips slowly, his shaft gliding against your heat, your arousal combining with his. “M-Matt,” You whimpered, nails clawing at the floorboards once again. Your voice cracked, catching his attention almost immediately. “Please just…f-fuck me.”

With those words, you opened the gates of heaven for him. Allowing him to have access to you, giving him the greenlight to take you right then and there. He surely didn’t need you to tell him again, though he loved the way it sounded rolling off of your tongue. Matt gave his cock a few quick strokes before positioning his tip at your gleaming entrance. His other hand remained glued to your waist, keeping you both steady as he eased himself inside of you.

Your lips parted at the delicious feeling of his cock stretching you out. You could hear him hiss in response to your walls clenching around his shaft, but you had very little time to feel smug. Matt lost every single care in the world that he had, moaning loudly as he bottomed out. He didn’t move for a couple moments. You could feel his hands roaming over the plush of your ass and thighs, but his cock stilled inside of you.

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed. He didn’t dare move a muscle. He had never been so intoxicated by a girl’s pussy in his life. The way you squeezed around him…Hell, if he sat here long enough he could cum just from that alone. It was an addictive feeling, he wanted more even if it killed him. He never wanted it to be over. “Atta girl, look at you taking my dick so well,” Matt grunted, letting his hips finally move, his dick slowly retracting from inside of you.

You couldn’t bear it any longer, you needed him. He couldn’t leave you hanging again. Your hips followed his, sinking back down onto his cock. Matt watched in awe, his jaw going slack as you did just that. His mind went fuzzy as he watched your hips rock back and forth, working yourself on his cock desperately, coating his shaft in your creamy arousal. “That’s it, baby. Been such a good little thing for me, haven’t you?” His voice was thick with lust. He snapped out of his trance and used his hands to help guide your hips, another whorish groan escaping him.

You whined in response; It was all you could manage to get out. Your mind was cloudy as his dick filled you more than you had ever felt before. His strong hands groped at your ample ass, pushing you back down onto his cock, his balls snug against your heat. He groaned again, though it was followed by a deep chuckle. “My sweet little bunny. I told you there was nowhere to run,” he smirked, holding your hips in place as his hips rocked backwards, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remained buried in your heat. “I knew I could break that pretty little brain, princess. It’s not easy, huh? It’s so hard to think isn’t it?” Matt mumbled, his hips snapping forward to drive his dick back inside of you. It resulted in a cry falling from your lips, your pussy squeezing around him once more. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do all that hard thinking for you. You just turn that pretty little head off, okay?”

His hips snapped forward again, resulting in another moan slipping from your lips. The sound was like a drug to him, he wanted it injected into his veins. “Feels so good, baby. ‘S like your pussy was made just for me,'' Matt grunted, his hips moving back again. He listened to your pathetic sounds as he pulled out, his hand stroking his cock slowly. He rubbed his tip against your folds, watching as you sunk back down onto him, his tip easing back inside of you, followed by the rest of him. His eyebrows knitted together, a low groan escaping him. He brought his hand down, striking your ass again, leaving a sharp smacking sound ringing in the air. “Impatient little brat,” he hummed, giving the other cheek the same attention. Your fingernails tore at the wooden floor, your body flinching at the impact from his hand. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop moving your hips, loving the way he stretched you full with each stroke.

Matt loved it, watching the way you fucked yourself on his dick; He didn’t even have to move. Amused by your desperation, he cocked his head a little and continued to watch your little performance. Your milky arousal now coating his shaft, his abdomen slick with your juices as you wiggle your hips each time you sink back onto him, desperate to feel more. He groaned as your walls clenched, his dick twitching at the delicious feeling. “Pretty little thing, fuckin’ yourself on my cock…God, I jus’ wanna ruin you…Wanna fuck you so hard, you can’t walk…” His filthy thoughts, now verbally spilling from his mouth like a waterfall. “Wanna make you cum all over my cock, baby. Fuck, jus’ wanna make your pretty little pussy feel good. Only me, nobody else. Wanna put my babies right in your tummy,” he growled, his hand slipping down the side of your waist, his palm pressing against your abdomen. “Gonna put my babies right here. Fuck, I jus’ know you’d make the prettiest little angels. Nobody else's, just mine. All mine.”

