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tinyarsonist · 4 months

Text

Volume: Down

"If you don't keep it down, the kids will hear you."

Summary: You and your group finally debut! After a heart breaking accident, leaving you feeling less than you've ever felt Chan shows a side to you that leaves you wanting more.

Rating: M, TW under cut

Pairing: BC x Reader, FWB -> friends -> lovers

Italics are in Korean. Bold is in Spanish. Rest in English.

Volume Series: Part One | Part Two | ?

MDNI, 18+ Only

TW: idol!Chan, IdolTrainee!Y/N(fem!), No use of 'Y/N', slight angst, mentions of drinks, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it up), smut in general, dirty talk, cunnilingus, swearing, mentions of masturbation, semi-public sex, fellatio, insemination, PleasureDom!Chan, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 13k

Est Reading Time: 40min

“Always so good.”

Chan groaned as he kissed your inner thigh. His hands held you nice and steady for him as his tongue glided over your core. Chan had finished just moments earlier, gracing your skin with his release. But, when he saw on your face that you didn’t come, he wasted no time in cleansing his palate for dessert. Licking up his remains before traveling down south, you tried telling him that it was fine. That you were just distracted but he didn’t let you finish your sentence; “Well, then let me help you relax.”

Your grip tightened on the sheets as you squirmed underneath him. Every time he pulled just slightly away; your hips jutted up to follow him. Craving any form of friction they could get.

It didn’t matter how often the two of you would meet up. Your body responded to every touch he could give. Chan made it his job every time to make sure your mind was just as focused as your body was. And it--he--never disappointed.

You weren’t thinking as your hand reached out slightly towards his black curls. As if he could feel your hesitation, he nipped around your bikini area. “Go ahead, baby. Use me.”

It didn’t take long for you to finish once your hand met the back of his head and did exactly as you were told. Chan had to hold in his smile as you rode out your high, still grinding against his tongue despite all the shaking in your thighs. Ever the gentleman he was, Chan kept you propped up until you finally cooled down. He wiped your essence off his face with the back of his hand. That famous smirk of his never leaving as he crawled next to you in bed and pulled the sheets over the two of you.

You and Chan had this newfound rhythm when it came to your little “rendezvous,” as he liked to call them. Sneaking in and out of his dorm every so often for a quickie followed by some cuddling at the end. You usually slinked out of his arms once his soft snores filled the room, leaving him with that empty feeling in the morning when his alarm went off. Ever since that unfortunate incident with Felix in the kitchen, you kept the shenanigans confined in his room as an unspoken rule. And due to his insomniac schedule, it was easy not bumping into the other members as they're usually already fast asleep. Speaking of sleep--

“You look like you're about to knock out,” you laughed as his arms wrapped around your waist and held you close to his chest.

“Don't tease me,” he grumbled as he squished his face on the top of your head. “Had to give it my all, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” You chuckled and stretched a bit in his hold. You could feel your body shutting down and knew you should start heading out. You had an early day, with training for your debut schedule starting. It was exciting, but definitely nerve-racking. Your company did not tell you when or where your group would make your debut, just that you should be prepared for it. Exciting. Not exactly helpful, but exciting nonetheless! “I should get going soon.”

Chan heard your words and instantly groaned. He just got you, couldn't he have you for just a little while longer? It felt like most nights without you in his bed were even harder to sleep despite you never being there in the morning. “Okay,” he sighed and pulled back a bit to look down at you. Already planning when he can get you back in these sheets. “You free for next Friday?”

“Can't,” You shook your head. “My schedule is crazy this week with practice, I'll barely be getting enough sleep as is. The Tuesday after?”

“Flying out to Paris for a charity event with the kids on Thursday. Probably will stay a week and a half after that…”

Silence clung between the two of you like his duvet. “So…” you bit your lip. “It'll be almost a month then until either of us are free?”

His eyes locked on yours. The grip on your waist tightened a bit as the realization settled over the both of you—a whole month. Chan does not even think it has been more than 4 days without seeing each other ever since this nonverbal agreement started. “Yea…”

Without a word being said the two of you locked onto one another. Pulling and grabbing at each other like one measly month would undo it all. Trying to satiate your hunger in each other until the next time finally rolled around.

Screw it. You'll just sleep during rehearsal break.

“Shit!” You huff in frustration as you slump to the training room floor. Your group has been practicing non-stop for the debut. Recently getting word that there was a time slot at Inkigayo with your name on it, your team was pushing every fiber of their being into getting this performance right. All of your team's hard work was paying off and showing. Why else would your company invest in such a big debut? Even the meat suits in tuxes could see the team’s worth. You couldn’t have been prouder of your girls.

If only you weren’t the one holding them back.

No matter how much you practiced, you couldn’t stick that tumble during the bridge. Your footing kept slipping as you tried to get back up. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t perfect. One wrong weight shift and you could twist your ankle in the worst way possible. You could already feel the strain on the backside of your tendon.

“Let's take a five,” your youngest waved off the other two girls to grab some snacks before taking a seat next to you. During your time together, the two of you became extremely close and she naturally took the role as your ‘second.’ Becoming the person, you knew you could lean on when things got tough. You were made, and trained, to support your girls, but her? She volunteered to support you. “You okay?”

You nod your head and stretch your foot to help relieve some tension on your ankle. She watches you as you try to brush off her question. “You seem distracted... More tense than usual.”

For some frustrating reason, your body was refusing to release despite your favorite toys coming out of their hiatus to fill in the time without Chan. She would be tense too if she couldn’t orgasm for 2 weeks straight and had another 2 weeks to go.

“I’m fine,” you smile at her. But that little grin of yours didn’t fool her. She gave you a look before leaning her head on your shoulder. Giving some comfort in the only way she knew how. You smile as you lean your head on hers.

“Is it a boy?” She said quietly after some time causing you to stiffen a bit. The rest of the group knew that you and Chan had met during the interview. However, they knew nothing else of that night. Even though it was eating you up on the inside.

If word got out that a soon-to-be-debutee and one of the world’s leading K-pop artist were seeing each other, your group’s image would be ruined. Even if the two of you weren’t together in that way and just used one another to forget the stress of your jobs for the night. That was the downfall to the marketing of the industry. A horrible negative to have the world hear your music—your love life was never your own.

“No,” you fibbed. The younger lifted her head slightly to look at you, not fully believing in your rebuttal, but deciding not to pry any further. The two others returned with a bounty of snacks to last a lifetime. The four of you giggled and chatted as the food was passed around.

“Speech! Speech!” your youngest smiled at you as she held up her soda can in a make-shift toast. Everyone else followed suit. Comradery spreading amongst the four of you. In one week, everything you worked for will be known. Spreading like a wildfire, your music will finally reach those willing to hear. The long years of being broken down will be worth it. The rise you’ve been so desperately craving is finally coming your way.

“Soon, everyone will know our name!”

The dance studio erupted in cheers and laughter. You smile as you look at your three girls, pride racking through you like never before.

Look out world. Ready or not; here you come.

Chan woke up from his bed as he smelled the freshly cooked bacon wafting into his room. A grin spreading from ear to ear as you pushed open the door with your hip, a bed tray filled with homemade cooking spread beautifully was placed across his lap. “Good morning,” you smiled at him as he sat up in bed. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Chan placed the breakfast off his lap and next to him on the bed. The food smelled delicious, but he had something else in mind for his first meal of the day. Before you could even question it, Chan pulled his duvet off from himself and pulled you onto him instead. Your giggles filled his room as one of his hands found the back of your head, pulling you in to plant wet kisses along your neck. His lips then interlock with yours. Bodies molding into one as the sun’s light filtered through his curtains. Finally pulling away, Chan smiled up at you as his hand brushed some falling strands of hair behind your ear.

Seeing you like this, above him and smiling, no thoughts of his day ahead. Just you.

Only you.

Chan’s heart dropped when he finally woke up. It's been 2 weeks since he last saw you. Even in his dreams, he was flooded with visions of you.

Groaning, he turned his alarm off. The back of his head hit his hotel pillow again as he tried to go back to his slumber. Trying anything he could to continue the domestic scene his subconscious created for him. Trying being the keyword. Within a moment of peace, his hotel room door was barged open. Changbin and Jisung happily entered the room, knowing that waking up a sleepy Chan might result in a pillow or two thrown at them. So, as they rounded the hallway corner, they held up a bag of food, and some drinks, as an offering. Hoping to appease the groggy wolf.

“Everything bagel with harvest cream cheese?” Chan glared at them. As they both nodded, Chan sighed and gestured for them to come in. Jisung happily plopped on the bed next to Chan as Changbin laid out the food for the 3 of them.

“Stayed up late?” Changbin asked as he pulled up a chair next to the bed. Chan just nodded, still trying his best to wake up.

Jisung took a massive bite of his bagel, tilting his head as he asked a follow up question. His cheeks full, giving his staple chipmunk-pout; “You okay? You’ve been sleeping less and less these past couple of days.”

“I’m fine,” Chan took a sip of his smoothie. He was trying his best to deal with his insomnia, but it’s doubled ever since their flight into Paris. Most of his nights were spent working on some new tracks, trying to keep his mind distracted. It didn’t help that every waking moment flashes of your rendezvous nights kept playing at the worst timing possible. During dance rehearsal, staff meetings, while on the way to a photoshoot; his body would feel hot every time his brain would remind him of the way your lips would wrap around him. “It's just jet lag is all...”

Changbin and Jisung shared a knowing look. It was a look only life-long friends could partake. A look that knew Chan was bluffing. “Well,” Changbin drew out the word. “we got some good news and bad news for you.”

“Bad news;” Jisung wrapped his arm around Chan’s shoulder before Chan could open his mouth. Knowing he would just complain even more about not getting any sleep. “we leave tonight. Ah, ah—no no don’t you dare!”

Jisung couldn’t contain his laughter as Chan groaned and pulled the duvet back over his head. This was the last thing Chan wanted to hear; just as his sleep schedule was somewhat getting back to normal, he gets to sit in a plane and travel back home. Another recipe for more jetlag. What great fun. Jisung tried to unravel Chan from the cocoon he created, but to no avail.

Changbin watched with a side smirk as Jisung tried his best to wrestle Chan out of bed. “The good news;” Changbin leaned against the chair with his arm crossed. “we were able to get a time slot at Inkigayo later this week.”

“I heard a certain new group would be debuting that same day.”

Chan peeked from under his covers. You would be there?

Of course, the other members knew of you. Poor Felix had to trauma dump to someone after what he witnessed the morning after your first night together. Chan had suffered tremendous teasing for weeks before they all finally cooled down. But, he knew that despite the hell they were putting him through, they would never let word get out about anything.

It would be nice to see you after these past couple of weeks. To root for you on your big day...

“When do we leave?”

Today was the day.

Everything was on the line. You could barely sit in your seat as your stylist finished up on your hair. Your girls were essentially bouncing around the dressing area; adrenaline coursing through them. “Hey,” you laughed as you watched them jump on the couches from the vanity mirror to chase one another. “Save the energy for the stage, ladies.”

“Yes, all mighty leader,” your youngest giggled as she bounded over to you as your stylist left to clean up her equipment. The rest of the girls followed suit, leaning onto one another to squeeze into the mirror’s frame. You placed your arms around them as much as you could, squeezing them in even closer. Giggles filling your ears as you looked at your team's reflection; trying to etch the image in your mind forever. “Hey,” your youngest looked down at your outfit. Her eyebrows scrunched up together as she pinched the fabric around your shoulder. “This looks like its fraying a bit.”

Viewing the fabric through the mirror, you could see the garment starting to undo itself. Muttering a small curse, you looked around. Your stylist had already left. Grabbing a safety pin, you tethered the fraction of the fabric together before exiting out of the dressing room. This was no big deal, you had to keep reminding yourself as your anxiety started to rise. All you had to do was find your stylist so they could sew it back up before your time slot.

Everything will be fine. There was nothing to worry about. Everything will go according to--

You didn’t have time to squeal when you felt a hand pull you sideways as you were walking down the hall and into a supply closet. Your back pushed against the wall adjacent to the door. A strong hand covering your mouth as the other found its place on your hip. A fluttery feeling in your gut as your eyes adjusted to the dim closet and focused in on the face dawning that dorky grin at you.

“mmphan?”

His grin never left his face as he removed the hand from your mouth to the back of your head; “Missed me?”

Your lips found Chan’s in a frenzy. A fast clash of flesh as every second the kiss was deepened. His hand tangling with your hair and pulling you flush against him. A small groan leaving his lips as your arms snaked around his neck and tugged at his roots. As you pulled away for a breath you couldn’t help but tease; “A little.”

Chan gave out a breathy laugh as the two of you clung onto one another. His span of Spanish was fairly low, but loved the way you always let your actions show him exactly what you meant.

His mind wandered about making his dream a reality and littering your neck with his mouth but knew better than to mark you up before your big break. No matter how much he wanted to. Just seeing you here, in the flesh, was more than enough for him. So, he let his hands wander, taking perch right under your shirt just to feel you. Every touch sent warmth through you as you unconsciously arched yourself closer to Chan. A slow rhythm between the two of you grinding on one another formed. Eager to feel anything after the long time apart.

“What’s this for?” Chan played with the safety pin on your shoulder. Never stopping his other hand from feeling your curves, now sneaking towards your back to press you even closer. As if this was all but another dream he was going to wake up from.

“Strap is coming loose,” you couldn’t help but lean in close to whisper in his ear. Shivers running through him as your teeth lightly grazed his lobe. Something was taking over you, something that you couldn’t explain. It could be from the long weeks of not seeing him, or the stress of having to perform soon. “Can’t have a nip slip on today of all days.”

Chan’s hand went from the safety pin to your ass. Kneading it softly as he guided you to raise your leg so he could press his clothed bulge on your core. The pressure making your head lean back on the wall, sighing from the contact. “I don’t know,” Chan smirked as he placed small kisses on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

“Dirty boy”

That was a word Chan knew well. It somehow became his nickname after every rendezvous night. It was almost a Pavlovian response as he felt his boxer space start to constrict as he grew. It took everything in him to pause for a second. You were breathing heavily, eyes half lidded as you gazed up at him. Your smile sending butterflies throughout his body. “Maybe,” Chan bit his lower lip, “you can show just me? Hmm, later tonight?”

You didn’t mean to nod your head as quickly as you did. Your enthusiasm pulled a chuckle out of Chan as he placed a soft kiss against your lips before taking a step back so you could fix yourself. "Break a leg,” Chan smiled as you fixed your hair and went towards the door. “We’ll be rooting for you.”

As you were about to say your thanks, the closet door swung open. Chan pressed himself as flush as he could against the wall. The door blocking your stylist’s view of him. “Where have you been?” She scolded as you just stood there rigidly, trying your best to not cast your gaze at Chan who was doing his best to blend in with the drywall. “That little beast of a girl said you were looking for me—what are you doing in here?”

As she tried to peer into the closet, your hand flew to the side of the door to hold it in place. Blocking her view of Chan. “Nothing! Just—trying to see if there was a sewing kit since I got lost and couldn’t find you.”

She looked like she didn’t believe you, but she, and you, were on a timeline so she really couldn’t care less. Huffing, she grabbed your wrist and started guiding you back down the hall towards your dressing area. Chan had to contain his laughter as you casted him a terrified look before stepping out with the slightly-horrifying-older woman.

“Where did you run off to?” Minho grinned as Chan reentered their private dressing room. Everyone was lounging around on the couch as the group waited for their time slot. And these boys weren’t made for sitting still. So of course, they turned to teasing Chan as soon as he stepped in. Lucky him.

Taking a quick look around the room and confirming there were no cameras amongst the group, Chan casted a glare at Minho; “Shut up.”

“Or what?”

“Minho,” Hyunjin laughed from his seat, “don’t get him mad. Please. You’ll get him cranky.”

Minho rolled his eyes and leaned back on the couch; “He’s been cranky this past month. What difference will it make?”

“But you don’t have to share a wall with him when he decides to take that anger out on--”

“Hey!” Chan laughed and threw a pillow at Hyunjin to cut him off. Jisung, who was just starting to rest his eyes before their performance, shot up and covered Jeongin’s ears with his hands who innocently asked; “Taking it out on what??”

Changbin was a giggling mess as Chan bounded over to Hyunjin to playfully wrestle him on the couch. Once they settled down, Changbin commented, “Seriously, have you considered sound proofing?”

Chan groaned as he covered his face in his hands from embarrassment. The rest of the members laughing and poking fun at him wherever they could. The only pause of the teasing was when Felix shushed everyone and pointed at the TV. Your group had been announced and was walking the stage. The team settled down on the couch, Felix turned up the volume as they watched you interact with the crowd. A sensation of warmth mixed with a little pride filled him as you worked the crowd into getting excited, even though a vast majority of them didn’t even know your name. Laughing as the youngest in your group was behind you mocking you, causing you to send a glare her way. The room erupting in a chuckle as the two of you feigned a fight as the staff was setting the last of the stage up.

“She’s spunky,” Seungmin chuckled from his seat on the couch.

As you and your team got on your marks, music played. A beat that brought the room to sway a bit to in their seats. The choreography started, as did your time to shine, and Chan was completely immersed in the performance. The way you sang, your hips swinging to the music until your next verse, you flashing your beautiful eyes directly into the camera. Christopher knew it was for the audience at home once everything was edited, yet somehow it felt that it was all for him.

The bridge came on, a cute little dance to showcase each member and bringing it in together for a cohesive formation. Before the chorus started up again, the team tumbled on the floor before popping right back up. You did as well, and to the naked eye everything seemed to be going along perfectly. But in the room, everyone leaned a bit forward as you came back up. It was almost instant, the flash of pure pain across your face, before you went back into work mode and continued on. A look of pain that everyone in the dressing room knew a little all too well.

The song ended and you waved. Your youngest immediately finding you to hold you by your waist and help guide you down the stage before the audience could catch on.

“Do you think she’s--”, Felix turned to look at Chan, but he was already gone. “--okay?”

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ that little voice in your head rang as your manager and team helped you to the room. Your ankle was starting to swell and turn purple with every step. The tumble you had practiced on for so long, still proved to be too much for your body. Everyone suggested leaving it out, but you insisted that it made the choreography even more amazing, and part of you wanted to prove that your team – you – could do it. You didn’t want to hold them down.

Chan stood for a moment at the door frame of your waiting room. The crew of Inkigayo, upgraded your team to a private area after you hobbled off stage for some peace. You were on the couch, hands covering your face as you let quiet tears fall. Feeling overwhelmed with the adrenaline of the performance and having to hide your pain--it was all too much. The rest of your group decided to give you some space, seeing that despite their attempts to cheer you up they were doing no good. He gave you a moment to brush the tears aside and notice him.

“Chan,” you sniffled and blinked away any water that was pooling at your eyes. “If you’re here to tell me how ‘great’ I did--I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay,” Chan leaned off the door frame and made his way over to you. Your usual smile was replaced with a frown as you watched him close the distance between the two of you. Irritation was overtaking you from all the coddling from your teammates and management. Telling you that you did great, despite the slip-up and injury. That you kept your composure the entire time and no one in the audience could tell. That the debut was a hit! All those compliments fell on deaf ears--your own thoughts were too loud and massive to even take note of what everyone else was saying. Only focusing on how you screwed it up. You were supposed to be the leader. And the first time to show the world what your team was made of--you were the one to fuck it all up.

“Christopher,” you growl. “I mean it. I’ve had enough pity for a lifetime…”

“I know.”

You watched in silence as he knelt on the floor next to you to slip off your shoe on your injured leg. Holding it steady, he pulled out a compression wrap from his pocket and started to gently dress your ankle. “I always keep one on hand,” he said quietly as if he was scared to spook you. “Had a nasty slip back in my early days, learned to always keep a small first aid kit lying around.”

Chan made the last wrap around your ankle, making sure the elastic was nice and snug to give you any support you needed. Grabbing a pillow from the armchair next to him, he set it next to you and guided you to lay your injured foot on it. “Keep this elevated.”

You sniffled a bit as he grabbed some tissues on the coffee table and dabbed around your cheeks, cleaning up any make-up smudged from your tears. His eyes were focused on wiping away any evidence of your fears. But you? You couldn’t keep your eyes off him.