He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He had never felt this burning urge in him the previous times he had sex. Something in him awakened, it made his stomach knot up. He panted softly, finally giving into his temptations as he started to thrust in time with your hips, hissing as his dick buried itself impossibly deeper inside of you. “You’d make such a good little mommy, wouldn’t you? So pretty, and soft, and nice…” Matt groaned, letting his hips find a steady pace. A ring of creamy white encircled the base of his shaft, trickling down to his balls with each thrust. The room echoed with the sticky sound of his cock slipping in and out of your tight walls.

You could hardly process the things he was saying. Every word, dirtier than the last. It became increasingly harder to think, or to respond…all you could focus on was the euphoric feeling coursing through your veins. You gasped softly as his hand slipped down from your abdomen, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud in quick circles. You squirmed at the feeling, knees beginning to wobble once again. “It’s what you were made for, right? My little bunny…you were made to have my babies,” he growled. He picked up his pace, his thrusts remaining relentless. A string of unintelligible vowels fell from your lips as he pounded into you. The contrast between his rough thrusts and his gentle fingers circling your clit was blissful. “Tell me what you want, princess.”

Your lips parted to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. All you could think about was how he felt inside of you, how he made you feel with his gentle touches and his filthy words. He chuckled, the sound making your thighs tremble. “Dumb little thing. Come on now, you know I can’t read your mind, baby…Not that there’s much goin’ on in there right now anyways.”

A loud moan slips from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds you were making. Matt’s eyes darkened, leaning over until his body was pressed to yours as close as he could possibly get. He reached his free hand under the bed, grasping at your arm. It didn’t take much effort for him to pin your arm behind your back. He kept his thrusts steady, burying his cock in you with each thrust. “Uh uh, I wanna hear every little sound you make. Every whimper and squeak that I fuck outta you,” he huffed. “Naughty fuckin’ brat, tryin’ to hide how bad you want your pussy to be used. I see right through you, little one.” His fingers rubbed at your clit faster, a smirk plastered on his face as you began to fall apart beneath him.

“P-Please…c-c-cum-” you managed to sputter out. He licked his lips, his throat going dry. “C-Cumming-” you gasped, your hips spasming as he refused to slow his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Warmth pooled in your tummy, your heart pounded against your chest, your teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your bottom lip.

“Did I say you could?” Matt teased, stopping his fingers abruptly. With a gentle firmness, Matt slapped your clit a few times, rewarding him with the sound of your desperate cries and the feeling of you squeezing around him again. “You’ve been so fuckin’ naughty, I have half a mind to leave you like this,” he growled. “Gettin’ me bricked up every fuckin’ day, bending over in those little tennis skirts, your nipples pokin’ through your shirt, biting your lip- Fuck... every time you bite your lip I wanna grab you by your fuckin’ hair an’ bite it myself.” Matt could feel his own orgasm building up. Any girl he had been with could tell you that he would start to ramble the closer he got to his release, but never like this. “Had to throw out all the fuckin’ popsicles b’cause of you, suckin' on 'em right in front of me. D’you know how many times I had to go jerk off in my room b’cause of you? How many fuckin’ times you joined our party on the game, and I’d die just so I could mute myself and beat my dick to your pretty little fuckin’ sounds. Oh god, baby… Jesus fuck, you’re a fuckin’ minx. You don’t fuckin’ deserve to cum after the fuckin’ hell you put me through,” he growled. “But fuck…I wanna feel your little pussy tighten around my cock while you cum. F-Fuck, I want you to cum, baby.” His fingers collected the juices puddling at the base of his shaft before he reached his arm back around your torso, rubbing at your clit once again.