The way he took his time caring for you made you feel something you hadn’t felt with Chan before. Warm; a weird bubbly sensation in your gut that made everything twist and turn. It was different from all the times spent with Chan during your nights together. It was a deeper connection. One that scared you, but you didn’t want to lose the feeling of either.

“I have to go,” Chan put the tissues aside and stared up at you. He cupped your cheek, his thumb running softly against your skin. He didn’t want to go. It’s been so long since he’s last seen you, not counting the supply closet, and seeing you down like this made his heart hurt. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and chase those fears away. Chan wasn’t a stranger to those inner thoughts; that self-doubt that clouded every fiber of your own being. But his time slot was coming up soon. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yea…”

Chan stood up and made his way back to the door. “Chan?” You called out. When the two of you locked eyes, you bit your lower lip. It almost broke you to show him, or anyone, your most vulnerable state. It was different than when the two of you were in the sheets. This was somehow more personal. More intimate.

“Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Your youngest looked down at you, concern etched in her face. The team was invited to film an interview at Lotte World, and though your injury was manageable, your manager was concerned that being on your feet for a long period of time would just worsen your condition. The rest of the group was already loaded into the van waiting outside, but your youngest kept leaving the dorm only to return to check in on you. Like a little lost puppy who only wanted to bring comfort. You couldn’t help the side grin that came across your face as you pinched her cheek, causing her to wince a bit in discomfort.

“For the fifth time—I'm fine,” You scolded her lightly as you released her cheek. She pouted slightly and tried to rub the redness away. Nodding your head towards the door; “Now get out of here, you’re keeping everyone waiting. You’re going to be late.”

“Fine, fine!” She rolled her eyes at you as she headed towards the door. Stopping just briefly to lean dramatically at the hallways corner to give your big doe eyes. “I get it—you just hate me.”

Squeals of laughter flew from her as you chucked a pillow her way, finally jogging to head out. Sighing in relief as you heard the door close behind her. You settled in on the couch, keeping your foot on a pillow to rest it as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. Content filling you as silence, finally, filled the dorm. As much as you love them, living with three lively girls was overwhelming from time to time.

Resting your head on the couch, you let the peaceful lull wash over you. For about thirty seconds.

“For God’s sake,” you huffed as you got up from your place. The light knocking on your door making you irritated. Swinging the door open your put your best reprimanding face on to chastise your youngest. “What now? Did you lock yourself out this ti--”

Chan stood there wide eyed as he became the target of your annoyance. He gave a meek smile as he held up some take-away as a peace offering. You paused as the two of you stared at one another for what seemed like eternity. That warm bubbly feeling making its reappearance as he stood there awkwardly; “So, um—can I come in?”

“Y-yea, sorry.” You shook yourself out of it as you stepped to the side and gestured him in. He took off his coat and laid it on the kitchen island as he started to lay out the takeaway. You slowly stepped towards him as he essentially made himself at home.

“You guys have a nice place,” he said nonchalantly as he busied himself. He felt confident when he came up with the idea of surprising you but seeing you in person made his conviction rattle just a bit. It’s been a week since he’s last seen you after your trip on stage, and despite his attempts to reach out--you remained silent. “A lot cleaner than when our agency piled all eight of us together.”

“Chan--”

“You have any plates?” He walked over to the cupboards in his search. Searching high and low for some bowls.

“Chan--”

“Seriously, how many mugs do you guys need?” He grumbled to himself as he opened the second cabinet. Stopping his hunt to look at you as you closed your distance and reached a hand out to touch his arm gently. His heart skipping a beat as he took in your appearance. The way your hair was coiled into a bun, some strands leaving its confines to frame your face. Your oversized shirt and sweats still somehow complimenting your curves. This homely version of you was comforting in some way.

“What are you doing here?”

“You... didn’t answer,” he replied softly. Trying his best to downplay the anxiety that racked through him this past week. “And--I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

You didn’t miss the way he glanced at your ankle before his gaze reached back up to yours. His face etched with care. The side smirk that you gave only caused the mood to lighten as you took a step back and opened the cabinet next to the one he was searching in. Grabbing a plate, you handed one to him before making your way to the platters filled with food. A comfortable silence between you two as you cram as much as you could into the tiny plates. Chan took a look around, subtly opening your drawer to peer into to find utensils.

“Ah, ah—nope.” You joked as you threw a plastic fork his way from the takeaway bag before making your way over to the couch. “I am not doing any more dishes than we need.”

Chan plopped next to you with a cheeky grin; “I could always do dishes.”

“You’re a guest,” you propped your leg on an ottoman. “Can’t have guest doing my chores, what kind of host would I be?”

“Well, considering you swung the door open like you were about to punch me—I say you’re not off to a great start.”

“Shut up,” you shove your shoulder on his, earning a small chuckle from Chan. As the two of you ate and watched daytime television your shoulder never left his. Supporting each other in the simplest of touches. Chan felt all his unease from the past week melt away as the two of you paid attention to the flat screen. No words needed to be spoken, just simply enjoying one another. The little crinkle forming around his eyes as he felt you leaned further into him. He couldn’t help but remember the first night you spent together with him. How the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of searching YouTube and just chatting the night away. Two pieces of a puzzle.

“I’m sorry... for not calling or texting back,” your quiet whisper brought him out of his thoughts as he turned to face you. He could see the guilt in your eyes. Your habit of biting your lower lip while thinking, sent a wave of warmth through him. Finding it extremely endearing to see you in such a state.

“Don’t worry about it. I understand, you needed your space.” You both set your plates down on the coffee table. As he said the words, part of him wanted to tell you what he was holding back. Tell you that he wanted to be there for you. That no matter what; his shoulder was yours to cry on if you needed it. It didn’t matter the time or the place, he would drop everything to be by your side. But, even as the thoughts rolled through his head, he stopped himself. Another part of him scared to voice them. Not only to you, but to himself.

You smile softly at his words. Your anxiety was soothed away by his reassuring demeanor. Time felt like it stopped as the two of you just stared at one another. It was starting to feel like these pauses in these instances were becoming more frequent. As your rapid heart rate. Especially when Chan leaned in a bit further; “But you do still have to answer my question.”

Question?

Your eyebrows scrunched together as your brain racked through what he was mentioning. What question? Did you dissociate during your time together and forget something?

He leaned a bit closer. You could feel his breath on your cheek as his eyes bore into yours. “Why...” his whisper was soft. Shivers running down your spine in anticipation. You didn’t know for what but knew that you were ready for whatever Chan threw at you. His hand slowly rising to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. Fingertips lightly grazing your skin.

“...do you guys have so many god damn mugs?”

The bark of laughter that coursed through you made those dimples you love reappear on his face. “You’re a fucking twat, you know that right?” You giggled as he moved his arm from your side to rest around your shoulder and pull you close to his chest. He feigned hurt at your words as he used his foot to move the ottoman with you, trying to keep your leg comfortable in the new position.

“It’s a genuine question; I’m concerned.”

“If you must know, we are caffeine addicts in this dorm.”

“Again--concerned.”

As the two of you laughed, you rested your cheek against his chest. Continuing the banter as the television continued its schedule. You weren’t sure how long had passed before Chan pulled out his phone and sighed a bit.

“I should get going,” he sounded annoyed. He knew he should head out and leave before your group came back from schedule, but his body didn’t react to his rational thinking. Fully content with you in his arms. Heart nearly melting at the sight of you looking up from his chest, lips pressed into a scowl at the mention of his departure.

“Don’t leave,” you nuzzled as close as you could. Grinning, as you could hear his heartbeat just a little faster at the gesture. “You just got here.”

Chan grinned as he pressed his forehead against yours. Scrunching up his nose a bit as his brushed the tip of yours. His smile infectious as his hand cupped your cheek. “Yea, still don’t understand Spanish, but when you’re all healed up, we can catch up again. Okay?”

“Okay,” you huff as you both pull away slightly. But his hand stops you from pulling back all the way. Thumb rubbing gently on your cheek as he stared down at your lips then back up to your eyes. Was he... asking for permission? This was new territory for both of you. Usually when together, it was a flurry of passion. Skin against skin, mouths usually too busy exploring each other’s bodies, clothes thrown aside. Nothing needed to be asked. Yet here you were, giving Chan a small nod before meeting him in the middle and pressing a gentle kiss on each other's lips. It was sweet. Lamblike. Nothing like the whirlwind that arose when the two of you were usually together. Chan felt his blood pumping through him, and for the first time it was not heading straight to his dick. His hand tried to keep the two of you as close as possible. Lips moving together in slow, almost calculated, motions. His tongue briefly brushing against your bottom lip with each rise and fall, but never fully making its way into your mouth. You could’ve groaned at the teasing, yet it somehow didn’t feel like that was his intention. It was almost as if he wanted to take his time with you. Prolonging what he could control.

Chan didn’t want this to end.

But when he finally pulled away to catch his breath, he looked down at you. Your eyes bright and wide. Showing him exactly every constellation of the universe in those wonderful orbs of yours. He opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

Your brain so rewired from the kiss you didn’t even realize you asked him in Spanish. You hadn’t meant to ask him out at all in fact, just out to a simple cup of coffee or something, not wanting to be as far away from him as you were these past couple of weeks. But as those dimples appeared on his face again—you knew you couldn’t take it back. It was now or never.

“You know I have no idea what you’re saying.” Chan could gather it was a question directed at him, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

His face-tinged pink as you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek; “Figure it out, and get back to me.”

God, it was just like you to reel him back in. Without realizing what you were doing, you still somehow knew how to push all his buttons in all the right ways. Just as he was about to lean in again, the door to the apartment unlocked and your team barreled through. Stopping at the corridor corner to stare at the two of you. Their laughter halting just as quickly as their feet. Chan and you quickly created distance from one another.

“Hi, ladies.” You gave a small smile as Chan cleared his throat and abruptly stood up. His face turning red as he tucked his hands nervously into his pockets.

“Ahem, er, well. I’ll be on my way out!” He gave you an awkward bow before making his way to the door. Bowing nonstop to your team, who was still frozen in place, their bodies moving with him as he attempted to escape.

“Chan?” His head popped from around the corner. The poor man looked like a bat out of hell. Two parts of equally embarrassed and terrified, with his face turning crimson and his eyes wide with fear. His body language was tense, as if he didn't know what to do or where to go. Trying to hold back your chuckle, you nodded towards the kitchen counter. “Your jacket.”

“Ah, right right!” He bustled past your girls, more awkward bows as he grabbed his jacket and returned to the door—making a haste retreat out of the apartment—leaving you to clean up the mess. How sweet.

Your youngest turned to you with wide eyes. A deer trapped in headlights. The other two just had their mouths open, staring at the closed door. As if their minds were tricking them to see the Bang Chan leaving their living room in a hurry. “So, um...” you clap your hands together and gesture to the takeaway on the counter.

“Anyone hungry?”

"Are you sure you’re getting the pronunciation right?”

Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung were gathered around Chan, their eyes glued to his laptop screen as they tried suggestions to type into Google Translate. It's been two days since you told Chan to ‘figure it out’, and though he thought the question was harmless, it was eating away at him. Tossing and turning throughout the night, there was nothing else he could fully focus on. His dorm mates found him hunched over his keyboard, furiously typing away, trying his best to decipher your phrase late at night when they decided to help in any way that they could. Between the four of them—it was just one brain cell rotating back and forth at midnight.

“How many different ways is there to type out this word?” Chan grumbled as Changbin pulled out his phone.

“Depending on the context, about three. Each one meaning different things somehow?”

“Dear, God!” Chan groaned and held his face in his hands. Hyunjin patted Chan’s back sympathetically.

“You know what you have to do.”

“No, no—anything but that.” Chan turned his head to face Hyunjin, his brows scrunched together in frustration. Not wanting to admit defeat. Jisung sighed and put his hand on Chan’s other shoulder.

“We’ve been going at this for hours--”

“Ten minutes.” Changbin corrected Jisung.

“--for what feels like hours.” Jisung rectified, “You have to put your big boy pants on and call her.”

“It’s almost one in the morning--”

“Hyung,” Changbin groaned. “Stop being a baby and just call her. We all know she’ll be up. She’s practically an owl.”

Chan swiveled in his chair as he watched them leave his room one by one. “Wait, wait—please don’t! We can keep trying Google!” Jisung mouthing a ‘sorry’ before he closed Chan’s bedroom door. Leaving him to do the one thing he knew he would never hear the end of.

Pulling out his phone his finger briefly hovering over the contact before sighing and hitting the video call button. It rang once, twice, and on the third ring he was met by a zoomed in eyeball on his screen.

“For fucks’ sake, Hannah, can you be normal for once?”

Hannah held her phone out at arm's length, giving full view of her in her bed. Some journals and crumbled up pages littered her bed giving indication that she was up late trying to express herself in her own creative process. Apparently, insomniac gifted night owls ran in their bloodline. “Geez, you’re in a mood,” Hannah grumbled as she sat up in her bed, “What’s up?”

She listened as her older brother described the events from two days ago. Chan tried to ignore the growing grin on her face as he continued on, trying his best to pronounce the words you whispered to him to the best of his ability. “So,” Chan fell into his bed with a ‘thump’. His head hitting his pillows as he stared up at his phone, holding it above him as he waited, “what did she ask?”

Hannah continued that shit eating grin of hers as she sang her next words; “Channie’s got a girlfriend~”

“Hannah--”

“You like like her, huh?” Hannah talked over Chan as he just rolled his eyes. Proving his case and point that he was going to regret this call.

“Hannah, for the love of God. Can you just tell me?”

“I’m sorry what was that?” Hannah cupped her ear and feigned confusion. “I think you were missing a word or two there. Probably bad cell connection.”

Tricky little--

“Hannah,” he replied as nicely as he could through his gritted teeth, “can you please tell me what she said.”

“I believe my name is ‘sister-that-is-always-right'.”

“I’m hanging up--”

“Wait, wait!” Hannah’s giggles rang through Chan’s speakers as one hand still held his phone above him and the other hovered over the ‘end phone call’ button on his screen. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry.”

“Geez,” Hannah gave her brother a knowing look, “you’ve got it bad, huh? She’s got you all in a tizzy.”

“Hannah, its late. And I haven’t slept in two days. Can you please just--”

“She asked you out, idiot.”

More laughter from the speaker could be heard as the phone slipped from his fingers and fell square onto his face. Hannah taking a blurry screen shot before it made contact—still able to see the look of pure surprise, sprinkled with elation, in the candid photo.

A week. One whole week. No text, no call. Pure silence.

As much as you enjoyed solitude, especially when it came to your teammates, you couldn’t help but feel at lost from not hearing back from Chan. Your mind was constantly racing, even as you currently sat with your girls on the couch, watching Singin’ In the Rain—your thoughts were consumed of Chan and his out of character ghosting.

Maybe he couldn’t figure it out? Maybe he was busy; he was a global sensation after all. His schedule was probably fluctuating like water. You couldn’t blame him. He was living his dream, and there was nothing in you other than pride.

And some self-doubt.

Because as much as you wanted to believe that he was running back and forth like a crazy man, there was still one thought that rang louder than the rest—maybe he just wasn’t interested. It wasn’t a far-off idea. You knew that all those rendezvous' nights had one unspoken rule—for that one night, and those one nights only—you were his and he was yours. But it was never supposed to go past that.

Stupid Chan for being so sweet to you; bandaging your ankle at your most exposed moment and coming in to check on you when you were too embarrassed at yourself and running away from any form of confrontation. You once told DIV studios that you were immune to Chan’s flirting—but you never said anything about his affection.

“Ah,” your youngest sighed from her next to you on the couch. She craned her head to look at the door after hearing a soft knock. “That’s probably the pizza.” Without another word, all four of you started to play rock-paper-scissors. Ultimately ending with your loss, and the girls whooping their celebration as you got up and made your way to the door. You opened it without taking a look in the peep hole.

Chan stood there, wearing a black mask to go with his hoodie and beanie. Despite half his face being covered you could tell it was him from the way his eyes crinkled. Was that—nervousness you saw?

“I would--” Chan cleared his throat when you just stood there, unable to form words on your mouth, “I would love to go on a date with you.”

When you didn’t speak, he shifted a bit more on his feet. “That’s um... all I know how to say.” Chan chuckled to ease the tension. You take note how his hands are tucked into the front pouch of his hoodie. No doubt fiddling with his rings anxiously as he shifted in his place. Chan felt like he was back in middle school asking a girl to dance for the first time. Butterflies, knots in the stomach, all the works, were rushing through him.

"Say something, you idiot!” You heard your youngest hiss at you. All three of them are leaning over the couch’s backrest to watch the scene unfolding in front of them. Ears and face flushed all you could do was nod your head. You wanted to speak. Wanted to jump and giggle your way into his arms. But hearing him speak Spanish—everything in you was so hot and flustered. A hold that you just couldn’t bring yourself to get out of.

“Great--cool,” Chan was glad for the mask. That way you couldn’t see him biting the inside of his cheek. “Did you...want to go now?”

“Now?”

“Now?” your girls parroted, and you finally got out of your frozen state to glare at them. Your youngest making a motion of zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

“I have a packed schedule for the rest of the week.” A blatant lie. Truth was, Chan couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted to see how this would all pan out. He just didn’t want to show just how desperate he was to spend time with you. But the way you bit your lip and stood aside to let him in, he knew that part of you could see through it all. You quickly excused yourself to your room to get ready, knowing that your oversized comic shirt and sleeping shorts would not cut it for a night out.

Your girls’ eyes narrowed as Chan stood in the hallway. Another awkward bow towards them in greeting as he waited for you. When he first knocked on your door it required all of his resolve to remain in place, as he struggled to overcome his desire to bolt and flee. The intimidation he felt about you potentially passing on the offer was too much, but he pushed through it. The thought of you saying yes outweighed the cons that tumbled through his head. Yet, as he stood under the prying eyes of your team, he felt that same fear overtake him because he knew this wouldn’t be a conversation.

It would be an interrogation.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere special.” A spot he held close to his heart, he wanted to add, but they cut in before he could express his words.

“Late at night? Why?” One quipped before another added; “Trying to pull something sly on her?”

“What? No, I-I, I’ve had a busy schedule--”

“Oh, so everything should be based on when you’re available?”

“What? No! It’s just--”

They were going so fast, Chan barely had time to think of a response before the other fired off another question.

“You think because you’re famous, you can just jerk her around?” Your youngest glared at him. He opened his mouth quickly, but another was quick to intercept him.

“Such typical male behavior.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Everyone quickly turned to you as you stepped out of your room. Putting an end to the girl’s questioning, much to Chan’s relief. You smiled as you leaned over the couch to pinch your youngest cheek before turning back to Chan.

“Shall we head out?”

“Wow,” is all you could say as Chan lead you to a lone bench. After about a half mile climb up the staircase, the two of you finally reached your destination—on top of a hill overlooking Seoul’s city lights. With the late hour, the city was asleep leaving the feeling that it was only the two of you in the world. The both of you sat on that bench for an hour or two, just catching up from the week you spent apart. Conversation flowing naturally between the two of you once again. Chan told you that he would sneak up here every now and then to clear his head after working his expected long hours. Everything was quiet enough for him to just detach--but your howls ringing through the clearing was just as welcoming to his ears.

“Okay, okay!” You laughed as Chan had to explain putting his pride aside to ask his younger sister for help. His arm was around your shoulder, pulling you in close as the two of you watched the quiet city below. “So, you went through all of that, but you didn’t think of calling me for like a hint or something?”

“You said to figure it out!”

“Not if it meant selling your soul!”

Chan chuckled as his grip around you tightened a bit, shaking you as you laughed. His eyes locked on to you; the way your face was red due to the chilly night, the crinkles around your eyes as you smiled, and the way you scrunched up your nose. “For you—it was worth it.”

God, how much you wanted to pull down that damn mask of his and touch his lips with yours. Everything about this night was perfect. But soon, the clock hit 3am and the two of you decided to head back before your girls decided to send a search team for you. Getting up with a groan, Chan laced his fingers with yours as he led you towards the exit.

Chan noticed the way you stared down at the stairs, your eyebrows pinched together at the thought of having to walk all the way down. He wondered briefly if your ankle was still bothering you. It's been weeks since the sprain, but if you soldiered your way climbing up the steps there was a chance that you were feeling some tension on the tendon. Without a word, he let go of your hand and went down two steps and leaned a bit forward. Casting a glance over his shoulder he gestured for you to ‘hop on’. You giggled as you jumped and latched around him like a koala. He feigned a groan at the impact as he adjusted you before grabbing onto the underside of your thighs to hoist you up.

“Hey, hey!” Chan giggled as you hooked your chin on his shoulder and blew into his ear. “Cut it out or I’m leaving you here!”

You giggled as you muttered an apology as he continued to descend the steps. Chan hummed as he became your personal lackey, taking in the night sights and the clear star filled sky. Your eyes never leaving his profile as the gears in your head turned; “Why did it take you so long to say yes?”

Chan stumbled on a step for a second before readjusting you in his grip. “I figured since you asked me in Spanish,” Chan kept his gaze focused on the trail ahead, “that I should reply in Spanish.”

“You practiced for days to get it perfect, didn’t you.”

The embarrassed chuckle from Chan was all confirmation you needed. And, though you didn’t think it was possible, you felt you heart swell as you snuggled closer to his nape.

“Did we not have a great date?”

“We did.”

“And now it’s coming to an end.”

“It is.”

“Then--,” you huff and cross your arms across your chest. Chan smiles and leans his shoulder against your door, looking down at you as you pout and look anywhere else but at him. He could tell that you were trying to pull something out of him. What it was he wasn’t exactly sure, but seeing you turn red, and struggle was entertaining to watch. You were being cute.

To both of your disappointment; the evening was coming to an end. And despite your subtle attempts to pull some physical intimacy from Chan during the car ride back to your dorm, Chan was doing his very best to hold himself back in anyway that he could.

“Then?” Chan grinned down at you. His fingers lightly grazing your chin and tilt you head up towards him.

You finally bit your lower lips and looked up at him. Yes, you were beating around the bush. But him? He was just fully toying with you. His Libra was showing. “Then…

Why haven’t you kissed me?”

It felt like everything was going backward. Ever since he asked you on this date, it felt like he was trying to distance himself. Holding back in any way that he could. But that wouldn’t be it--would it? The way your eyes kept roaming to his lips throughout the night should’ve been more than enough to hint at what you wanted most. Unlike Chan, you were not holding back. You craved anything he was willing to give. He caught you--hook line and sinker.

Chan took note of the way your breath hitched as his hand reached out to place a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flushed as he slowly closed the distance. His hand now sneaking behind your head to hold you still as his lips press flush against yours. Once he felt you bring your body against his own, the desperation between you both became almost palpable. Chan's hand found its way to your waist to make sure there was no space left, while the one holding the back of your neck tightened around your roots. The tension caused some slight pain, causing you to moan against his kiss.

“Do you…” You attempted to catch your breath. Despite breaking away from the kiss, neither of you made a move to detach from one another. His grip on your waist tightened as he subtly tried to rub himself against you. Chan’s restraint was slowly dissipating at finally having contact with you after all this. “Do you want to come in?”

Chan groaned as he felt you press your pelvis even harder against him. All the teasing was thrown out the window. All he could think about was how long it had been without feeling your bare body against his. But he knew better. There was something he wanted more than just another night of passion.

He wanted you.

“No,” Chan shook his head before placing a small peck on your forehead. “I--I want to do this right.”

You were checking your phone every hour. You hated to admit just how much of a hold Chan had on you and yet here you were-- waiting at a bar entrance when he texted you in the middle of the night that he was finally free to meet up. It was a long week since your first date with Chan, who was immediately busy with album prep the very next morning. Being the sweet man he was, he promised to take you out for a drink to make up for it. Though he really didn't need too. You constantly teased him over the phone that you no longer wake up to your alarm, but to the sweet -cheesy- texts that he sends every morning. Or over the fact that he video calls you right before bed, his snores filling your room even when miles apart. A gentle reminder that he hasn't forgotten about you despite the conflicting schedules.

"Five minutes," the text on your phone read, "Felix and Jeongin decided to pop by to convince Bin and the others to join them for barbeque - be there soon!"

So immersed in trying to find the perfect gif as your reply back, you didn't notice the lone man who was smoking a cigarette, eyeing you. He slowly made his way over, and when you finally spotted him from the corner of your eye , you gave a small polite smile as he attempted to start conversation with you. You let him drunkenly flirt with you - again-just trying to be polite. And from the way he was holding the conversation he didn't seem to be a threat of any sort. So you laughed at his attempts to flirt, stumbling over himself constantly whenever he would meet your eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled as he scratched the back of his head , "I'm usually better at this."

"It's okay," you chuckle softly, "but I think it's best to let you know that I'm not looking for anything right now.”

"Ah," the man gave an embarrassed smile ,"should've known someone as pretty as you would have a boyfriend.”

It was an innocent comment, but it threw you off guard for a moment, and your thoughts were thrown into a silent chaos. Being in training for a majority of your life, it wasn't like you had full experiences in relationships. Some kisses and fun here and there, yes, but you never had the chance to dive into the world of dating. Chan and you only had one date, and he did say that he wanted to do this right-- did that constitute a relationship in his eyes? It did in yours, but was that enough to have his eyes not stray? To shoot down someone whenever they would come up to him and drunkenly try to shoot their shot?

A hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to their side, stopped your thoughts from spiraling. Your head inclined to see that profile you had imprinted into your mind as he carried you down those steps without breaking a sweat. Despite the mask covering him you knew who it was-- however, that crinkle around his eyes was gone as Chan glared at the man you were speaking too. "She does," he growled uncharacteristically. A warning to the man as he claimed what was his. Chan didn't give the man a moment to respond as he looked down at you, his dark eyes finally shedding some light as his gaze locked with yours. "You ready to head in?"

Even though it was a question, Chan didn't allow you to answer as he guided you the opposite way down the sidewalk. Walking right past the bar he invited you out to. "Wait aren't we—”

“Changed my mind," Chan grumbled as he kept leading you down the sidewalk. “Too many drunk idiots. I know a place we can sit and eat. I'll buy you as many drinks as you want, or all the galbi you can eat? I know a joint that also makes really good jerky—”

When you paused in your tracks, some anxiety washed through Chan. Did he take it too far? He couldn't help it seeing someone trying to make their move on you—

“You called me your girlfriend,” a cheeky grin plastered on your face. Chan felt his checks heat up and he cleared his throat to turned to look away. His hand never leaving your waist.

"Technically, I just confirmed that you have a boyfriend."

Without missing a beat you stepped in front of Chan and lowered his mask to rest on his chin. You made sure to tuck his hoodie over his head to cover his face from prying eyes even though it was late at night and the streets were virtually empty. Chan gulped as you stared right at him. Not at the physical body standing in front of you—at him. "Say it," you breathed out. Chan had to steady his heart as you spoke. It wasn't a request, but a demand. Your hands staying on his hoodie as you waited for him to comply.

"You have a boyfriend," he gave a cheeky grin back as you groaned. Knowing exactly the words you wanted to hear, but decided to tease you just a bit.

"Chan—”

"You're my girlfriend.” Chan placed his hands back on your hips and absent-mindedly traced little circles just above the trim where your skin was slightly exposed. He suddenly felt nervous as he realized he was just staking a claim without talking to you about it. But the way you were almost begging to hear those words, let him know that you wanted this as much as he does. Yes, you only had one date. But the months leading up to that were the best months he had in a very long time. "And if you want, I'll be your boyfriend ..."

As you stayed quiet, he felt those damn nerves coming back up. He tried to gauge your reaction as you just stared at him, but got nothing. " What?" he joked to lighten the tension and his anxiety. "Want me to say that in Spanish to—”

Using the grip you had on his hoodie, you pulled his head down towards you and crashed your lips against his. His little squeak of surprise was muffled as your tongue grazed his bottom lip to ask for entrance. The circles he was tracing stopped immediately as he tightened his grip around you and pulled you closer. Deepening the kiss as much as he could without it being too inappropriate out in public.

You whispered against him as the two of you finally parted for air. "Let's get out of here."

Dinner was forgotten as Chan practically ran the two of you back to his dorm room. Your shirt was ripped off of you the moment he closed his bedroom door with his foot. Chan grinned wildly as you parted from his flushed lips to kiss his neck, trailing your little love bites more and more down south until you fully rested on your knees before him. Watching excitedly as your fingers made quick work of his confines and taking him into your mouth. As your eyes batted up at him, Chan let out a shaky breath and rested his head slightly against the wooden door. You couldn't contain your moans around his length as his fingers threaded your hair, gently guiding you to take him all the way to the back of your throat. Nose pressed to his pelvis.

Hearing you gag around his growing cock made his hips buck. Your hands found the back of his knees as he continued to rut into your filthy mouth. Your roots being slightly tugged as he tried to ground himself. The feeling of your tongue rolling around the underside of him while you suctioned in your cheeks to create a vacuum almost had him unraveling in you right then and there.

"Look at you," Chan cooed as your eyes pooled tears from his intrusion, "all desperate from calling you mine."

He pulled on your strands, your mouth leaving his erection with a wet 'plop', to have you standing upright before him. Your lips were parted as your chest heaved to take in deep breathes. Face flush and lips swollen he felt his cock twitch at your fucked out expression. You could've sworn you heard a growl escape him as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around him instinctively, lips crashing against yours and threw you on his bed. You discarded the rest of your clothes as Chan watched you, licking his lips. He could still taste himself from the residue on your lips. Ready to pounce and devour you, as if his eyes weren't already doing that enough.

"What?" Your teasing tone brought Chan out of his predatory gaze. He watched as your fingers trailed down to your core. Lightly grazing your folds, enticing him as you spread your arousal around. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Don't worry," Chan purred as he crawled onto the bed. His mouth hovering right above your mound, breath tickling your skin. "There's only one cat that has the pleasure of my tongue right now."

You gripped his sheets as soon as his tongue made contact with your bundle of nerves. Wasting no time to insert a finger to prep you. Not that you needed it, he moaned at the thought, you were already so wet. Just ready for him. All for him.

With another finger, he curled against your walls, setting the exact pace that he knew you loved. His palm keeping that delicious pressure against your clit as he moved his body up to catch a nipple between his teeth. Sucking onto it as if he was expecting something to come out of it. The thought had you reeling as your hand found his head. Holding him close against you as your hips ground against his fingers.

'I would love to go on a date with you'

'No, I want to do this right.'

'I wanted to make sure you're alright. '

Simple little sentences here and there. Words formed by the man that made you absolutely weak to your knees. Each one lead you to where you were right now—closing in on your orgasm with the most perfect man practically worshipping you.

"Chan," you whimpered, "Channie, need you in me."

Need to come around you.

The words you didn't say. But as Chan removed his lips from your breast and glanced up at you—he knew. Knew how much you craved something more than his digits to take you all the way. That you needed that stretch that only he could provide.

You squeaked as he ripped his fingers from your depths, grabbing your hips, and practically throwing you onto your stomach. He growled as you rested on all fours, arching your back and presenting yourself instantly, his teeth biting your cheeks and finally leaving those marks he desperately wanted to give you in the Inkigayo supply closet. The same growl that vibrated through him when he spoke to the man that flirted with you outside the bar earlier tonight.

Deep and guttural. Almost feral.

You almost came right then and there.

Chan and you hissed as he pressed his tip against your entrance. Chan's hand coming to the curve of your back and gently guiding you to bend a bit further for him. Your check rested on his mattress as he rubbed up and down your folds, coating himself with your arousal. "You gotta let me in," Chan teased as he experimentally pressed into you again. Still to no avail. All those weeks without one another made you lose the shape of him it seemed. Chan clicked his tongue and pressed a kiss on your spine. He didn't mind; it just meant he had to keep reminding your body. He'd gladly do so all night long if he had too.

You, on the other hand, we're starting to get frustrated. You needed him in you, it's been far too long without you wrapped around him. Your fingers, the toys you hid in your room, nothing compared to this. To him.

You pushed against him, mind too foggy to even care about the burn. Thoughts were wholly consumed of him. Chan moaned as he felt himself slightly press into you. "Careful,” he hissed as he grabbed your hips to stop you, "you're going to hurt yourself."

You turned to look over your shoulder. Your hair that was once pulled back for the date was coming undone. Strands were thrown around your face. Completely disheveled.

"Don't care."

Chan felt something in him snap. Those two words were all he needed to push himself entirely in you in one thrust. You practically screamed, and Chan was quick to wrap his hand around your mouth to muffle you. His hip never stopping their pace as he leaned down to groan in your ear; “If you don't keep it down, the kids will hear you."

By the time the two of you entered the shared dorm, the rest of his roommates had already returned from their time at the barbeque and were deep asleep in their rooms. Guess they decided against a big meal and went out for something quicker. So, you did your best to keep it down as much as you could. But by God, was that one of the most difficult things to do as Chan kept reaching the deepest part of you. Scratching that itch that you haven't been able to reach yourself for months.

Chan hoisted you up once he felt your walls adjust to him, hand still on your mouth as your back pressed flush to his chest. The other wrapping around you to rub messy circles against your clit. Your eyes rolled back as you felt your thighs spasm, pure unadulterated ecstasy coursing through your veins. Your mouth hung open as you panted heavily into his palm. The loud moans that escaped you were traded out with small whimpers. Silent little pleas for Chan to take you there.

His lips never left your skin. Kissing on your neck, jaw, ear—anything that he could latch onto so he could muffle his own noise. Only allowing the slaps of his thighs against yours to fill the room.

"Are you close?” Chan groaned in your ear. He could feel you clenching around him, closing in on your orgasm. "Where do you want it, stomach or behind?"

You shook your head at his question, whimpering against him. Neither of those is what you wanted. Him. You wanted him.

Chan felt his brow furrow slightly. This was a first. His hips slowed as the pieces of the puzzles came together. "Oh, oh?"

He withdrew entirely, earning a grumble of protest from you, and flipped you to lie on your back. He couldn't deny that he wanted it as well, and he'll be damned if he couldn't look you in the eyes as you felt his warm seed enter you for the first time. Chan's hand rested gently on your lower abdomen, kneading the skin underneath his fingertips. "Is this where you want it? Here?"

You didn't know it was possible but you could've sworn a mini orgasm washed through you as you heard him ask in Spanish. Chan chuckled quietly as he lined back up with you and gently pushed in until he was nice and snug in your warmth. Hand still on you, "I guess I can oblige. After all this is mine, right?"

"Yes, yes—” You instantly replied as he picked up his pace again. Chan's mouth finding yours in a messy kiss. The gentle touch of his palm turned into a pressure as he started to push down. No words could explain the obscene thoughts that went through his head as he felt himself move through you. He breathed in your moans that grew louder and louder with every thrust.

A crescendo as the waves of pleasure rolled higher and higher. Until it all came crashing down. Your hands found the back of his head, holding him close, as the surge flooded your mind, body, and soul with pure white hot ecstasy.

With the pressure of you holding him tight, on both ends, Chan found himself releasing deep inside you. Coating you with the very warmth you've yearning for months. Claiming everything he ever wanted.

As the ripples started to quell between the two of you, you and Chan finally parted for air. You couldn't help but give a teasing grind of your hips, earning a hiss from Chan as he pulled gently out of you before collapsing on the bed next to you face first.

"What are you doing?" You laughed as Chan just groaned in response.

“That was so good, I think I died.” His voice came muffled though his sheets. You propped yourself on your elbow on the bed before smacking your palm down on one of his cheeks. Your laughter roaring through the room as he squealed before turning on his side to find you looking down at him with that shit eating smirk. "Come here," he laughed before pulling you to lay on his chest.

Your head laid on his bare chest, listening in to his heart beat and the air that flowed in and out of his lungs. Chan's arm wrapped around you as one of your free hands traced idle circles along his collarbone, the other resting under his head in the afterglow. “Stay," he whispered so softly you barely heard him.

A plea for you to not leave him in the middle of the night like you used to before. "Of course,” you place a small kiss on his jaw before resting your eyes. Afterall, this wasn't a redezvous. This was something more. And for the rest of the night, Chan held you snug against him.

Chan only woke up when the sunlight flitted through his curtains. Groaning he turned to his side, arm stretched out in search for you. Only to be met with his sheets. His eyes flashed open and the dark brown orbs frantically scanned the room. His heart sank when he couldn't find your figure.

You promised.

Dawning some sweats, he made his way to the shared bathroom. Stopping in his tracks when a familiar giggle echoed through the dorm.

"Look who's finally awake," you smile. Chan took notice that you stole one of his hoodies and sweats as you, Jisung , and Changbin sat at the dinning room table. Hair up in a bun, completely tilted off to the side, as if you lived here your entire life. You belonged.

Images of his dream during his time in Paris flashed through his mind briefly.

You giggled as Chan walked around the table to wrap his arms around your shoulders and kiss your neck in greeting. Changbin and Jisung made gagging noises, but Chan just flipped them off before sliding a stool to sit next to you. "What are you guys talking about?"

He took note how your cheeks flushed and looked away from the table. Suddenly interested in the fruit bowl that sat on the kitchen island. Jisung made himself busy by clearing out the dirty plates and walking over to the sink. Deciding it wouldn’t be appropriate to have that kind of discussion with his elder. Changbin, however, was a stark contrast from the two of you. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh," Changbin said with a drawl, “nothing much."

"Just trying to see how we can sound proof your room so the rest of the dorm can sleep without any," Changbin casted a glance at you, “interruptions."

Author's Note: I want to say I apologize for how long this took me! Work, life, and everything in between has been dragging me down and I lost some inspiration during the time away. I want to thank everyone for their kind words for part 1. I do have an idea for part 3. However, I won't have a timeline of when it can be done, since work has been leaving me a bit more drained than I imagined and I'm usually a zombie by the time I get home. Hope you enjoyed it and so sorry it's so long

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avocado-writing · 10 months

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home

pairing: 14th doctor x reader & 10th doctor x reader

rating: E

notes: no gender or age given for reader, just that you last saw the doctor fifteen years ago. thank you to @mcganns for being my beta!!

This too shall pass.

It was a sentiment that you had to cling onto when he left, because fuck knows it was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. And you’d run away from actual explosions before. Big ones, in space! Supernovas which could eat entire planets while you hung onto the side of a little blue box.

And yet none of it even begins to compare to when he fucking left you.

He said it wouldn’t be forever. Well, he shouted it at you as you fell out of the TARDIS. There was a time explosion, and you got rocketed back to your little flat in the middle of Hackney, on Earth only a few days from when he’d picked you up — but in your reality months of adventure had passed.

You’d not really settled back in, certain that he was going to come and rescue you. But then days turned into weeks into months and you finally accepted that the Doctor had abandoned you.

So you went back to it all. Your mundane little existence before a mad, brilliant man had whisked you away. Your boss was a bit miffed that you’d gone AWOL but you were their best employee so they couldn’t afford to let you go, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a command not to let it happen again. The people you loved didn’t really seem to notice your absence that much, which stung; you couldn’t blame them though. You’d probably not miss you much either.

The Doctor. He made you feel special in a way nobody had before. Like you were the centre of a whole, giant, fantastic universe, and he adored you for it.

Still.

No point mulling that over again, is there?

Fifteen years. Things did get better. You moved on eventually. But you still find your thoughts drifting back to him every once in a while, and that fragment of time you spent totally utterly in love with each other. When you think about the way he kissed you, without realising it you end up touching your lips.

No. No. Stop.

The singing of the kettle snaps you back into reality, and you pour yourself a hot cuppa. Ah, tea. The antidote to everything. You go to turn the radio on for some company as you shift into your morning routine when you hear a knock at the door.

Probably the postie. He’s a bit early today, you think, but make no more of it as you undo the latch and open the door.

Your heart stops.

Because there he is, of course.

Older. Weathered. Not the young man you once knew but a grownup version of him, as exhausted by life as you are.

You drop your mug. Quick as a flash the Doctor grabs it out of midair. The tea sloshes onto the floor but at least nothing gets shattered.

He goes to look up at you, but his attention is drawn back to his hand.

“I bought you this mug years ago,” he says, utterly amazed.

You shut the door in his face.

Well, you try to, anyway. But he sticks a foot in between the door and the frame, with one of those stupid Converse he always wears.

“I know you’re angry, I know. But please let me come in.”

It’s such an absurd statement you find yourself laughing, a high and desperate noise.

“Absolutely not!” Actually, no. That’s not enough. “How dare you. Why are you even here?!”