“Mmmph, M-Matt,” you mewled out, your head resting against the wooden floor. “P-Please, s-so close-”

“Don’t think, baby. I know it feels good, I know you wanna cum,” Matt panted, picking up his pace as he began to thrust faster, grunting softly as his hips collided with yours. “You're gonna be a good girl and let me put a baby in your tummy, isn’t that right?” Matt whispered, his tone hoarse and gruff. He continued to circle his fingers at your sensitive clit. He knew you wouldn’t last much longer, what between your desperate pleas and your trembling thighs, it was obvious that you were close to your release. “That’s what little bunnies do best, hmm? Making pretty little babies?” He gave your ass a firm squeeze, thrusting his hips even faster.

You squirmed again beneath him, moans spilling out of your mouth. His thrusts were rough, his hands groping and touching you possessively. You couldn’t help it anymore. Your head felt like it was spinning, your entire body flooding with warmth. “F-Fuck, I-I-I-” you stammered. He moved his hand back to your waist, holding you in place firmly. His fingers rubbed at your clit faster to bring you to your release. “C-Cumming, f-fuck Matt!”

His fingers dug into your waist, your words only encouraging him to keep going, despite the ache he was feeling in his knees from them boring into the wooden floorboards. Matt rested his head against the edge of the mattress, the sweat forming on his brow seeping into the silk sheets on the bed. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock. Did so fuckin’ good for me,” Matt groaned, his hips bucking forward with the desperate need to bring them both to their release. “F-Fuck, please cum on my cock. Please, please, please…Need to feel you, n-need it so bad, baby.”

In an instant, your muscles began to tense, a hoarse cry erupting from you. Your legs wobbled and shook as your orgasm washed over you, finishing with him buried deep inside of you. Matt panted, rubbing your sensitive cunt with slow gentle strokes to ride you through your high. “Atta girl, that’s it. Oh fuck-” he groaned, pumping his cock in and out of you with quick, sloppy thrusts. “God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect. Cummin’ all over my dick, makin’ such a fuckin’ mess. F-Fuck...you’re drippin’ everywhere, baby. S-So fuckin’ messy-” he rambled, grunting with every rut of his hips. His fingers slipped away from your pussy, and he brought them to his lips, sucking your release off of his fingers. He moaned at the taste, bringing his other hand to your waist as well. “Just another minute, baby- f-fuck, ‘m so close. Doing so fuckin’ good. Squeezin’ my cock nice and tight- God you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

With your sweaty forehead pressed against the cold floor, you forced your hips to stay up, not letting your knees give out just yet. You weren’t about to look weak in front of him. You just hoped his thrusts wouldn’t get any rougher, because you were only one wrong thrust away from collapsing completely.

It didn’t take long for Matt to reach his orgasm, his sloppy thrusts slowing almost to a complete stop. His stomach tightened as he bucked his hips forward roughly, groaning loudly and repeating the action. It only took a few rough quick thrusts before he pulled your hips back, forcing your bodies together as close as physically possible. Heavy breaths passed his lips, along with numerous deep moans. His cock throbbed, waves of pleasure hitting him like a tsunami as his cum pumped deep inside of you. The warmth of your pussy still snug around his shaft, along with his hot cum that was beginning to ooze from your entrance where he was still buried inside of you, it made him weak in the knees. An aftershock hit him like a jolt of electricity, his hips rutting forward. “S-So fuckin’ good,” he whimpered.

He could’ve stayed like that forever; Buried inside of you, watching a mix of his seed and your own release leaking down his shaft. He could’ve gone again, there was no doubt in his mind. He slowly and reluctantly pulled out, his hand grasping the base of his cock. He stroked his shaft, watching with a possessive, predatory gaze as his sticky white cum oozed from your entrance, slipping through your folds and over your clit before dripping onto the floor, pooling between your knees. He wanted nothing more than to bury his dick back inside of you and fuck you until he drained every last drop of cum inside of you, until he was shooting blanks and had nothing left to give. But he knew that if his knees were killing him right now, you were probably in a much more uncomfortable state. He cursed softly under his breath, tucking his cock back into his pants. Matt looked over at the nightstand, grabbing a box of tissues and pulling a few of them from the box, gently wiping the mess from between your legs. He wasn’t worried about the mess on the floor, he would clean it up after. Right now, he had bigger priorities.