“Because I wanted— I needed to see you.”

You still want to slam the door on him, but there’s a desperation to his voice that gives you pause. And when he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes? Those eyes as lined with age as you are?

Fuck. You’re so weak.

So that’s how you find the Doctor sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. You lean against the counter, defences still up, eyeing him from over the top of your mug. He drums his fingers against the tablecloth.

“I like your house. Your calendar is nice, I enjoy the kitten motif.”

“Don’t,” you spit, slamming the mug down and sloshing tea onto the floor, “don’t you dare. You don’t get to waltz back here and start telling me ‘oh, I enjoy your furnishings, haven’t you made a nice little life for yourself since I abandoned you!’ I let you in to speak your piece, though god knows why. Say it and be done.”

The Doctor looks deflated. His shoulders sag, mouth falls. You take a moment to properly look at him. He seems… tired. Tired in a way you never knew him to be when you went on your adventures. Part of you wants to offer comfort, but the other part of you wants to withhold it maliciously. Anything to make him feel the way you felt.

“I looked for you,” is what he settles on, heavily. You didn’t expect that, and it knocks you.

“What?”

“I did. After the explosion, I tried searching all over the galaxy for you. I didn’t know where - when - you’d ended up. I scanned and scanned but something stopped you from appearing on the TARDIS’s sensors. I think… the amount of artron energy emitted during the blast somehow cloaked you.”

You say nothing, your silence an invitation for him to continue his explanation.

“It took years. Literal years, for me. Every spare moment I had, I dedicated to looking for you. Head buried in the circuitry of the TARDIS, trying to fix whatever was hiding you, gave myself a couple of nasty shocks too. And, when I finally tracked you down, I’d regenerated.”

You blink. Right. Yes. He’d explained that, but you’d never seen it with your own eyes. The same person, a different face.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me if I didn’t look like me. But I had to try anyway, didn’t I? So I came here. To your house. I got myself all ready for it, knocked on your door… and found that you were married.”

Your fingers grip the counter.

“Oh.”

“He seemed nice. Loved you a lot, as you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was back, could I? I saw you pottering around in the kitchen, making the tea - you were always the best at making tea - and you were happy. How could I ask you to leave that all, uproot the life you’d made for yourself, just to jump back in the TARDIS with me? How could I be so cruel? I couldn’t, could I. So I left again. Tried to move on. Like you did.”

You’re crying now. You can feel hot tears slide down your face and soak into your jumper.

“Oh, Doctor,” you manage. You want to tell him so much. It feels like it might burst out of you. But instead you settle on:

“Why now?”

He smiles thinly.

“Because somehow I got this face back, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to be selfish for once.”

You find yourself at the table, on the wonky chair opposite him, sliding your hand over to cover his. It’s rough and warm. Just like you remember. He says your name with reverence, but like it pains him.

“I never stopped loving you. Ever. Through it all, every adventure, I knew it wasn’t complete because you weren’t there. It just wasn’t the same without wonderful, brilliant you,” he admits. He sounds defeated. It breaks your heart — or, actually, it might just put it back together again.

A beat passes. His confession lingers in the air, heavy, thick and choking like smoke from an untameable fire.

“His name was Simon. He was a baker. He was lovely, actually… and we got divorced two years ago.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows.

“You… what… why?”

“Because he knew there was someone else I never really let go of. Someone else who, despite everything, I still loved.”

He looks you in the eyes, and you see something glimmer there that you long since gave up on.

Hope.

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing.

It’s like nothing has changed. His lips are still rough and searching on yours, a hint of tongue giving away into more the deeper you entangle. He sits you up on the table and steps into the space left by your spread legs, and between each kiss he says your name. It’s full of adoration but lined with desperation, too.

Like the kisses he gave you the first night you laid together, on a bed in his spaceship floating across the galaxy. When he buried himself inside you and you felt his two hearts beat in rhythm with your own.

“Doctor…” you manage.

Fuck. You need him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him. You didn’t realise a piece of your soul has been missing this whole time, fucking torn out of you and leaving a jagged hole in its wake. And him, back, telling you he loves you and always has? You’re patched together like kintsugi.

Your Doctor is the molten gold you need.

“Please. I need to…” he’s so desperate he can barely get the words out, but you nod; he’s undoing the belt buckle of your jeans and pulling them off like they’re silk. When his thin waist meets yours you cross your ankles behind him and lock him into place, and his hands - a little fumbling, a little nervous to be mapping out the plain of you again - begin to trace your chest. You lean into his touch to let him know yes. This is okay. I want this. Make me whole again.

His warm, rough palms slide under the hem of your shirt and lift it easily over your head, the only break in a while you take from your kiss. You let yourself grab his tie to bring him closer. He’s fully dressed still and you’re almost naked; you remember how he used to like that, enjoy feeling a bit more put together than you. Cheeky blighter. Still though, as his suit scratches your skin, you can’t say you don’t agree.

However. In this instance he has far too many clothes.

You tug at his jacket and he knows what you need, letting it fall to the floor with his tie and waistcoat following it. He ruts against you as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, not the whole way, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of his chest. He’s so skinny. You’ve always been a bit worried that, on one of your rougher days, you might snap him in half. You still are now, actually.

Cupping his face in your hands you let your thumbs caress his cheekbones. Your Doctor. Older but the same. Just like you.

You can feel him more than half-hard against your leg. No more time wasting. You need him. You need him, you need him, you need him.

It doesn’t take long to undo his fly and have him in your hand. You’ll always be glad he chose this human anatomy. Though you’d love him no matter how he looks, there’s something wonderful about his cock as it is here. He lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder with a moan if your name.

“Oh… you’re…”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree, a genuine smile passing your face for the first time in god knows how long. He’s just the right length and on the thick side, and you know what a delicious stretch he is when he pushes inside of you. You can’t wait to feel it again. A couple of pumps and he’s ready, dripping precome and a ruddy red. Another time you’d bend down and taste him, remind yourself what a Time Lord’s cock is like. But now today. Well, not now.

You lay back, readjusting yourself so he can push your underwear to the side and find your entrance. A couple of fingers - those long, delicate, clever and cunning fingers - press inside you and test you out. You’re ready for him. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he realises and you laugh, properly, throwing your head back.

“Come on, Doctor. Show me that you’ve missed me.”

He used to never shut up. And now he’s stunned into a desperate silence, lining up with you and pushing in as he does his best to make you feel what he’s been feeling too.

A loneliness is fixed. He slides home inside you and your hips meet, the both of you letting out a long and ragged breath. You sit there for a moment, locked in the most intimate embrace, and just feel each other. You fist your hands in his shirt. He’s here. He’s real. You feel him trace his palm up your back as if you assure himself of the same thing.

Slowly he begins to move. It is a long and lovely drag, his cock hitting all the points you missed being touched, and when he feels you gasp he goes harder. The Doctor nuzzles into the skin of your neck, nestling to the warmth of you there, and you hear him repeat a mantra both of your name and “I love you”.

Over and over. As if the two phrases are inextricably linked.

You’re so full. You’re so light. Everything feels perfect in this moment. And when he reaches between your bodies to touch your sex, push you to the edge, you know you’ll climax for him embarrassingly fast.

When you come you see stars light up behind your eyes. The sky, the unfiltered and untamed sky takes you over. The Doctor says your name one final fine and releases inside you, his hips riding it out as if to savour every second in the sweet grip of you.

He can’t look at your face when he asks you. He says it from the safety of your shoulder where his face is buried, because if you say no you know his heart will shatter.

“Come with me, in the TARDIS again. I know I shouldn’t ask you to leave your home but… you complete me, you know. Always have.”

“Leave my home?! Doctor, don’t be daft. This is just a house in bloody Hackney. You’re my home.”

You pull back to meet his gaze. He’s tired, but bright. His eyes twinkle. And there’s the Doctor you know.

“And of course,” you continue. And, as the smile engulfs his face and he lights up, “it’s not like I’m doing anything else, am I?”

This time, when you go AWOL from your job, you never come back.

#The doctor x reader #Doctor who x reader #the doctor x you #david tennant x reader #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #14th doctor x reader #fourteenth doctor x reader #my writing #full disclosure only seen the star beast so far lol

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heartfullofleeches · 4 months

Text

[18+, Top/Dom Reader. Male/Amab Darling, they/them pronouns used for personal preference]

Femboy Cheerleader Darling dragging their jock bf to the mall- Normally, he'd just hand Darling money and lets his sweetheart go off on their own, but on this day darling decided they needed a little company. How could he refuse when Darling propositioned the idea of him tagging along as a cute date? Walk around for a bit, grab some lunch- Knowing how easy it was for Darling to get side tracked, their boyfriend knew the afternoon wouldn't be as linear as they implied- He only went to big spaces like the mall when he knew what he needed, but since it was time wasted with his future spouse he'd cherish every second.

Darling is so happy he agreed- The additional company meant more freedom for their hands when the bags started piling up. Hands they could use to properly thank their generous boyfriend who does so much to make them smile. It's starts off with Darling massaging the side of his thigh while they're in line to grab a smoothie. He loved whenever they tended to his aching muscles after practice. They've been walking for some time now so he's probably feeling some tension down there, the poor guy.

Their hands paw at his waist as the crowds grow denser. There's so many people around Darling might get lost if they don't hold onto him. With strangers squeezing and pushing past them to get by, Darling has no choice but to cling on to their big, strong boyfriend tighter - cock pressed to his meaty ass from the lining of their favorite skirt. It's not like anyone notices but him, face hot as he balances all of Darling's purchases on his arms.

Things only escalated from there as the couple find themselves alone in an elevator - Darling's face now smushed against their boyfriend's large pecs as they check his heart rate. With all that commotion outside it has be through the roof- Darling isn't entirely wrong when they come to that conclusion.

Darling has a big surprise for their lover when they teach their final destination- If it's still in stock that is. Something that cute is bound to have a lot of eyes. The most adorable sundress which hung off the wearer's shoulders and complimented their figure. Darling had picked up other items on their trip, but this is what they came to the mall for. There was another reason they chose this store to end things off on. They'd heard through the grapevine vine how understaffed this store in particular was and how they had no cameras in the changing roos. Perfect for thief....and other activities.

Jock Yan stumbles out of the changing room short of breath and drenched in his own sweat - amongst other fluids. It's a miracle he was able to keep quiet. Darling had to reward him in the best way they knew how, but perhaps they should have gone a bit easier on him until they got home. Their boyfriend was always a little sore after they were through playing with him. Darling pays for the dress they still have on - carrying their man back down to the food court where they treat him to some ice cream with their own pocket money as if it were just another normal date.

Smaller Dom Femboy Reader, my love- I wanna do a full length version of this someday, but I got two horn-knee fics coming this week so come back at a later date....

Unless.....👉👈

#Femboy reader #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #male yandere #suggestive #yandere smut #yandere mlm

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illusivelle · 4 months

Text

chicken scratch

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,028 words content: mild cursing summary: you've never met your neighbour, but you've received plenty of their mail and now, a large package. of all the stories you made up in your head about who this 'carmen berzatto' could be, the real thing might just be your new favourite. a/n: brain rot means a middle of the night word dump. will likely be the first of many little stories about your next door neighbour, carmen, because that dynamic lives in my mind rent free. fluff for now, but we all know what that means (it means it'll definitely become nsfw later, sooner probably). read part two link to ao3 here!

The first letter was a mistake, the second one was a coincidence. The third one was not a big deal and the fourth was only a little more than a nuisance. But when a much larger package thudded against your front door at the ass crack of dawn, the recipient clearly written across the top of the cardboard box as your neighbour… well, that was just flat out annoying at this point. You hadn't even known deliveries made their rounds so early in the day and as big as the box was, when you lifted it to carry next door, it weighed lighter than a feather.

The pile of letters that accidentally found their way to your apartment were usually slipped through the small mailbox of your neighbour's, sometimes under the door. You'd thought about dropping the package and simply going about your day, but curiosity got the better of you as your knuckles rapped against the door and waited instead.

What could a Carmen Berzatto have possibly required to be delivered at this time?

In the time you've lived in the building, there'd been very few run-ins with other tenants. Not that you'd ever complain, perfectly content with your own company. You made friends with one elderly lady who always offered you some of her freshly baked bread, and in return you picked her up flowers and some extra produce on your farmer's market runs. The landlord wasn't your friend, but he wasn't your enemy either, and somehow you'd convinced him to let you paint your bathroom your favourite colour with little to no resistance. But your next door neighbour remained a mystery, one you've conjured up about a dozen different backstories and personalities for.

Carmen Berzatto, notorious criminal, hiding out in a tiny Chicago apartment. Carmen Berzatto, hundred-year-old vampire, who might either burn in the sun or look like they'd walked through a glitter bomb. Carmen Berzatto, part time Chicagoan, who actually doesn't live here anymore and maybe there's a squatter inside instead. Carmen Berzatto, the tax evader, because why else would they have so much goddamn mail being sent to them?

You'd been lost in the web of made-up histories for your neighbour when the door swung open to reveal said neighbour, and it slowly dawned on you that there wasn't a single story where you imagined Carmen Berzatto to look like that.

Piercing, wide blue eyes and a head of shaggy brown tufts that made you want to tangle your fingers through them, especially that small curl dangling just above his forehead.

"Hi." His greeting was laced with mild confusion that seemed immediately alleviated when his attention dropped to the box in your hands. "Oh."

"Hi," you blurted out, lifting the package, "got another one for you."

"I—I'm sorry about— about, uh, about all of that. It won't happen again."

"Won't it?" You were mostly teasing now. Although you were jolted awake by the sound of it thrashing against your door, and although you were rather peeved about getting up before you wanted to, you couldn't find it in yourself to be irritated anymore.

Carmen reached out to take the box from you, giving it a small shake with what you thought was a ghost of a smile before he set it down to the side somewhere you couldn't see. "It won't. I'm sorry." The flirt of his tongue along his lips brought your gaze toward it before you met his eyes again.

Those stunning icy blues.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for."

"I must've really fucked up on the— the uh, apartment number."

"What?"

"The apartment number."

"Yeah," you looked at him a bit dumbfounded, gaze darting to the door where the number and letter were, "what about it?"

"I—"

"You don't know your apartment number?"

"My writing's shit."

Both of you seemed to blink in unison, another lick of Carmen's lips which you mirrored before a stupid smile curled your lips. "Oh."

"Not a good excuse, I know." He nodded, jaw working as he turned his head to the metal on the door, a short and deep chuckle sounding from him. "Again, I—"

"Not sorry," you shook your head, "just chicken scratch."

For a moment, Carmen stared at you, and if it wasn't bad enough to have those too-blue eyes simply looking at you, to find them nearly boring holes as they danced between your eyes and across your face made you want to evaporate. Made you wish the ground would open up and swallow you hole. Made you want to drown in the depths of the ocean blues that were his irises.

"Just chicken scratch," he murmured after a beat of silence and what was once a ghost of a smile was definitely something now, the corner of his mouth lifting enough to wrinkle the corner of his eye. Enough to show you the dimple in his cheek. "Thanks for— for bringing the package."

"Yeah." And the smile unfurling on your lips was nothing short of genuine. "You're welcome, Carmen."

"Just, uh, just Carm is good. Carmy."

"Okay."

Another beat passed where you thought you might have been rendered frozen by one of your favourite shades of blue, glued to the floor through hypnosis, until a sound down the hall caught your ear and you nodded at Carmen. Turning on your heel, you took the first step back to your apartment, then another, and another.

And it wasn't until you had your hand stretched out to grab for your doorknob when you heard his voice echo from where you'd came. "See you around?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The moment hung in the air on a thin thread, the both of you sharing furtive and hidden smiles before his door closed and yours opened.

Carmen Berzatto, not a notorious criminal (to your knowledge) or a hundred-year-old vampire (yet). Nor was he a part-time Chicagoan (not with that accent) or a tax evader (maybe). None of the ideas you had floating in your mind about your neighbour even came close to the real thing.

Carmen Berzatto, curly-haired blue-eyed boy-next-door with chicken scratch for writing and a fleeting dimple you wanted to see again.

#jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy x you #the bear #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy fluff #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto imagine

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notmyneighbor · 5 months

Text

Scarlet Milk - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Word Count - 5.2k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content, blood drinking

Also available on AO3

fanart by kaworinx

Your eyes flick to the clock mounted on the wall. Your morning shift at the telephone exchange was almost over.

“What number, please?”

You scan the switchboard for the correct sequence, removing and plugging in the jack to connect the call seamlessly. The next number requested is for a different exchange and you transfer the call with barely a delay.

At last it’s time to set the headset down. Your work as a telephone operator is done for the day.

Business in the telephone exchange office had really picked up since the war, and had increased further still after the DDD began their operation to help identify and weed out the invading doppelgangers. It’s the perfect time to work, getting as many hours as you need and stowing away the extra funds for a rainy day.

You ride a bicycle to work since your employer isn’t far from home. A little rougher going in the winter months, but now it was spring, the weather warming up nicely, the budding trees and renewed verdant color in lawns further signs that the seasons were changing.

You’ve barely left the city behind and entered the suburbs before you run into trouble: a sharp object, perhaps a bit of glass or metal, has punctured one of your tires. You slip off the bike seat after coming to a bumpy halt, now forced to walk alongside the bike the rest of the way home. You think there’s a repair kit lurking somewhere in the house, you’re just not entirely sure where.

You spy a milk delivery sitting near the front door of one of the houses you pass, still remaining unclaimed at this late morning hour. A small blue and yellow bird perched on the rim of one of the bottles is startled by your presence and temporarily abandons its assault on the foil lid before it regains its confidence and returns, the beak breaching the barrier so that it can drink the rich cream that has risen to the top. Clever, naughty thing. You’d shoo him away but you know it or one of its brethren will just return anyway. You had to be careful nowadays, leaving something like that unprotected.

You had to be careful nowadays, period.

You spy the milkman’s truck further up the road, the driver near the tailgate, lifting his cap and dragging the back of a pale wrist against his perspiring forehead. The rear of the vehicle is empty, the goods inside all distributed for the day’s route.

Your pace slows as you draw closer, nodding a greeting to the man. You don’t recognize him. Maybe a new hire for the dairy company. The other driver had been getting older. Maybe he’d finally retired. At least, you hoped his sudden absence was for that pleasant reason and not something more sinister relating to the doppels. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His voice is warm and friendly. You see his eyes focus on the deflated tire, then back up to your face. “Flat tire, huh? Need a lift?”

“Oh, no, I can manage, thank you. I’m nearly there.”

“I’m heading that way. There’s no reason to tax yourself.”

You shake your head. “Really, I’m fine.”

He shrugs. “Alright, then. Get home safe.” You watch as he seals the back doors and returns to the driver’s side, climbing up and settling behind the wheel. You suddenly feel foolish. The man was just trying to be kind, surely. He starts the engine and eases back onto the road slowly, decelerating to a meager crawl to keep pace with you, calling to you through the open window. “Last chance to change your mind.” He smiles. Handsome. He has such an honest face. Weary eyes. The early mornings no doubt leaving those inky shadows on ivory skin. He must be eager to be home now that his job was completed, yet he was still offering to help.

In spite of your earlier caution, you find yourself feeling it would be rude to decline again, and you accept the milkman’s offer. “Alright, thank you. I promise it’s not far and then you can be on your way. I’m sure you want to get home.”

The truck halts, the breaks squeaking slightly. Your bicycle is lifted effortlessly and stowed in the back. There’s no seat inside save for the driver, so you remain standing, bracing yourself against the rear of the cab awkwardly. At least you don’t have far to go.

“Anyone at home to help you with that flat tire?”

“No, I live alone,” you admit, then silently curse yourself. You shouldn’t be volunteering that kind of information, even if it was the truth. Your brother had left you with the inherited house after he’d moved in with his new wife last year, still disappointed that you hadn’t found someone yet, disapproving of your decision to choose to live independently in such strange, dangerous times. Now you’ve just revealed this vulnerable fact to a stranger. A male stranger.

“The birds have been at your deliveries again,” you say, searching for something to fill the sudden silence.

“So I’ve seen. They can’t resist the cream. Interesting story about that. It’s only one particular species, have you noticed?”

“I haven’t, actually.”