He frowned a little as he saw your legs wobbling again. He took another handful of tissues, gently cleaning you up before tending to the puddle between your knees. Once all of his mess was taken care of, Matt tossed the box of tissues to the side, throwing the wad of used ones into the nearby trash bin. You squirmed, attempting to push yourself out from under the bed. You winced as you heard the sound of the towel ripping.

“Careful- hold on, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Matt mumbled softly as he reached under the bed frame, unhooking your towel from the nail it had gotten caught on. He pulled the hem of the towel back down to cover your upper thighs, his touch lingering slightly. You breathed a sigh of relief. Lowering your body to the ground, you did your best to keep your breathing controlled and steady. Although you wanted to just lay there for a few moments, Matt had other plans. He used all of his strength to carefully lift the bed frame, just barely off of the ground. “Come on, let’s get you out of there,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. He shifted the weight of the bed frame into one hand, using his other to gently guide you out from where you had been stuck previously.

You didn’t want to look at him. Your stomach twisted into knots as you re-lived what just happened. Matt could tell that something was wrong, that you were avoiding his gaze for a reason, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. His brow furrowed. “Is your head okay?”

You finally looked into his eyes, reading the sincerity in them. “What?” you scoffed.

Matt frowned a little at your tone, but he recovered quickly. “Your head…you bumped it kinda hard when you were under there. I just wanted to know if it still hurt-“

“My head is fine.”

“Oh…okay.”

Why is he still here? Does he need an invitation to leave? You looked at him once again, and suddenly a wave of guilt washed over you. What you had done with him was wrong. He was nothing but rude to you for years, and you willingly gave him access to you and your body. You could have cursed him out, you could have fought back or screamed at him to leave the room, you could’ve asked him to help you get out, but you didn’t. “Why, Matt?” you breathed out in a defeated tone. “Why?”

He looked at you with a confused look across his face. With a furrowed brow, Matt shook his head slightly. “Wh-What are you talking about? Why what?” He moved a little closer to you, reaching out to brush your hair out of your face.

You dodge his hand, scooting back. “You know what, Matt,” you bark back. “You’ve hated me since I first came around, you glare at me and say hurtful things. You ignore me when I’m around unless you can find a way to let everyone know just how much you hate me. You refuse to do things with your brothers if I’m involved at all-“ you stopped, feeling your voice getting caught in your throat.

Matt’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, woah! Hate? This is news to me,” he interrupted, shaking his head again in disbelief. “I’ve never hated you, where the hell did you pull that one from?”

“Are you serious?! You interrupt me, you’re passive aggressive, you refuse to look at me or interact with me in any other circumstances, you avoid me like I’m the fucking plague, you blame me for not being able to get work done-“

Matt stayed quiet. He reached out to lift your chin. When you tried to look away again, he gently cupped your face in his hands. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked with a heavy heart. As soon as you opened your eyes to look at him, he felt like he had just been shot in the chest. “I never hated you, pretty girl. Never ever,” he whispered soothingly, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away a tear as it rolled down the curve of your cheek.

You blinked back your tears, disgusted with the idea of looking weak in front of him. “Then why were you like that? Why did you avoid me? Why would you act like that?” You demanded an answer, one that made sense, one that didn’t make you feel sick to your stomach anymore.

“I-I…” he started, afraid to tell you the truth after keeping it buried for so long. But as he saw the way your eyes glazed over, the way your lip quivered and your body trembled, he knew he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection. “I know how I acted was childish-“

“You think?!”