“They had no trouble before they started sealing the bottles, but even after the lids were implemented they persisted until they found a way to get inside. Taught the others how to do it, too. Adaptation and evolution are necessary for survival.”

“I suppose you’re right. This is my house here,” you point and the driver slows and stops, parking the truck along the curb and shutting off the engine.

“Let me give you a hand unloading the bicycle.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

“No problem.” The milkman stands. Suddenly the cab of the truck feels very small. He’s positioned so that he’s blocking the doorway, making no move to head to the back where your bike is being stored. The smile on your features slides off like melting ice cream on a summer day.

No. He couldn’t be.

Your heart begins to beat rapidly. The smile he offers doesn’t quiet touch his eyes this time.

“Actually, I’ll just um…I can get it. Thank you for the lift.” You try to ease past him, thinking to make your escape through the rear of the vehicle instead, but he slaps out an arm to bar your path, crowding you against the steel frame.

“We’re adapting, too. Evolving constantly. Getting better and better at blending in. Finding new ways to breach your homes and sate our hunger.”

“Please don’t kill me.” As if the doppelganger would have mercy. You feel tears pooling in your eyes. How foolish you had been, walking into his trap. Why hadn’t you trusted your instincts?

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. See, it’s occurred to me to take a page from those birds’ books, so to speak. Sample the sweetest, most nutritious part. And let the rest of the meal live on, thereby providing an endless supply, rather than gorging on one human in a single sitting, then being forced to find another. We’ve already seen what happens when we indulge too voraciously. It’s why we were forced to visit your planet, after all.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Your blood. That is what I desire. A sample each time, and then you go about your daily life as usual. A fair deal, isn’t it? Certainly a better offer than most of my kin would give you.”

“You want to…to…” You can even bring yourself to utter it out loud.

“Drink your blood, yes.”

“Like a vampire,” you whisper in horror.

“Something like that.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I consume you right here and now.”

Two tears spill over your cheeks. The doppel clucks his tongue. “There’s no need for that. It’s really a very obvious choice. The sooner you agree, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair for the remainder of the day.”

“Is it…is it going to hurt?”

“Not as badly as me tearing you apart with my claws, I assure you.” His features soften, and that impression of how handsome the original man he’s copied must be strikes you again. “This doesnt need to be violent. It will go easier for you if you don’t resist.”

You swallow thickly, trying to summon courage. “How do you know I won’t just call the DDD?”

“Because that would be a very, very foolish thing to do. And I think you are smarter than that, aren’t you?” His nostrils flare slightly and he inhales deeply. “I’m getting hungry. Do you agree to my terms or not?”

“What guarantee do I have that you’re not just going to kill me anyway?”

“None, other than my word.”

You could almost laugh. An invader asking you to trust him. To allow yourself to be fed upon until…when would this conceivably end? “How long will I have to do this for?”

He shrugs. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Many things. How many others will supplement my diet. How much I decide to take. This will end whenever I say it ends,” he adds in a growl, and you shudder.

You close your eyes. “Alright. Just get it over with.”

“Not here. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see, now, would we? Hop on down and I’ll deliver your bicycle. Then we can go inside and…have a little snack.”

You wish your neighbors would see your plight, but there’s no one to help you. The elderly man across the street was probably well into his morning nap. The young couple next door both worked. The housewife who lived on the other side was undoubtedly busy with chores, the children at school.

The doppelganger leans your damaged bike against the fence, following you up to the door, waiting for you to unlock it.

So. You really were going to invite him inside after all.

Normally you’d be fixing lunch at this time. Maybe doing some housework yourself. Now you set your keys in the trivet dish by the door and tuck your shoes neatly beside the frame, watching the doppel shut the door behind him.

“Come here.”

You’d taken a couple of steps further into the hallway and his voice makes you jerk to a halt. You warily turn back.

That smile again. Your stomach flips nervously as you move to stand beside him.

He makes a little hum of sound, pleased you’re being obedient and cooperative. Your hair is already pinned up, your throat exposed. Assuming that was where he was going to bite you. The thought makes your breath hitch and you close your eyes again, willing the moment to be over.

You feel the heat of his breath as he leans closer to your neck, hear another deep inhale. His lips graze your skin in the barest whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces a line down the side of your neck and then there is pain, sharp and fast, your body reflexively trying to pull away but his arms fasten around you, clutching your body against his.

“Relax,” he urges you again, his mouth lifting just long enough to issue the command to you before it returns and you feel the suction, the wet heat, that terrible drag of your life force pulled from the vessel beneath the skin. A little moan accompanies that gesture, sending vibrations as the alien savors the taste of you. Your fingers curl in his work shirt as you’re pushed back against the door. If there had been anyone there to see, it would have looked as if you were a young couple in the throes of passion. But there is no one witnessing this act. It is just you and the doppelganger.

“Enough,” he murmurs, his face revealed once more, no longer supping from your throat. You reach for the wound, surprised to find your hands coming away clean. No blood. Just scabbed puncture marks you can palpate with the pads of your fingers.

He’s breathing heavily. It had been hard to stop, maybe, fighting that natural instinct to kill and ravage. The dark eyes are bloodshot, a pair of fangs visible before they’re retracted again, the red haze gradually clearing as he continues staring at you. His appearance returns to that of the milkman he’s impersonating and he finally steps back.

“Tomorrow,” he says, a promise, a threat, before he exits, leaving you trembling, your fingers still cradling your neck. You hear the truck’s engine rumble to life.

Tomorrow.

***

He visits again the following evening.

You don’t know why you’d expected the doppelganger to be at your door at any particular time. Your anxiety has been peaking in anticipation. Dreading the next feeding. Still wondering what’s to stop him from just killing you anyway.

The marks he’d left had been surprisingly tidy. Easy enough to conceal. You’d struggled at work that day, your normally nimble hands and sharp eyes faltering more than once, your performance lacking. Your supervisor certainly noticed. You’d been spoken to. A warning.

Maybe you should take the next day off. Maybe you should…

A knock at the door interrupts your musings and you look up from the novel you’ve been attempting to distract yourself with.

He was here.

The temptation to phone the DDD is there again. But it would take them time to get here. You’d certainly be destroyed for your breach of contract long before the disposal team arrived.

You open the door.

He’s still wearing the milkman’s uniform, although this time he’s shed the cap, revealing the thick wavy brown hair that had been hiding beneath. Wordlessly you step back to make room for him to enter. Your eyes are on the floor now, suddenly shy. You hear the door being closed.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes lift and you gaze at the doppel through your lashes. Surely he could hear how elevated your pulse is. Did that entice him, that rapid flow of crimson liquid?

The mimic moves behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against him. Fingers guide your head to dip to one side, a gentle nudge before his lips are at your neck again. The same side as before. They press more firmly this time. The stripe he licks reaches all the way to your ear lobe. A whimper escapes you. It feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

The sharp pair of the monster’s cuspids pierce your throat. Another choked sound escapes you, this one a blurred mixture of pain and pleasure. The fingers resting against your abdomen dig in. His other hand is braced against your chin, manipulating your head, keeping you in position while he takes what he desires.

You clutch at the hand on your stomach. You think you’d faint if you didn’t have him at your back. There is something hard pressing against you there, another need digging into the cleft of your buttocks. Arousal. Your cheeks feel hot. There are no longer teeth sunk into your neck but his mouth is still there, laving and caressing the injured flesh. Soft, wet kisses planted. “So sweet,” he breathes against your ear. “Your scarlet milk is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

He departs minutes later and you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you get ready for bed, wondering why you’re not more afraid.

***

The milk delivery truck is parked outside your home when you arrive there the next afternoon.

You lean your mended bike against the picket fence. There are people outside. Someone is raking leaves from last autumn. Children are tossing a ball back and forth. The doppelganger has a bottle of milk in his hand, the tips of his fingers clutching it by the neck. He’s leaning against the outside of the truck.

“Come inside,” you hiss, not trusting him not to make a spectacle right there and then. He smirks at your invitation, following you inside.

There are sunspots in front of your eyes. It was so bright outdoors. The interior of your house is darker, cooler. “You should be more discreet,” you mutter, your hands rubbing together restlessly. Nervous. You’re so nervous.

“No one is paying any attention. They didn’t care when I took the truck. They hand the goods over willingly. It’s made finding other…donors…so simple. Your kind is so oblivious to what’s right in front of them.”

“How many other people are you…?” The idea of the imposter operating as a milkman making deliveries as a guise to shield his true purpose of seeking more sources of that sinister meal he craves twists your stomach in knots. Worried. You’re guilty over what’s happening to your neighbors. Not necessarily your fault, but you knew about it, and you allowed it, participated in it…

“Not many. Discretion is best, we agree on that much.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite treat.”

“I’m not jealous,” you reply defensively, perhaps a little too much vehemence behind the words. Was there some of that mixed in your emotions as well?

“You should let me give you a ride home one of these days,” he murmurs.

You frown, your reverie dissolving. “Why?”

“Because,” he drawls. Not an answer. His upper eyelids drip languidly as he sets the bottle on the kitchen counter. The foil lid is soon demolished into a crumpled ball. He drives a middle finger into the cream gathered at the top of the bottle, scooping out a dollop of the thick substance. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“This is the best part, isn’t it? You humans seem to enjoy it. Open,” he commands again, and this time there is a bit of a threat there, the easygoing teasing suddenly disappearing. His eyes darken and your lips part obediently. The digit pierces those borders and drives straight back across your tongue, your eyelashes fluttering, surprised, the brisk invasive movement catching you off guard. Your mouth closes reflexively over the offering and the wedge of muscle presses his finger against the top of your soft palate, the pad brushing past the ridges to find the smoother flesh as he offers you a taste. Your stroke across the joint of his knuckle, then the nail bed as he slowly withdraws back through the tight ring of your mouth, finally emerging with a soft popping sound.

“Good?” The word is croaked out hoarsely. Your heart jackhammers as you nod. You watch as he repeats the gesture in his own mouth, brow furrowing over the taste as he considers the flavor of the cream. “I prefer you instead.”

The doppel’s lips touch your throat. You can’t stop the needy sound that escapes. “I won’t see you for a few days. Need to let your body rest and replenish. You’re of no use to me without the proper nutrition.” He nips your ear lobe. “So I’m going to stay a little longer today. Prolong things. I’m sure you don’t mind.” His hands have found the bottom of your skirt, lifting the hem. There are curtains on the windows but anyone standing close enough outside could look in and see what’s happening. Your cheeks burn with shame, that rush of heat further elevated because some part of you wants this. His fingers snake beneath the waistband of your panties and dip between your legs, swiping through the arousal leaking from you to collect a sample.

He licks them clean. An appreciative hum. “Now this, I really enjoy. Why don’t you hop up here.” You never get the chance because he lifts you first, setting you on the edge of the counter. Your skirt is flipped back impatiently again, your panties dragged roughly down. And you allow it. You allow the manhandling of your clothes, your body, manipulated into balancing precariously on the edge before he pulls a chair from under the kitchen table over and settles into it, his fingernails lightly scratching against your thighs before he parts them and buries his face into your sex.

Your head tips back and you bite your bottom lip as the doppel explores the sensitive pink flesh, enthusiastically swirling his tongue over the folds and your clit before pushing inside you. The hands curled around your thighs are changing, the nails digging in no longer the replicated human’s. The tongue violating your canal seems to lengthen, expanding. You’re afraid to see and yet you want to watch, your fingers burrowing into his hair. Bloodshot eyes, the doppel’s easing through, yellow tinged, pupils now sharp, narrow, a flash of teeth before his mouth shifts impossibly wide, more than a human jaw could ever accommodate, sucking at your clit while still fucking you with his tongue. A monster is ravaging your body and your only thought is MORE. The wedge of muscle curves inside you, tapping in staccato movements against the shallow secluded shelf of hidden pleasure and it sends you over the edge immediately, keening and shaking as he continues sucking and stabbing until you can’t stand it anymore, your legs trying to close, the hand that had been pulling him against your pussy now trying to push him away.

He finally surrenders, mouth parting reluctantly from your sex. You’re on fire, every nerve tingling in your extremities, at your center, where the pulse is strongest. A satisfied grin, a flash of sharp teeth aligned in a row, before the imposter milkman stands, kicking the chair back so hard it knocks over. His fingers sink into your hair and he jerks your head back, grabbing one of your hands and pressing it over the bump in his trousers. You fumble the fly open, dragging his needy erection through the flap of his briefs. It’s large and hot and your hands seem too small, too delicate to stroke that engorged organ properly.

“Milk it. Make me cum.” His lips hover before your own. You wonder why he hasn’t kissed you on the mouth yet. Would those razor slivers of bone slice you to ribbons? The morphed tongue strokes the angle of your jaw. Your hand is working in harsh, jerky movements. Clumsy. You’re panting with fear and desire. You can’t reach his mouth at this angle so your lips find his throat instead, the patch of skin just above the fastened work shirt and knotted bowtie. He growls and bellows as your fingers finally, finally seem to have adapated, smoothing a gush of precum over the sensitive crown. Large as it was, his prick still felt human enough, so perhaps it was the same, or perhaps he still had yet to reveal its true nature. A moan now hummed against your throat, this soft and pleading noise the polar opposite of the menancing sound he’d emitted moments before. Teeth scrape your neck. The veins in his cock bulge against your hand. He’s so swollen, so ready to erupt. Fangs begin to dig into your flesh. Only a pair. He’s shifted appearances again, protecting you somewhat. You wonder how much of a struggle it is to keep it in check, during the height of something like this. The teeth descend further and you feel the suction as he pulls your blood into his mouth just as a hot spill of seed bathes your hand. He leans forward and your free hand reaches back to brace yourself, sending the milk bottle onto its side, mirroring the white flood that now coats your skin. He sucks and it aches and it feels like a second orgasm building inside of you.

At last, at last he draws back, and it is a human’s face you see, with shadow smudged eyes and mussed hair and swollen lips. The urge to kiss him flares anew but he backs away. You’re suddenly aware of the dairy product that’s spread across the counter, sinking into your clothes, spilling over the edge and dripping onto the floor. The doppel rights the chair he’d tipped over earlier. Clothes are straightened into some semblance of order.

You’re normally relieved when he departs. Today you find yourself clutching his sleeve as he reaches for the doorknob. Something has happened between you two, besides the obvious. A new kind of intimacy blossoming, satisfying other, more primal needs. Adapting and evolving like the doppel had said, perhaps.

“I’ll see you soon.” Not tomorrow. He’s already told you that. An anemic blood supply will not satisfy him. You’re more lightheaded than you’re letting on. He’s taken so much already, but you still want to give him more. “Soon,” he repeats. Then he’s gone.

***

In the dream, you’re in your bed, trying to achieve a slumber that won’t come. You toss and turn restlessly. Get a glass of water. Use the restroom. Flip your pillow over to the cooler side. Shift the covers. It’s no use. You can’t sleep.

You’re thinking about the doppelganger.

About that smile, that warm breath and wicked mouth and wet tongue. His body pressing against yours. Tasting you. Cumming in your hand. The vampiric kisses. It should be terrifying, knowing he holds your life in his hands, your fate determined by the whim of an alien creature.

The replicant is back.

You sense him before he even taps on the glass of the French doors that lead from you bedroom into a private garden area in the back yard. You recognize that shape behind the gauzy curtains that shield the glass, flinging back the comforter and sliding out of bed. The cool air wafts over you as you open the door. You’re only wearing a thin nightgown. You shouldn’t be dressed like this in front of him. You shouldn’t be doing any of the things you’ve been doing with him.

His palm settles warm against the side of your neck. His mouth touches yours for the first time.

Heat pools in your sex. He tastes like metal, copper heavy on your tongue. There is the flavor of tart wine and something smokey as your body is pressed down onto the bed. Your fingers siphon through his hair. You can feel his erection again, demanding somewhere near your own groin. His hips cant slightly and you both moan softly.

The hem of your nightgown is slid up the length of your thigh. You can feel the sharp points of the claws that tear your panties from your body, a casual display that leaves you gasping. A faint jingle of a belt moving and the whine of the metal teeth of a zipper parting and then his cock is shoved into your slickened entrance.

The tongue that twines around yours feels foreign now, the doppel revealing more of his true form. Long and thick, like the prick that’s invading your pussy. Your brain in its dream state has no sense of shame. There is nothing but desire, hot and wet. The front of your nightgown is sliced through, the fabric easily parting beneath the sharp claws that have replaced human nails. Your breasts are kneaded as the sound of lewd slapping fills the air, wet noises from your joined mouths, from the cock pounding into your dripping cunt. Had he been hungry? You’d been starving, you realize. Craving this. Undeniably wrong but oh so right.

“Bite me.” In your waking state, you’d never issued such a request. Only in dreams could you be bold enough. Your fingers clutch the nape of his neck, encouraging him as your knees dig into his ribs. You gift him your blood and he gifts you a load of something thicker, creamier, milky shots of cum spurting deep inside of you. There are stars in front of your eyes, fireworks, bursting lights in the darkness. He kisses your mouth and the tang of your own lifeforce is strong there. His teeth are still sharp. He hasn’t changed back. You kiss him again anyway.

***

Your eyes open.

It’s raining. You can hear the soft patter of it against the roofing shingles above. Your heart is hammering wildly. Your entire body is drenched in sweat, your panties soaked with something more carnal. You fling back the sheet and blanket much as you had in the dream, padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom. You need a shower. You feel soiled.

You wish the events of the dream had really happened.

It’s been five days since you’ve seen the doppelganger. The water of the shower spills over you, pelting you gently. You drag the bar of soap over your body. There is something thick and wet between your legs, the fluids of your arousal a different kind of wetness than the spray of water. Your clit is swollen. You wish for his fingers, his tongue. You circle the raised bundle until your body trembles, until you’re forced to lean against the shower wall for support.

You shut off the faucet and towel yourself dry before pulling on a clean nightgown. You burrow your face into your pillow and think of the mimic’s smile until sleep reclaims you once more.

***

A week has passed. Now you think something must be wrong. The doppelganger’s delayed absence can’t be intentional.

Perhaps the DDD had gotten to him. Someone had seen something, called. Maybe not all his ‘donors’ were quite as willing as yourself. A hot flame builds inside you. You are jealous, after all.

It’s raining on the night he finally returns. Later than he has ever been. The water has soaked his skin, his clothing. There is only the living room lamp on to illuminate your view of the alien creature, looking so pitiful standing there, a drenched figure with tired eyes and dark hair plastered flat against his head, the rainwater spilling over the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, over the gentle curves of his lips.

He steps inside and closes the door. Your breathing is harsh, rapid. A match for his own. “Where have you been?”

“Did you miss me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. His voice drags against you skin like velvet. “No.”

“Liar.”

You reach for each other at the same time. Your fingers knot into the saturated fabric of his work shirt while his close over your upper arm, crowding you back against the door. “Where have you been?” You repeat again, your voice gentler this time. “I thought the DDD had gotten to you, I…”

“You were worried about me.”

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly.

“You missed me.”

“Yes.”

His thumb briefly strokes one cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

“I do. Quite a lot, in fact. In many places,” he adds, smirking a little, some of his customary teasing emerging.

“You know what I mean. On the mouth.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he says, and for a moment you think he won’t answer you properly again, dodging the question, but then he continues, “that means something very, very different.”

“Different how?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

The doppel’s lips press against yours. Closed at first. Then they divide and your tongue darts between them, granting you your first taste of the invader. Nothing like the dream. No bitterness or metal or sour flavor. No smoke or ash. Just clean, pure, natural.

“Do you understand now?” His gaze traps yours. Human pupils dilating. You know what really lurks beneath. You like both.

“No. Show me again.”

A faint smirk. Then the doppelganger’s mouth captures yours once more.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you #francis mosses #milkman #thats not my neighbor #the milkman #that’s not my neighbor #doppelganger #doppel francis #tnmn smut #tnmn francis mosses #francis tnmn #tnmn milkman #tnmn fanfic

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darlingdekarios · 2 years

Text

hibernate.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 6,152 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, animal hunting mentions, cannon-accurate outlaw behavior, cowboy meet cute, Arthur Morgan is a simp, snowed in, fluff, smut [v fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], kink(s) [spit as lube]

it was like fate insisted on the two of you colliding.

The first time you’d met Arthur Morgan was a lovely March night in New Hanover, opportunities abound as the hustle and bustle of life was at its highest point of the year, the weather the most tolerable for moving about. Returning from an evening of fishing now that the water wasn’t frozen in some areas and sketching birds by the river when he stumbled across a lone figure boarding train – well after midnight. He followed on horseback under the cover of trees in anticipation, joined by your own horse shortly after. He followed alongside with a hold of the strange horse’s reins until the train came to a stop.

He'd strained to hear you, considered boarding after you to clean up any straggling guards – it wasn’t his business, so he didn’t – but curiosity held him close. When the sound of police approaching quickly began you emerged to the top of the train, looking around desperately for your horse. Temporarily frozen when the moonlight caught your face and confirmed to the man that you were a woman, he recovered just in time to spring into action.

It had been Arthur who had led your horse to you and instructed you to follow. It was Arthur’s path that led you away from the law and eventually far enough away to be free of their hunting.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, lady?” he questioned when the two of you slowed side-by-side under the cover of thick trees, his face hard-set and stern. “You coulda gotten yourself tossed away for a long time back there.”

“I didn’t, though,” you laughed, and despite the feeling that burned in him that he couldn’t quite place as anger or worry Arthur’s stomach flipped at the sound and the way your laugh reached your eyes. You adjusted your hat with a playful smile on your lips, keeping the reins to your horse in one hand.

“Thanks to me,” he asserted, the stress causing him to light up a cigarette and adjust his hat. His eyes caught your gaze and you held it, appreciating his handsome features for a moment as your smile twisted wider.

“I would’ve figured it out, cowboy – you can be sure of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve seen your face on ‘wanted’ posters, Mr. Morgan,” you proclaimed, tone proud as you called him on his identity. He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward comfortably in his saddle, outstretching a hand toward you.

“Arthur,” he offered, amusement flashing across his features when you shook his hand firmly. “And I’ve seen yours, too. What is it they call you…?”

“The Panther,” you replied, that proud tone ever-present in your voice. “A nice tribute to my best hunt.”

His poker face was too well-trained to reveal that he was impressed – that he was intrigued.

“Well next time you go thinkin’ of doing something so goddamn stupid like rob a train at midnight alone,” he began, gruff voice filled with frustration as he attempted to present his unamused façade. “You could invoke that particular nickname and be a little more subtle.”

The second time was just as circumstantial. It was July – the heat sweltering, the air sticky, the fireflies sparkling in fields at night. You’d been riding for days, hunting gators in the swamps for weeks and now headed back to a more familiar area where you felt more at home. Just past Emerald Ranch you’d spotted him on the road ahead – his hat unmistakable and burned into your mind, his horse giving away his identity to anyone who knew it.

There was no questioning if he’d want your company – you didn’t even give it a thought. Instead, you’d hastened your own horse to catch up with him.

“Where ya headed, cowboy?” you questioned as you approached from behind, adjusting your hat back on your head to offer more of your face to him. Your voice immediately sent a shiver down his spine, the barely-there smile crossing his features unmissed by you.

Four months trying to remember your face and voice hadn’t done it any justice.

“Valentine,” he replied, slowing his horse’s stride to match yours. The two of you set a lazy pace, in no real hurry to get anywhere. “You following me now, cat?”

“Like I ain’t got better things to do, Mr. Morgan?” you joked, nose scrunching as you smiled. The Summer sun had done beautiful things for your color, he noted. “Give you $50 and shine your guns if you can beat me there.”

“Are you tryin’ to race me?” he questioned with a subtle laugh, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Won’t be much of a race, cowboy.”

He let out a real, genuine, albeit short laugh at that. The sound filled the air around you, made birds vacate trees. Your heart soared away alongside them.

“And what is it you want if you win?”

“A nice bottle of whisky,” you replied after a brief moment of thought, reaching your hand to rub your horse’s neck gently. Arthur had forgotten how gentle your hands were with everything they touched – the rediscovery lighting up his mind. “And a hot meal at your camp.”

“Can’t promise the gang’ll let you eat at camp without drinking, too.”

“Which is why I asked for a bottle of whisky,” you remarked, that shit-eating grin he was starting to love spreading on your face again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hope your horse is fast enough to back up that mouth of yours,” he quipped back, intentionally antagonizing you as he started to pick up the speed slightly. “Or that you’ve got plenty of gun oil.”

You shot forward then, the dust of the road kicking up behind you as you left Arthur behind on a road you both knew well. In reality he could’ve caught you – could’ve even won if he’d pushed his horse hard enough – but the sound of your laughter in the cool evening air was reason enough to lose.

It wasn’t a surprise when you crossed over into the town first.

“You cheated,” he argued as he approached, allowing his horse to slow to a reasonable speed for being around other people. “Got a head start. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, reaching up to remove his hat to resituate his wind-blown hair. You were momentarily transfixed on his fingers running through the strands that looked soft – maybe in need of a wash but soft nonetheless – but quickly wished he’d left it messy. “Weren’t mean you didn’t get a head start, cat.”

“Oh, like a couple steps mattered,” you entered an easy banter with him, just like the two of you had done in the Spring. He’d missed it – hadn’t realized how much he had until then. “Coulda given you a five-minute head start and still would’ve beat you and that slowpoke horse you ride.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re difficult?”

“Heard it a couple times,” there was that smile again – the nose crinkling one. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his thoughts to himself with you smiling that way – at him. You jumped down from your stallion and hitched him with ease, feeding the massive animal a small snack in appreciation of his efforts. “I can compromise. I buy the whisky, but I still get a hot meal at your camp.”

He pondered your proposal only briefly before nodding, letting out an affirmative huff in agreeance. “I’ll meet you at the butcher when you’re done.”

You gave your horse a gentle pat and nodded, turning back to meet his gaze. “Sell that fox pelt I have up on Scratch, will ya?”

Easy. Simple. Honest. Sensible. Arthur loved having you around camp that night – and the night after when you’d been convinced to stay again by the women – though it was hardly just them that enjoyed your company. You’d made easy companions in the camp with your sharp tongue and ability to hold your alcohol. You had plenty of stories to share with Arthur’s chosen family – each one of them genuinely interesting to the gang.

Everyone knew the fact Arthur had brought you around meant you were a good person. The beauty was a bonus, he’d been informed in privacy. He’d only told Sean to shut his mouth in response. Arthur slept by the fire that night so you could sleep in his cot, and if anyone else in the gang saw the way he’d sat up for at least an hour with his eyes transfixed on your sleeping figure in his bed.

It was Fall, October to be exact, the next time he heard from you – this time you had taken fate into your own hands to seek out his company. He was certain he’d never be able to dispose the letter you’d penned and sent to his camp.

Dear Arthur, Kinda strange to call you “dear”, huh? Anyway, I have a job comin’ up in Saint Denis that involves me boarding a train quite late at night and remembering our conversation earlier this year I thought I may ask you to join. Job is planned for the night of October 18, the Saturday after next. I’ll meet you the Friday before at the saloon in Van Horn if you plan on joining me. I do hope you join me. Hope that gang of yours isn’t being too rough on you.

He arrived in Van Horn a day early and rented himself a room – and a bath – so he was prepared for the meeting. He was in the saloon before you, his chest clenching as you walked in through the swinging doors.

You’d taken a page from his book and clearly bathed recently as well, and you were dressed for the first time in front of him in feminine attire. The sight of you in a skirt shouldn’t have affected him the way it did – it was embarrassing for a man his age. It didn’t prevent the pressure building at his waist, nor did it stop him from speaking his mind.

“You had to wear that damn skirt, didn’t ya?” he questioned when you joined him, a smile spreading across your face. It was hardly a gentlemanly way to greet you, but then again, he was hardly a gentleman. “Knew what you were doin’ puttin’ that on with me coming in today…”

“You complained so much about the pants last time I figured I’d save myself the headache,” you replied, sliding into a chair next to him and crossing your legs for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kitten,” he’d practically purred – a new tone between the two of you. There was no denying that you wanted to hear it more, and you nearly chose to forget the real reason you were now sitting beside him.

“I need to look the part tomorrow for the job,” you replied quickly, eager to squash the tension now building between the two of you, unwilling to allow the job to go forgotten. There was too much money at stake. “Have to board a real nice train when it leaves out of Saint Denis tomorrow night. There’s a safe onboard I’d like to get my hands into.”

“Can’t just rob it the old-fashioned way?”

“Someone didn’t like the last time I did that,” you teased, feeling pleased with the smile it earned. “Figured I’d board and crack the safe.”

“Why you need me then?”

“Need someone to play my husband and keep watch while I’m workin’ on the safe.”

“Your husband,” he huffed out with another laugh, a brief shake to his head. The term had always been silly to him, just as silly as the idea of marriage was to you as a whole, really – and yet, there was no denying the clench in both of your chests at the mere thought. The imaginary suggestion manifested in brief images of domesticity, the vision of you sleeping in his cot in July flashing in his mind.

You didn’t miss the slight redness to his cheeks, he didn’t miss how your smile fluttered into something laced with affection. For all your joking demeanor, it was still clear that there was some secretive sincerity beneath the surface – that you cared for Arthur. And on Arthur’s part, well…he wouldn’t ride across the country to work for just anyone.

“Yes,” you replied when you’d pulled yourself from the depths of his eyes. “A woman travelling with her husband is far less likely to draw attention than if I were alone.”

You thought there would be some protest, though if you’d seen even a fraction of the thoughts Arthur had conjured up in the preceding months you’d never have to question it. To you what seemed to be him conceding was actually the outlaw taking a step he’d long considered taking with you the next chance he got.

Arthur just wanted to spend time with you – there were probably very few things he’d say no to right now in regard to you. He wouldn’t go admitting that out loud anytime soon either.

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan. Only so you don’t go gettin’ yourself arrested.”

“Great!” you exclaimed, the brightness that covered your face blinding but serving as confirmation that he was making the right choice. The money he was sure to get would be a bonus, too. “I got you a wedding ring. Looks like it’ll fit. You can sell it when the job’s done, as a thank you.”

“You get it off a dead body?”

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

There was that goddamn feeling in his chest again.

This was the fourth time destiny had crossed your path with Arthur Morgan’s.

Now, the ring still lay in the outside pouch of his satchel, the cool metal brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers often daily in a physical reminder of you. Today, feeling the pull of being apart from you for four months now and into the new year, he’d been clutching the metal in his gloved hands as he led his horse through the far North. Seeking the solitary bliss of being alone in the mountains for the winter, he had opted to simply ride and camp, sketching in his journal and enjoying the snow dusted scenery. Arthur’s plan was soon thwarted as a snowstorm began to roll in.

He'd been riding along the same worn path to make his way down the mountain when he noticed horse tracks leading into the thick forest – a horse, by the look of it, with no reemergence to be seen. Opting to do the honorable thing, Arthur pursued the trail, weaving through trees atop his own horse until he came to a small clearing where you were setting predator bait.

He didn’t know the kind of words to describe the way he felt seeing you right in front of him.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, cat?”

If he had a way with words, he’d tell you that your smile was brighter than the sun itself – fleeting shooting stars, the North Star when he’s lost.

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Mister Morgan,” you replied, standing up and patting your horse as your gaze remained transfixed on him now. Even at this distance you could see the blue in his coat had electrified his eyes, the tone a perfect match for the world around you. You found it hard to form any further rebuttal.

“Won’t be the last either, given you’re doing something fucking crazy every time I see you,” he teased, finally giving into the natural ease he felt with you. The light air between the two of you had finally lulled him into a sense of comfort around you – he was willing to admit he was concerned, in his own way. “There’s a storm rollin’ in. You trying to freeze to death?”

“Trying to hunt a white wolf,” you replied, glancing back at the bait you’d just set and adjusting the bow you held in your hands, an arrow already grasped between two fingers.

Fuckin’ hell, Arthur thought. ‘Course that’s what you’re out here doing.

“You ain’t gonna be hunting much of anything when you turn into an icicle,” he replied, hopeful that you would understand his taunting was coming from a place of concern – not control. “You got Scratch nearby?”

“I suppose you’re right,” you smiled, slipping the arrow back into the quiver on your back and whistling to call your horse back to you. You mounted up on the animal easily, Arthur taking the moment to appreciate how languid your movements were – how graceful. His eyes lingered at your waist for a moment longer than was decent.

“If I remember right there’s a cabin just up the road. Been empty the last few times I rode by,” he explained, his words offering more than just a place to shield from the freeze.

Arthur wanted to spend time with you. You’d truly have to be a lunatic to think otherwise.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The snow picked up as the two of you rode side-by-side, both of your horses slowing as the powder piled up, creating heavier footsteps. While Arthur spoke to his horse beside you to soothe her through the storm, you could feel his eyes consistently on you despite the painful whip of flakes against his unshielded cheeks.

What could have been a short ride in the summer extended in the weather, and by the time the cabin approached view you had begun to shiver – something Arthur took note of. When he climbed from his horse he unrolled the blanket on the back of his saddle, passing it up to you before grabbing his shotgun.

“I’ll check inside, you try not to shiver s’much you fall off your horse.”

He disappeared into the cabin, your mind focusing on the sounds of him moving about rather the piling snow that was sure to trap you for days. Keeping yourself wrapped in his blanket provided the additional comfort of his lingering scent, and you found yourself clutching the fabric tighter and tighter as the moments passed.

“This’ll be fine ‘til the storm’s passed,” he announced as he exited through the doors, voice raised so you could hear him over the wind. “You go on in while I get some firewood and hitch the horses.”

“I can help, you know,” you offered, eyebrows pulling together to communicate your frustration.

“Would you stop your arguing for once and go inside out of this shit?”

By the time Arthur made his way in from the storm you’d used what wood remained in the cabin to start a fire, the flames warming the air around it quickly. The mattress was considerably dirty and out of the question, so you were validated in the decision to carry in your bedrolls and blankets, having set them up comfortably in front of the fire.

His heavy boots sounded on the floor as he approached where you sat on the floor from behind, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you.

“Already got a fire going?”

“Uh huh,” you replied, noting the subtle shake to his voice. Arthur was strong, but he was human, and he was cold. The fact that he not only was willing to but insisted on suffering for you caused a knot to form in your stomach. “Got some whisky if you need help warming up.”

He simply grunted affirmatively in reply, setting the stack of wood carefully to the side and picking out the driest pieces to tend the fire with now. You tempted to hand the bottle out to him, the liquid going ignored as he began to peel off layer by layer, tossing the soaked clothing to the side lazily with little regard for how they ended up. Normally you’d have stood to hang the clothes, but you found yourself spellbound by the way Arthur’s muscles flexed with each movement under the simple wet damp button up shirt – the last remaining layer.

When he was somewhat comfortable, he turned to face you, eyes flashing with amusement as he took the bottle from your fingers. You were certain your mouth was hanging open and he’d caught you. At the moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Hours passed as the two of you got warm and caught up over the last few weeks. You sat opposite one another, both wrapped in your own blankets and full of enough whisky to ignore the storm outside – to ignore everything but one another. Arthur hadn’t missed that most of your clothes lie neatly folded atop the countertop. The thought was repeating in his mind – the heavy question of what exactly remained under the blanket haunting him.

He couldn’t be blamed for not being a good listener.

“Arthur, are you even listenin’ to me?”

“Not a fuckin’ word,” he replied with one more small swig of whisky from the bottle, setting it well out of the way to the side. “Stop fuckin’ doin’ that if you want me to listen.”

“Doing what?”

You knew damn well what.

“Lookin’ at me like you want me to come crawl on top of you.”

Why on Earth would you ever stop doing that?

“No.”

Your mouth was going to drive him to insanity one day. He wasn’t going to do a single thing about it.

“Did you just tell me ‘No’?”

“Yeah, Arthur, I surely did,” you replied, quick and agile as you were on your feet. He was beginning to think you may only talk to hm this way, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to reach out to you. “Hoping you take the hint.”

The blanket he’d been using for himself was discarded to the side, your words finally snapping the thin thread of control that remained in him. He extended one arm outward toward the floor to support himself, outstretching his legs to be situated in a more comfortable position before his eyes found yours again.

“Come on over here,” his invitation came thick as molasses and dripping just as sweet, his free hand patting his right thigh to give his words deeper meaning. “Bring the blanket.”

Arthur had finally figured out how to get you to stop arguing and basked in the glory of the moment as you crawled to him carefully, finding a comfortable seat in his lap as you straddled his thighs. He savored the view as you wrapped your arms around his neck, encompassing you both with the blanket, your face illuminated by the golden glow of the well-tended fire – beautiful, warm, inviting.

He was more than happy to finally accept.

“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”

He knew you were trying to sound resolute as you always did – firm and demanding and impossible to deny. While those things lingered – he doubted they could ever truly be gone from you – what really laced your words was the quietest of whines. He sat up fully, bringing his torso closer to yours and grasping your hips in both hands, all the while your heart beating faster and faster in anticipation.

When you opened your mouth to let your protest be known again, he took his opportunity to claim your lips in a long-awaited kiss, the feeling of his lips caressing yours sucking the air from your chest immediately. He opted to slide his hands to your lower back to bring you in closer, pressing your chests together as he kissed you hungrily. Touch starved and overwhelmed by the feeling of you returning his kiss with soft lips he sought more of your skin, sliding his hands up the back of the loose blouse you remained in.

“Clothes are still wet,” he grumbled against your lips, displeased by the cool touch to your skin that remained. You scrambled to reinitiate the kiss, your lips catching his bottom lip as a whine slipped through your lips. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose.

“Take them off, then,” you breathed out, bowing your head to press a delicate kiss to his neck. His own breath caught, arms wrapping tighter around you – almost too tight, almost too crushing. You made no move to stop him as you began to test the best places to leave your kisses, spurring him to release his hold on you to start peeling the last layers from both of you.

Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when all that remained were intimate coverings, a shaky groan rolling through his chest. His hands engulfed you, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, dipping his head to claim your lips again.

That kiss was hungry – starved – clumsy in ways that screamed of desperation. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples lightly, a smile evident on his lips despite the fact he continued to kiss you as a moan slipped from your throat. It spiraled from there, both of your hands exploring, your fingers the best thing he’d felt against his skin in a long time. As the pressure built heavier at your waist his hands trailed lower, one stopping to grasp your waist, the other slipping into the waistband of your underwear.

He'd never heard music that sounded as good as the sound of the moan that left you as his thick fingers swiped through your wet folds, an appreciative hum shaking in his throat as you burrowed your face in his neck.

“You’re already soaked for me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice getting lower and lower with each word. He began to sink his index finger into you, grasping your hip tighter in his other hand. “Fuckin’ tight, too. Hell.”

“Arthur…”

“Aw, hush,” he cooed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple as he curled his finger inside you, pulling a quiet whimper from you. “No point tryin’ to talk right now, darlin’ – just lemme take care of ya.”

He could take his sweet time, Arthur Morgan. He was a patient man, especially when it came to you, and never more-so than now as he began to work his finger in and out of your clenching heat. He added a second finger soon, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit to give you more pressure, which you gladly accepted by rocking your hips into it.

As he pumped his fingers into you he began to trail kisses lower, the kisses growing heavier and wetter the further down he went. By the time he nipped at your hip with his teeth lightly you were breathless, eyes squeezed shut as you lost yourself to pleasure. He kissed across your waistline as he pulled your underwear down, smiling against your skin lightly when you kicked them free with frustrated fervor.

Nothing up to this point compared to the feeling of Arthur sliding his tongue from his fingers to your clit, giving the sensitive bundle of nerves a soft suck. He repeated the motion as you struggled to even moan, your hands grasping at the blankets now on the floor beneath you as you tried to rock your hips into his face desperately.

“Easy, now,” Arthur reprimanded with quiet reverence behind his words, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh softly. “I’m takin’ my time with you, don’t rush me.”

You finally opened your eyes, ready to give him an earful about being a tease, only to be frozen once again faced with the sight of Arthur, golden illuminated by the fire and somehow still wearing his hat tipped back on his head. You maintained eye contact with him as you reached forward with your hands, removing the hat with one hand and placing it on your own head as your fingers ran through his hair, giving a soft tug at the end.

The growl vibrated through him and you as he connected his lips to your clit, pumping his fingers into you and connecting the tips, curling them skillfully to rub against the sensitive patch deep within you as he sucked your clit. All the while he maintained eye contact, even when he removed his mouth from you with one final flick of his tongue, just as he removed his fingers from you.