Matt sighed, though the tight feeling in his chest didn’t go away. “Just listen-“

“No, you listen. I’ve been nothing but nice to you, Matt. I’ve never made a nasty remark, I’ve never glared or scowled at you, I’ve never said anything bad about you. I’ve always greeted you, I’ve always been friendly-“

“And I can’t stand it-“ Matt interrupted you, moving his face closer to yours. He looked deep into your eyes, holding your face delicately in his palms. “I can’t stand how fucking nice you are and how perfect you are. I can’t stand how beautiful you look every goddamn day. I can’t stand it because I want it all for myself,” he admits, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m so fucking selfish, I want you all to myself. I don’t wanna fucking share with my brothers or our friends-“

“That’s such bullshit, Matt,” you scoffed.

“I’m being for real,” he insisted, his eyes pleading for you to hear him out. “I thought if I…if I didn’t interact with you that maybe…it would all just go away. I thought…” he paused, instantly re-living every moment he had been a dick to you. The way your light would dim, the way your smile would fall and your eyes would lose their natural sparkle. The way you would go quiet and shrink back until you were overlooked, ignored, invisible. “I thought…how could a girl like you ever like someone like me…”

You stayed quiet. You weren’t really sure what to say in response to that. A moment of silence passed, and when you came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to say anything else, you took it as an opening to speak. “You expect me to believe that bullshit sob story?” You growl at him.

Matt didn’t know how to convince you. He had spent the last six years making you feel like shit, all in an unsuccessful attempt to shield his heart. “I wish I could take it back,” he spoke softly, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek in slow smooth strokes. “I wish I could do it all over again. I-I just…I would see the way you were with Chris-” he stopped for a moment as images of you and his brother rushed through his mind like an avalanche. He looked down, avoiding your gaze all together. “I wanted it to be me…but it wasn’t. And I hated that it wasn’t.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Chris was right, you really do think you’re starring in some crazy ass Netflix Original.”

Your words stung, his eyes were full of desperation and pain, something you had never seen from him before. “You’re not listening to me,” he stated, his eyes glossing over with tears. “I’ve wanted to do that for years-”

“You’ve wanted to fuck me for years?” You scoff. “How endearing.”

“What- No! I-I mean yes, but-” He stammered, running his fingers through his messy hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I’ve wanted to be with you for years…It wasn’t just about sex, I’ve wanted you since the minute I saw you,” he continued, moving closer to you again.

“You never said anything,” you whispered, positive that if you spoke any louder your voice would waiver. “How was I supposed to know any of this? How do I even know it’s true, Matt? How do I know you’re not just fucking with my head to get whatever the fuck you want?”

Matt leaned against the side of the bed, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. He was quiet for a long moment. He swallowed anxiously. “Brown corduroy pants and a green knit sweater.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“That’s what you were wearing the first time I saw you,” he said, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I remember thinking…’God, that sweater is so fucking ugly’,” Matt relayed, a soft chuckle following close after. “It was like you heard me say that in my head, because you looked over at me and I thought my heart stopped beating…”

Your facial expression softened upon hearing the moment from his perspective. It was all so different from how you remembered it.

“Chris! Get back here and help!”

You and Matt shared a panicked look at the muffled shouting coming from outside. You winced as you stood up, legs aching as you walked over to the window and looked out into the backyard. Your eyes landed on Chris, and your movement must have caught his eye as he looked up to your window, a smile growing on his face. “Hey! We’re gonna have a cookout tonight! Come outside!”

“Chris, quit yelling! We have neighbors!” Nick shouted.

You turned around, your heart racing as your eyes locked with Matt’s again. He looked up at you, his lips parted slightly. “I’ll leave-” Matt whispered, grabbing the bedpost as he hoisted himself up, being sure not to be in view of the window. “You uh…” he trailed off, running his fingers through his messy hair.

Your brow furrowed, looking at him in confusion. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head in response. “You just…You look pretty,” Matt said, his eyes avoiding yours as he left the room in a hurry. The sound of his footsteps began to fade as he made his way down the hallway, the stairs creaking under his feet. You stared at the door, almost expecting him to come back, to say more, but he didn’t.