“Arthur…” you whimpered in protest, tugging his hair again to try to bring him back to your needy core.

“Hush,” he instructed tenderly, slipping his hands under your ass and grasping firmly to lift your waist from the floor. He soaked in the view of your glistening folds at this angle and tested how it looked to watch one of his fingers slip into you before removing it, licking his lips again. “You are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your reply was sucked from your chest and altered into a cry of pleasure as he spit on your folds, smearing the liquid around before connecting his thumb to your clit, rubbing a figure eight. Supporting your raised hips still with one hand he continued to rub your clit, now using his tongue to fuck into you rather than his fingers, tasting you how he’d wanted to for nearly a year now.

The pressure continued to build and boil, eventually reaching a point of eruption – all the usual signs there with your shaking thighs, shorter and desperate breaths, your nails scratching against his temple as you gripped whatever you could. Arthur figured it was a previously unknown bonus to him keeping his hair a little on the longer side. He groaned to encourage you, switching his movements to pump his fingers into you again, circling your clit with his tongue until you became incendiary, your first orgasm washing through you with white hot heat.

He continued to lap at your folds as you came, removing his tongue from you occasionally only to kiss your thighs and mutter tender praises as you came back down to your body. When you had some sense about yourself, he was crawling back up you, pressing kisses to your stomach and breasts before he reached your lips, offering you a taste of your own honey sweet pleasure on his tongue.

When the adoration filled amorous kiss ended so Arthur could breathe you began to trail kisses down his neck again, following a trail to his chest before his index finger caught under your chin, lifting you back up to him, cerulean eyes questioning.

“Your turn,” you offered, slipping one of your hands into the waistband of his underwear and wrapping your fingers around his throbbing cock slowly. Running your finger over the velvet head you smeared the pre-spend leaking already, biting at your swollen bottom lip when he moaned.

“Not tonight, sweet thing,” he declined, his hesitation clear in his voice. You began to rub him gently – slowly – too damn slow – causing his eyes to roll back briefly. “You wrap these lips around me, and I won’t last long enough t’ fuck you.”

“Please.”

You didn’t truly know what you were begging for – for him to test himself and allow you to take his already throbbing cock into your mouth or for him to follow through on that promise to fuck you. Luckily, Arthur seemed to know exactly what your words were asking for – what you needed.

He reached to remove your hand from his cock gently, freeing himself of his underwear before he gently moved you to your side, lying beside you with his back to the fire to shield you from getting too much heat, to ensure you didn’t get hurt. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other slid to cup your cheek in his hand, bringing you in closer to him as he kissed you again.

As much fun as he’d been having teasing, he was done with the games now, and could no longer find the patience. He reached to lift your leg around his waist before grasping his cock, rubbing against your still-soaked entrance for a moment to gather some lubrication before he sank into you. Inch by inch disappeared into your velvet channel, the kiss practically halting as you gasped. He leaned his forehead against yours instead, grasping your waist gently as he continued to slip into you.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathed out. The large hand that still cupped your cheek slipped downward to rest against your neck instead, his fingertips digging into your skin in attempt to steady himself, to savor your pulse beneath his touch. “Takin’ me so good. You doin’ okay?”

You nodded as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open already at the feeling of him stretching you, almost too full but not something you’d be willing to give up anytime soon. When he’d fully seated himself within you, his cock buried to the hilt he released a shaky groan of his own, his eyes briefly closing as he savored the feeling of being wrapped up in you.

“Goddamn you’re tight,” he groaned out, pressing several light kisses to your lips before grinding his hips into yours slightly. “Shoulda crawled ‘tween your legs months ago.”

“Would…ah…woulda let you,” you managed to reply, pressing your lips to his in an unabashedly salacious kiss, already perfecting how to slot your lips against his in a way that left him craving more. He couldn’t hold back his movements any longer and began to pump into you repeatedly, setting a wanton and quick pace that somehow managed to remain tender and reverent.

He could only be tender for so long, desperation and months of waiting and yearning building in him. His movements began to get sloppy sooner than he’d have liked, though he felt better when your walls began to flutter and clench around him, your thigh shaking around his hip slightly. He picked up his pace to a much more relentless one, driving his cock into you and into your spongy cervix repeatedly as his grunts became more frequent, pressing kisses to your neck now.

“Want you to finish while I’m inside you,” he instructed, though there was something so subtly desperate behind his words – a quiet beg that only someone who knew him would recognize. “Think you can do that for me, darlin’?”

You nodded before leaning your head back again, quiet cries leaving your lips as he connected his thumb to your clit again, immediately choosing a relentless pace to rub in circles. You were almost certain you’d do anything he asked and soon enough you were pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching him so tight he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remove himself. He did his best to continue pumping into you roughly now as he sought his own release, certain you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Like you’d need to, anyway.

“F-fill me up, Arthur,” you begged unexpectedly through your euphoria, and he didn’t need anything else to convince him. With only a few more bruising thrusts he stilled inside you as he emptied his seed in hot ropes into you, groaning loudly as he lazily leaned his forehead to yours again, his own eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t remove himself from you when you’d both ridden your orgasms, instead holding you close and reaching to cover the two of you in one of the blankets that was on the floor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly to hold you closer to him, slipping one of his legs between yours for additional comfort and warmth. Still semi-hard with plenty of stamina to offer you couldn’t ignore the feeling of him seated in you still, buried as deep as possible as he brushed his nose against yours.

“Be a whole lot warmer this way,” he offered, giving a subtle move of his hips to emphasize the meaning behind his words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before reaching upward to kiss your forehead, leaving his lips resting there. He was right – you did finally feel warm.

“Mm,” was all you could reply, laying your head against his shoulders and closing your eyes, burrowing your face into his neck. He smiled as you managed to press lazy kisses into his neck before wrapping your arms around him as well.

“Think I’ll keep you here all winter,” he offered after several blissful moments, his head leaning to rest on the top of yours as his own eyes closed. He pressed one final kiss to your temple before succumbing to the comfort of you fully.

“Always knew you were a big teddy bear, Arthur,” you teased. How you managed to run your mouth still after he’d fucked you right was beyond him – but it was also probably a reason he’d want to keep fucking you.

“We’ll call it hibernation, then.”

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut

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pascalswift · 1 year

Text

BURNING DESIRE

STEPDAD!JOEL x F!READER

SUMMARY : after all Joel did marry your mother, but she was oblivious to the motive behind it. Not silly love, it’s was you. It was always you, His sweet little stepdaughter.

WARNINGS : age gap (reader is early 20’s Joel’s late 30’s), dark!joel, perv!joel, step-cest, oral (f receiving), boob play, pet names, fingering, overstimulation, daddy kink, manhandling, mutual pinning, established relationship, (This is Short, sorry my loves )

JOEL MILLER WASN’T A EVIL PERSON, NO. HE WAS JUST CALCULATED. A very smart man, seemingly very stoic but once you break past the multi layered concrete you’d find someone that you’d never want to leave. Maybe that’s what enthralled your mother to jump into marriage so quickly, she truly believed he was deeply in love with her and she was he. She believed that she just happened to meet a professor at your college whom was single and yearning for the domestic things in life, but she was so utterly wrong.

To Joel miller, well he had found an in. One that allowed him full access to you, free to stare, free to do whatever he imagined without having to worry about a college or a student noticing the way he seemed to linger on you. After all, it was no accident that day when he and your mom “crashed” into each other.

So here he was now, arms crossed over his chest, Dress shirt screaming at the push from his large arms. The older man staring sternly at you as you sat on your bed promptly ignoring him. “I told your mother we’d meet her there.” Joel persisted and you huffed rubbing the heel of your palm over your eyes.

Your mother wasn’t your favorite person, she was money hungry, and self absorbed. She tried to claim she loved you, even more attempting to smother you after your father desperates this life a few years ago but time after time her true colors would peer through the blinds. So sitting at a dinner with her and her husband wasn’t something you’d like, especially if your step fathers brother/business partner was gonna be there. Your mother seemed to love his company…

Joel wasn’t dull he knew his wife likes his brother. But he also knew his brother wasn’t like that.

“Why can’t I just stay here? Tommy’s gonna be there and he’s good company.” You shrugged and Joel’s jaw clenched as he dropped his arms. “But I want ya’ there sweetheart.” Your heart raced as he walked closer to you, doe eyes looking up at him as his rough hand gripped your jaw angling your face upwards. “You just want attention huh?” Joel cooed before he bent down pressing his lips against your plush ones.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You mumbled as Joel pulled away, his brows raising as he crouched in front of you. He tossed the sheet off your legs angling your legs to the side of the bed, Your knees level with his neck. He tilted his head placing his hands on your knees as you were only in a pair of white cotton shorts with a tiny pink flower in the front center right under your belly button, and a plain pink tank top. He eyed the way your nipples imprinted the fabric of your thin tank top.

“Y’know what I mean baby.” Joel stated, his voice a bit lower. “If ya didn’t you wouldn’t be reactin’ like you are.” His hand slid up grazing your clothes nipple and you sucked in a breath. “If I give you somethin’ you promise you’ll get dressed after?” He was smirking, because he knew how to make you comply. You demeanor had changed from refusing to go to nodding with vigor whilst looking at your step-father.

His large rough hands slid up your thighs leaving goosebumps in its wake as his hands reached your shorts. He stood up hands grasping your waist as you tossed you further up the bed, a light giggle escaping your lips that made him smile as he climbed between your legs. Your heart rate was through the rough as he pulled your shorts and panties down in one go tossing them somewhere around the room.

He watched as your chest heaved and he yanked your tank top down letting your breast spring free and he groaned as he ground his hips into the bed to relieve some pressure. He leaned up taking a nipple into his mouth and your head lulled back with a whimper that turned into a light moan when his teeth grazed it. He pulled away pinching your other nipple before he lowered himself between your legs. Groaning at the mess of slick in your folds.

“Baby’s already wet f’me.” You nodded as he kissed your inner thighs, so close to wear you want him. “Word’s.” Joel muttered biting your inner thigh before soothing it with his tongue. “Just f’you daddy.” It escaped your lips and Joel nearly moaned at the way you said it, his hips moved on the mattress getting some relief as he finally flattened his tongue and licked a thick harsh stripe up to your clit.

You hands pulled at his hair as you moaned. Joel had quickly lost himself between your legs, it was supposed to be a little treat but it quickly just became a frenzy. His tongue dipping into your tight hole as You writhed. His arms were locked under your thigh pushing your stomach down not giving you much room to move. “s’good- mmgh”

Joel sucked your bundle of nerves harshly before, letting his tongue trace it before his hang slipped lower and his thumb pressed on your clit pulling up lightly, watching as you held onto your breast absentmindedly pinching and pulling at your nipples, before he returning to sucking and you felt tears brim your eyes as your abdomen felt hot. “D-daddy.” You whined as his other hang slid up between your boobs and both of your hands grabbed onto his larger one.

“I know baby, your bein’ so good f’daddy.” He mumbled as he used the pad of his tongue to lick down towards your weeping hole. His free hand that you were holding coming down as he poked at it with his index finger. Your hips jerked and you whimpered. “Gotta get you ready for later princess, ya’ want that hm?” You nodded eagerly but moaned loudly when you felt his thick finger enter inside you. Joel himself moaning at how warm and tight your walls were, barley just accepting his one finger he could only image what his cock would feel like inside of you.

He was so tempted to just fuck you after this but he didn’t wanna raise any flags. His finger pumped in and out of you and he already felt the way you clenched down on his one finger, your cries only spurring him on. Without warning he pushed his middle finger inside of your hole that was pouring arousal. The stretch was a sweet burn but quickly became just sweet as Joel’s mouth went back on your clit and his fingers pumped deeply inside of you.

He curled his fingers upward and you let out a particularly loud moan as the coil tightened in your stomach and heat slowly started to build up. “P-please- mgh. Daddy I’m g-“ Joel only sped up watching as your face contorted into pleasure. Mouth open with harsh breaths and brows furrowed. He curled his fingers up and sucked on your bundle of nerves watching as your orgasm hit you.

As he fucked you through your orgasm you were sure you blacked out for a minute. The pleasure washed over your body making your head push further into your pillow as you babbled incoherently. When you finally came down from jumping multiple feet in the air you felt Joel’s mouth still on your clit, his fingers still inside of you and your thighs attempted to close. Only to be cut short by his strength. “Daddy s’to much- m-“ you were unable to form a coherent sentence as Joel kept going, seemingly In a trance.

Tears started to fall down your cheeks as you yanked on his hair attempting to push him back but not outwardly telling him to stop, the pleasure being to enjoyable. “Gimmie one more baby.” His voice was raspy as he lifted his head only for a second before returning back to his place between your thighs pulling his fingers from your slick full hole. His fingers covered in your arousal as he smeared it over your clit, hearing your whimper of emptiness.

His hand slid up your neck and his finger tapped your bottom lip letting you taste yourself while he used his tongue to make you cum again.

Before you reached dinner you had already came three times, and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to handle later.

thanks for reading <333

if you wanna be tagged just lmk and message me with requests I’m happy to write mostly everything <33

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tinoinc · 3 months

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cinnajun · 1 year

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ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: cuddling with zb1

a/n: anon this is such a good request thank you also it’s so hard to describe like how people work

notes: yujin is not included due to his age!

wc | 2.1k

jiwoong

big strong warm man

what i mean is jiwoong is the perfect surface to lay on

i think he’s the type of guy to enjoy cuddling but he also doesn’t like need to be cuddling you at all times during your downtime

like it’s not a need yk

and he won’t ask to cuddle (so if you want to and he’s not thinking about it you’re gonna have to ask)

but he’s the type of guy to like … yawn as an excuse to put his arm around you LOL

jiwoong’s ideal cuddling spot is on the couch while you watch tv/a movie

he appreciates it when you lay on him. you’re like his personal and unique weighted blanket

he’ll be sprawled out on the couch and you’ll be on top of him, head on his chest

he will put his arms around your waist and will intermittently poke your sides like he’s checking to make sure you’re real

if you lay there for too long he will kick you off when he feels his arms starting to go numb lol

at night, i don’t think he’s the guy to full on cuddle

i think maybe he’ll put an arm on your waist but that’s it

he doesn’t like your icicle hands jolting him awake at 3 am LOL

if he’s sick he will attach himself to you though … he will also apologize for making you sick afterwards

cuddle rating: 8/10, minus two points for always making you ask

zhang hao

hao is a princess and he likes to sit on your lap

i won’t let anybody tell me otherwise he will actively just sit on you

doesn’t matter what you’re doing or where you are he will just sit on you

it’s kinda like the opposite of jiwoong … hao loves to lay on you except he’s (most likely) taller than you so it’s awkward

sometimes you’ll be napping and he’ll scare you awake by literally collapsing on you

he likes cuddles a lot though so that’s not all he’s doing

i said this in another set of hcs i did but i think hao likes being the little spoon

again he’s a princess

but also i think he just likes the feeling? like he feels comforted in your embrace so he wants you to just hug him all the time

he also strikes me as the type of person who gets cold easily so it warms him up too

on rare occasions, he will be the big spoon but it’s usually when you’re feeling bad and it’s making him sad

hao’s ideal cuddling spot is anywhere but he does like the bed a bit more

cuddling with him is also very quiet and relaxing

there are a lot of kisses on the cheek, forehead, pretty much everywhere

overall very soft and fun time !! it’s very intimate and cute

cuddle rating: 9/10, minus 1 point for him telling you to suck it up when your legs go numb from him sitting on you for so long

hanbin

hanbin is sooo clingy

has to have a hand on you at all times so cuddling is regular

like hao, he will cuddle up to you anywhere at any time, it doesn’t matter if you’re alone or literally all of the boys are there

he’ll sit on your lap but also enjoys it when you sit on his

big spoon, little spoon, it doesn’t matter he is LOVING IT!!!

but i think hanbin prefers cuddling on the couch most

idk if anyone else thinks this but he’s so christmas-coded in my brain, so his ideal is sitting on the couch with the fireplace on and just enjoying each other’s company

he likes laying his head in your lap a lot, especially when you’re talking about your days together

because he can see every single move and every expression you make, so he can easily gauge whether you’re talking about something negative or positive

he will switch with you when you’re done talking, so your head will be on his lap as he tells you about everything you did that day

and he’ll play with your hair while he talks it’s very sweet

hanbin is also the type of guy to cuddle with you while you’re sleeping at night

he can’t sleep without you being there :( he’ll require a stuffed animal replacement when you’re gone

if i keep talking about this i’m going to collapse

cuddle rating: 13/10, plus 3 points for the way he nuzzles up to you at any moment he can

matthew

matthew falls asleep every time you cuddle

it’s so bad

you’ll literally just be leaning on him while you sit on the couch, you’ll look up at him, and he’ll be fast asleep

as a result cuddling with matthew can be very uncomfortable because he’s just like asleep on you

i think his favorite thing to do his like … how do i explain this … i couldn’t figure it out so here’s a link to renjun and chenle doing what i'm thinking of

it’s the easiest way for him to conk out and also not cause you to get the worst cramp of your life in your leg

in the rare moments you fall asleep on him it makes him giggle so much that he wakes you up

and then he falls asleep like 3 minutes later

thanks matthew

a lot of your matthew cuddling time comes from napping with him

i could talk about napping for hours but to keep it short it’s just very sweet

matthew is big and strong man and NOT!!! cute guy so he likes to be big spoon a lot

i mean a lot

more than being a strong man i just think matthew likes holding onto things idk

like he’d be content with a huge teddy bear but he prefers you instead … you know

cuddle rating: 8/10, minus 2 points for laughing at you when you fall asleep on him and minus 1 point for falling asleep on you right after, plus one point for being the absolute cutest

taerae

cuddling with taerae is so casual like that’s the only way i can put it

idk it’s like … you’ll be sitting on the couch holding hands

and then he’ll put an arm around you … and then you’ll put your head on his shoulder … and then his legs are on yours … and now you’re here idk

taerae also likes to sit on your lap

except it’s in the funny way where he’ll taerae sashay over and then kinda just perch himself there

arms around your neck and arms crossed

this is his excuse to be near you in front of other people … he makes it jokey so that he can then give you a kiss on the cheek and tell you how much he loves you

loser

i think when you cuddle with taerae seriously it’s mostly in bed

he takes big naps and drags you with him

you fall asleep and wake up in a human knot like 5 hours later

your leg is on top of his and he’s got an arm like laying over your face and you’ve got an arm over his waist

you feel kinda sweaty and gross too but taerae looks really cute so it’s okay

i also think taerae likes to cuddle when he’s not having the greatest day

he’ll just sit down with you and collapse on you, face in your neck and arms wrapped around your waist :(

i love taerae sooo much

cuddle rating: 8/10, minus 2 points for trapping you in a knot for an hour that one time because he wouldn’t wake up

ricky

don’t hate me but i don’t think ricky is a big cuddler

it’s not that he doesn’t like it it’s just not his favorite thing in the whole entire world

his idea of cuddling is like holding your hand LOL

if you’re big into cuddling or your love language is physical touch he’s going to suck up his opinions and cuddle you it’s just gonna be a bit awkward

like he will weirdly put an arm over your shoulder while you lay on him

it’s like being in middle school all over again

he will literally google “how to cuddle” and ask gyuvin for pointers

you’d think cuddling was an olympic sport like just hug ur s/o bro

so i don’t really have much to say on that but i have A LOT to say when it comes to skinship

ricky is a hand-on-your-waist enthusiast

idk it just fits there so perfectly … it’s like his arm was meant to be around your waist

no matter where u go that’s where it is

i also think ricky gives shockingly good hugs? idk they’re kinda hot LOL

he does the thing where he’ll greet you by hugging you with specifically one arm … can you guys envision this like i can

big back hug guy … and he will put his head on top of yours

god SWOON ricky is so UGHHGGHGH

cuddle rating: 5/10 stop asking gyuvin for pointers // hug rating: 10/10 how can u make a hug so attractive bro (i need to write ricky brother’s best friend)

gyuvin

HUMAN TEDDY BEAR!!!

lanky boys are meant to be cuddled i don’t make the rules

he’s just so easy to koala hug cause he’s so long

based on what we know about him i think gyuvin LOOVES to cuddle

specifically i think he likes to lay on your tummy

like you’ll be laying down normally and then he will come lay perpendicular to you so he can use ur tummy as a pillow

if you’re not lying down he will substitute for your chest, and he likes to convince himself he’s the reason your heart is beating that fast (it is beating at an absolutely average rate LMFAO)

his absolute favorite is when you put your head on his chest

it makes his heart flutter and gives him butterflies like he's a schoolgirl about to confess to her crush

you can literally hear his heart pounding when you do it

i think cuddle sessions between you and gyuvin are also gossip sessions

like he will unload every insane thing he’s heard recently onto you and expect you to do the same

when you’re gossiping he likes to lay face-to-face, and a lot of the time he will just put his hand on your face

or he will put his arm on your waist … or mess with your hair

you’ll be saying the most heinous shit about someone and he will be giggling bc he thinks you look pretty

and you do the same exact thing

when you sleep he encases you in an impossible-to-escape limb cage so good luck with that

cuddle rating: 10/10 get ready to hear exactly how that one guy in his math class cheated on his gf

gunwook

HUMAN TEDDY BEAR AGAIN!!!

i know this man is the cuddle CHAMPION like you take one look at him and you can tell he gives warm hugs

he’s also like a space heater so he’s automatically the number 1 person to be around

tbh it could be like 30°f and you wouldn’t need a blanket you’d just need to attach yourself to gunwook

he loooves cuddles soooo much this guy just thinks it’s so cute

he teehees like a teenage girl every time you do

gunwook’s ideal cuddle is you being fast asleep with your face in his chest and your arms around his waist

mostly because he can take these really cheesy selfies of you asleep on him like bro stand UP

but also because he can scroll on his phone and have something to do while he acts as your personal heater

also appreciates laying on top of you which is sometimes difficult because he’s generally larger than you

i also think he would enjoy it when you sit in between his legs and he can like … wrap his arm around you and put his head on your shoulder … does that make sense

when gunwook is sleeping he treats you like the pillow he talked abt in that one clip … so his leg is on you and his chin is on your head etc

it’s cute

sometimes you can’t breathe tho

cuddle rating: 10/10 equal to gyuvin but unique in his own ways. go to the store and get yourself a gunwook

thank you for reading !

tags: @happysmileybee @wtfhyuck

#cinna.zb1 #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 fluff #zb1 headcanons #zb1 scenarios #zb1 reactions #jiwoong x reader #zhang hao x reader #sung hanbin x reader #seok matthew x reader #taerae x reader #ricky x reader #gyuvin x reader #gunwook x reader #req

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lo1k-diamonds · 9 months

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SX Seoul Series | Jungkook Entry 💜 Bubbles (Part 1)

PAIRING: Jungkook/Reader

SUMMARY: You're back in town and your first stop in a night out with friends is a new club: SX Seoul. You had no plans, but when you see your ex, everything changes.