You rushed to change into something comfortable. You decided on a pair of sweatpants and a simple tube top before you quickly made your way out to the backyard. As you stood at the back door, you saw Matt and Nick setting up some lawn chairs around the stone firepit, already bickering about something stupid, you were sure. Chris chucked a couple of logs into the firepit, spraying some lighter fluid into the pit before lighting a match and tossing it in. The contents in the pit lit up with flames almost instantly, a cheeky smile forming on Chris’s face as he opened the bottle of lighter fluid again. Nick shouted, snatching the bottle away from his brother immediately. You laughed softly, reading his lips as he shouted ‘are you fucking stupid?!’ at Chris.

Matt laughed under his breath, looking over his shoulder for a moment. As his eyes locked with yours, you tensed up, your breath catching in your throat. You were pleasantly surprised when he smiled, a bashful redness burning in his cheeks. He looked away from you quickly, but you could still see the smile on his face.

You stepped out onto the back porch, greeting the boys’ neighbors as they started the grill up. You shared a few moments of small talk with them before heading down the porch steps, shuffling over to the boys by the firepit. Chris smiled at you, pulling you into a bear hug. You laughed, hugging him back. Matt watched, his smile faltering a little as he looked down, focusing instead on tossing handfuls of pine needles into the fire, fueling the large flames as they engulfed the debris in the confines of the stone pit.

Nick had noticed the strange behavior on Matt’s part, and he had been suspicious from the moment Matt happily emerged from the house, smiling and offering to help his brothers. But Nick’s suspicions only grew upon seeing you. He stood up, wiping the dirt from his hands onto his swim trunks. “Hey, feeling a little better?” Nick asked you.

You smiled, nodding your head. “Yeah.”

“Shower pressure’s pretty nice for an older house,” Chris chuckled.

“Yeah…It was nice, for sure,” you laughed as well, going along with Chris’s statement.

Nick raised an eyebrow at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nodded again.

Nick started to walk towards the house, stopping as he stood beside you, leaning down so that his lips were only inches away from your ear. “Your hair is dry,” he stated before walking towards the porch steps.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: Oh my, what is going to happen in part 2?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: @flowerxbunnie @megamett44-lover @xtravrgnoliveoil @mattsturnswife @sturniolofan4lifee @oversturn @soursturniolo @sturnioz @luverboychris @meerkatzthings @soupuurr @gemofthenight @sturnsforlife @hi-7-hi @blahbel668 @mattspleasure @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @sturniolosreads @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @matthemunch44 @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chriss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @meg-sturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @ghostlythinggoingaround @taekwite @querenciasturniolo @whicked-hazlatwhore @m4ttslvr @mqttittude @bewtyschooldropout @lovelybrokenheal @h3arts4harry @riowritesitall @freshloveforthefit @esioleren @colorthecosmos444 @mbbsgf @kitkatbar1275

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ltleflrt · 8 months ago

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Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol

So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.

So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.

Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.

I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.

In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.

(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)

I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.

Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.

This post is for them.

Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."

Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.

Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.

Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.

And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.

AND:

This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.

You're valid. You're one of us too.

And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)

#ltleramblings #queer stuff #seriously the fandom fights are so exhausting #thank goodness for the block button #asexuality

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themeraldee · 3 months ago

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The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution.

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero.

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis.

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn?

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you. But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions.

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander.

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart.

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.”

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead.

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy.

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.”

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed.

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke.

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking.

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.”

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—”

He continues nonetheless.

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this.

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs.

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal!

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat.

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone.

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate.

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying.

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive.

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream.

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?”

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.”

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you.

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on.

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him.

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low.

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place.

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included.

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly.

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?”

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face.

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you.

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness?

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area.

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?”

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?”

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs.

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks.

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy.

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help.

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit.

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze.

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration.

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs.

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents.

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.”

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you?

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself.

“Is there anything you don't have?”

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.”

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you.

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice.

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back.

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push.

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat.

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself.

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well.

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach.

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric.

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed.

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.”

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.”

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore.

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

#ahhhhhh it's done #I'm so pleased with myself for finishing this #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction

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