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: exes, explicit sexual content, in public, oral, slight degradation and rough cause you are both hurt

PARTS: [1] [2]

(You can also read it on AO3)

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You smiled at the bouncer on your way inside the club and brushed a strand of dark hair behind your ear. Your group called you to follow as you got lost looking around the newest club in Itaewon. It was purposefully dark with red neon lights in wavy lines flowing in the direction of the dance floor but not before a huge sign with black and white stripes coaxed your attention with promises expanding over the several floors: SX.

“Come along.”

You smiled at your best friend and followed her and her friends to a reserved club area not too far from the bar. The Tech House music was making your ribcage hum comfortably and you sat on a couch before she turned to you again.

“I know the bartender on our side tonight! I’ll go say hi for a second!”

You nodded and watched her go as you took the space around you comfortably. The other girls were chatting, cross-checking who was there tonight and who they knew. You were used to hanging with girls like them — fun and wild at parties and clubs. You didn’t know them because you’d been away for a while, but you trusted your dearest friend to keep good company around.

Either way, you were there to have fun and enjoy being back home. You took a deep breath, the familiar scent of sweat and alcohol latching itself onto your skin before you even contemplated dancing. Everyone else was already doing it, flowing like a perfect wave in that crowd and you’d join them soon enough.

The lights were flashing all around to the generous beat making you tap your foot, and you contemplated getting up without waiting for your best friend when you saw him. Fully dressed in black in a way that avoided light and dancing so closely with a girl your guts burned with furious jealousy.

“Right? I’ve heard about him,” a girl gushed to your right. “He’s very hot.”

“You’re joking, look at that sleeve,” another one replied and your eyes immediately traced his arm. It was fuller now. “I wanna ride that bad.”

“Do you think he has other tattoos?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” one answered and they all giggled and laughed around. Your eyes never diverted from him or the way he was dancing with that girl, firm hands gripping her waist over a sparkly deeply cleavaged top.

“But you know, I’ve heard he fucks without kissing. Without even acknowledging you.”

Finally, your eyes turned to the girl sharing all the gossip and you wondered how she knew that.

“First-hand experience?” You asked with a teasing smile, just making conversation. They didn’t have to know how truly interested you were in knowing.

“No,” the other girls turned to hear more and you could see they were all charmed by the picture the girl was conjuring. “Not my kind of thing.”

The other girls teased her reply for a moment while you paid them little mind.

“Yeah, right. Look at him,” another one laughed openly.

“He’s fucking sexy and has this cute smile,” one said almost wantonly. She was possibly voicing everyone else’s thoughts. “Face it, who wouldn’t want to touch those curls?”

“He can get any girl on her knees.”

“And a bad boy? Get serious. We’d all be lining up.”

“What if he changes?”

“What if we’re the one?”

They all giggled except you, starting to regret not having a drink in your hand.

“Guys like him don’t change.”

“Actually,” the girl with the gossip leaned forward. “Rumour is he was in a committed relationship and that when she dumped him, he did a one-eighty and never dated seriously again.”

Your friend neared you all with a tray of shots and a wide grin, “Who’s not dating seriously?”

“Whoa, what a bitch,” one replied, leaning forward to grab a glass.

“Who would waste that?”

“If I could tap that, I’d hook him around my little finger.”

Your best friend looked at you quizzically and you just twitched the corners of your mouth. You grabbed a shot glass as well while the gossip girl explained everything to your best friend. In an instant, her eyes shot to yours but you were purposefully avoidant.

“What’s his name anyway?” One of them asked, turning her back so they could toast.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Your eyes immediately fell back on him and you ignored your friend’s worried looks. You cheered with the girls to a good and steamy night and drank the shot without much thought. It burned on its way down, but you were already burning from before, so no biggy. Who cared who he danced with, you were there to have fun too.

Your best friend called your name with a tinge of worry and all you did was smile, “I’ll go grab another round.”

You got up and adjusted your short strapless dress to make sure it covered your ass before trying to get in between the crowd to reach the bar. You didn’t have to go that far, but you couldn’t control your curiosity. As you moved in closer, you could see how he seemed taller, more built, and so buff. He had let his hair grow longer and it curled wildly around his ears, giving him an edge you found yourself liking a lot. Your lower belly was tingling already as you eyed him with hunger, especially those firm hands.

You were so hot that you were sweaty and by the time you leaned against the bar, you finally noticed something wasn’t right. The girl he was with was waving something small and flat between two fingers that she hid very quickly, and whatever it was got him angry. You knew that disgusted lip pull, and it made you smile.

He turned away from the girl and you instantly faced the bar, giving the whole scene your back. You were curious, hot, and bothered by the mere fact that he was there, that you got to see him, that there was a possibility that you would talk. It had been a while. You shouldn’t be curious, but the tingly sensation down your stomach wasn’t interested in shouldn’ts.

It was then and there that you almost took a deep breath and committed to not look his way the rest of the night. Your curiosity shouldn’t be enough, the girls gossiped way too much so you had all the information you could need, and there was really no need for your paths to intersect.

But fate wouldn’t have you choose that road tonight, it would seem. You turned to the side, curious as to where he would be, and you smiled. There were only two people in between you and an outstretched arm with a full sleeve over the bar counter. He was too close to be ignored, and you just couldn’t.

You made your way to him and luckily the two people between you had just gotten their drinks and were ready to leave. Jungkook didn’t notice you getting near because the bartender was listening to his order and you just leaned on the bar counter by his side.

“Order for me too, will you?”

He turned to you and his face was worth a million words. His lips parted to make way for air, but he wasn’t breathing, and that was when you noticed the lip ring. His skin was perfectly immaculate, the sweetness you’d recognize anywhere in the tender swell of his cheeks. Higher, his normally lovely eyes were wide in shock as he took in your presence. His eyebrows twitched and you noticed another piercing, which along with the new ones on his lip made you smile as you leaned to support your head on your hand. He was still figuring out if you were a ghost while you were in wonderland, wondering what had happened to all that sweetness.

“Here you go,” the bartender placed a whiskey cola on the counter and you turned quickly before Jungkook could react.

“Can you get me one too, please?”

You were already waving your credit card and the bartender acquiesced without wasting a beat.

It was the moment Jungkook needed to grab his drink and shug half of it like he was dying of thirst. Or maybe he just really needed a drink after seeing you.

“Thirsty are we?” You asked, reaching for the glass from his hand and taking a couple of sips while never breaking away from his darkened eyes. The ice-cold drink had you blinking for a second, thankful for the refreshing sensation down your chest. “You always liked them sweet.”

You placed his glass near his hand again before turning to smile at the bartender retourning with your card and your drink.

“You’re here.”

It wasn’t a question and if you weren’t interested in reading his lips, you might have missed it. So you smiled, letting the nostalgia fill you up in a nice kind of way. You had missed the little twitches of his lips while he mused or the way he scratched his nose bridge softly when he was embarrassed or at a loss.

“I am. How are you?”

His eyes were focused on the drink and he scoffed at your question, reaching to drink the rest of it. That was the first time you doubted this could end well. There was a bitterness in his features that dragged yours out of the deepest corners of you where you wished it would remain buried.

“Why are you here?”

Your lips twitched, “New club in Seoul.”

He sneered, “There were many new clubs in Seoul over the last year. Never crossed you before.”

“You know I wasn’t here.”

Your eyes locked and yours had all the meaning they could have. You weren’t in Seoul, so you couldn’t have crossed ways before. But you were here now.

He looked down and licked his lower lip while kicking the bar pensively. You let him process the fact that you were there in the flesh while you drank. When he looked up at you again, you caught his eyes and passed him your drink. He took a second but he grabbed it, turning to the bar to down it while you leaned into his ear.

“Dance with me.”

He looked out of the corner of his eye at you and you pulled back, waiting. You weren’t as crazy as anyone could assume, you knew the options. He could outright laugh in your face and move away like you were a plague, and it would hurt, but you would understand.

You kept your eyes locked on his, riding that heartbeat as you waited. You also knew that he could take you up on that offer, dance with you, and who knew what else. And it wasn’t as much as for the mystery, or a challenge, or anything of the like. You didn’t want him for any of those vain reasons. You wanted so much more.

He gave you a short nod and placed your empty glass next to his, with only the ice left. You gave him a cheeky smile before turning to go deeper into the crowd, far away and in the middle so that your best friend wouldn’t see you and advise you to be wise and think twice. What could you tell her; the moment fate challenged you with the chance of meeting him, you instantly lost.

You never turned back to check if he was following, you just assumed he did. You stopped with the flashing lights, sweating bodies, and thrumming music all around you, and you closed your eyes. You wanted his hands on you, his arms around you, his waist so close you’d be indistinguishable. You craved his presence, slick pooling at the thought of it alone.

So when two firm hands grabbed your waist and pulled you back flush against a firm chest, snaking arms holding your stomach and going up your sternum like they owned you, all you could do was freefall into him, releasing a moan that you knew he could have never heard, but he surely felt.

He hid his nose in your hair, lulling you two to the beat, and you melted against him. He was always a good dancer, the way he rolled his hips to guide yours reminding you of far sweeter times. His hand reached your chest and rested there, and you thanked the dark, the loud music, the crowd, the alcohol, the moment. It was in those moments that the deepest desires came out, hiddenly safely away. Only the two of you knew: how he was brushing his nose and lips on your neck, and how you were grabbing his arms to close around you tighter.

“When did you come back?” His lips were so close to your ear that a wave of shivers ran down your neck.

“Two days ago.”

His arms around you had you losing yourself further and further. You couldn’t care less what the music was or where you were. All you wanted was that chance and you were greedy.

“Are you alone?”

You sank your nails into his skin, “Youngjoo is here.” He didn’t react but you knew he would remember your best friend. “Are you?”

You forced the words out of you. You almost didn’t want to know, especially after what the girls were gossiping about. Maybe they were wrong and he was dating someone seriously. But then he would have never been dancing with that girl before, so maybe the rumors were true. And on that end, you had very mixed feelings.

He didn’t answer but he didn’t move away either. You loved everything as it was: every inch of his skin glued to yours, his lips ghosting your neck, his hands seconds away from groping you and making you beg.

But eventually, you needed more. You needed an answer. You’d beg, gladly, but not if he had his thoughts on someone else.

So you turned in his arms, the short dress allowing you to easily glue your bodies together as you hid near his ear. “Answer me,” you cooed, brushing his neck with your fingers until you were embracing and grazing his scalp with your nails. You leaned the side of your face on him, his sweat not bothering you for an instant. It reminded you of what it was like to feel him that close while on his lap. When he would fuck into you, sweetly and strongly until every breath was a moany whimper, and you buried your fingers just like that to keep him close. His delectable scent would invade you then and envelope you tightly in everything Jungkook-related until all there was left was his coarse words tensing the coil in your—

He breathed near your ear and you lost your breath, sighing instantly after when he said nothing.

“Answer me,” you asked again. This time you nuzzled his ear and pressed yourself even closer, “Tell me what I want to hear. Tell me you’re by yourself, that you have no plans, no one waiting at home, nothing stopping you from doing this,” you let out all your deepest desires, carried out by the close and delirious moment.

His hand was pressing up your spine and nape as you spoke until it latched onto your hair but it didn’t pull you away. You had moved by yourself to be as close as you could, breaths fanning each other’s faces as you waited for his reply.

You waited and longed, and tried not to rub your body flush against that familiar warmth that you were craving like the air you breathed. Unmistakably, your body betrayed you by leaning closer and closer until your noses grazed briefly, and that was when you felt the pull. His hand pulled your head back by your hair and you opened your glistening eyes, teeth deep into your lower lip with utmost desire, only to find his dark eyes and rigid expression. And that was enough to shake you and put out in the open everything you wished had stayed hidden: he was angry.

Suddenly, you remembered very well the last time you saw him. How much it hurt him, and you. How much of a coward you had been. How much you didn’t deserve a drop of his attention, let alone his time, touch, or warmth.

He let you go slowly as memories you thought no longer haunted you came rushing back, making you swallow a lump. And you smiled, because how could you not? He was angry, so very clearly, and you deserved it.

Your bodies were finally separated and despite the happiness in your chest at having had the chance to see him, your knees were weak and your legs wobbly. You couldn’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” you voiced, hoping that your expression conveyed how much you meant those words. For now. For before.

And you turned to leave with a deep breath. Were you running away? Yes. In a way, from the anger you created in him and the regret in yourself. From the chance of being rejected head-on, which you knew you had coming but you had never been the brave kind, so you couldn’t face it. You could even agree he deserved to have the pleasure, but you were far too selfish to let him have it. No. You’d remain the bitch who dumped him and couldn’t face the consequences, which was exactly why you were leaving.

It was chilly outside but it didn’t matter, you were too hot from all the emotions — the excitement and the shame and regret. You stepped to the street where you knew that among the cars stopping and passing you’d eventually catch a taxi dropping people off and took out your phone to text your best friend that you were leaving.

You had just hit send when someone grabbed your arm and you offered resistance, ready to fight whoever dared to try to grab you and—

Familiar dark eyes faced you back and you instantly let your body fall to his chest. His jawline was still firm as he clenched it, angry eyes stiffening his face, but you still let yourself get drawn in like a magnet to a polar opposite. You knew he was mad, knew he had reasons to hate you, despise you, treat you worse than the girls he fucked without kissing or acknowledging, but fuck were you—

He stepped back and dragged you along and you offered no resistance. You had no idea where he was taking you as he walked you down the street tightly by the arm, hiding his grip between you as you walked. You looked up at him, ignoring if you’d trip and fall with such high heels. He looked angry, and you cursed yourself for thinking it looked hot as hell on him.

He pulled you into a dimly lit back alley that led to a residential area and stopped you just behind a hidden corner covered by a parked car. Your back hit the wall and you looked up at him while grabbing the chain strap of your bag over your head so it wouldn’t be in the way.

That thought repeated itself — he looked hot as hell. You didn’t like that he was angry with you, but that tension on him was sexy as fuck and you wanted to be the one to relax him. To let him take out his frustration on you until he was vulnerable and sweet like you always remembered him.

Those were the thoughts in your mind when you raised your hands to touch him but he slapped them away harshly. You didn’t have time to react about it though because a second later he caged your face in his hands and crashed his mouth to yours, pressing you between him and the wall.

The cold wall was nothing when you were burning inside out. His mouth was hungry on yours and you paid him back in kind, getting your tongue to meet his just as eagerly. Your hands gripped his shoulders closely while you tried not to let the lightheadedness get you, but it was too late. All you wanted was happening right now, you’d keep kissing him and reaching for him until the end.

His hands lowered to your curves as his lips trailed down your jawline and you moaned when he squeezed your chest harshly. You pulled him closer, you wanted it all, and when he humped his erection to your hip, all you could think to do was beg.

“Yes,” you breathed, feeling how hard he was through both your clothes, from head to base. “Fuck me right now. Please.”

His lips quickly came to yours, if to shut you up or not you couldn’t tell. Either way, he gave you enough space to reach his waist, unbutton his pants and grab his cock firmly. He rutted your hand with wanton groans into your neck, and you felt like the world was yours. If you could have him, then you wouldn’t complain or whine ever again. If that thick cock would stretch you again like you wished so badly, then you’d shut up about everything wrong in this world because absolutely nothing would be wrong ever again.

Maybe he heard your prayers because suddenly he grabbed your hips and tapped them for you to instinctively jump on his lap. You supported yourself on his shoulders while he kissed you and let you play with his lip rings, rolling your tongue over them. Meanwhile, you could feel but not exactly know what he was doing at your waist level in between your two bodies. Only when he put the condom wrap near his mouth so he could rip it open with his teeth did you realize there was a good reason to interrupt your make-out session.

You let him have his focus while he put it on, lazily brushing your lips over his forehead, right until he searched for your panties only to rudely pull them to the side and push himself inside you almost instantly. You groaned with a hint of a whine at the burn, but soon he made you jump on his lap, piercing his cock fully into you and you let your head fall back. Fuck, had you missed this.

You didn’t have time to let the pleasure reach every corner of you, but your enjoyment was not cut short. His hips snapped into yours and your chin dropped, eyes hooded when you realized that was how you were going to get him. He did it again, grabbing your shoulder and hip into place and the corners of your mouth twitched. You almost smiled before biting your lip as he started a paced rhythm that didn’t give you a second’s rest.

His angry eyes were on you as the slaps echoed into the night along with your stifled moans until you couldn’t care. Who cared if someone found Jungkook fucking your brains out? You wanted him to, dreamed of it, remembered it, had wished on all your lucky stars you would one day get to feel that way again. And now? Fuck if you cared who caught you. That thick cock ramming into you was the sweetest thing—

He grabbed your hair to pull your face to kiss him and you kept on moaning into his mouth. His tongue didn’t meet the reception he wanted, and you blamed the way he was fucking into you so hard you couldn’t even focus on breathing. Maybe it aggravated him or it just gave him his next idea, but in a second he was kissing down your neck, which had you grabbing his head close so he would keep going.

Suddenly he yanked the upper part of your dress and as it didn’t have stripes, the elastic gave in and let the fabric slide. He did the same on the strapless bra, not stopping his hips for a second, until your chest was out in the open, bouncing with every thrust.

He buried his face between your tits, licking and bitting for a moment in which you knew you were dripping slick down both him and you and you fucking loved it. Your haze was so up in the clouds you couldn’t be bothered to come down until he did something that shook your heart.

He tightened your legs around his waist, leaned in an angle so he could hold you firmly against the wall, and fuck you in a way that rubbed your clit just like you loved it. Instantly, the way he dragged over it and reached deep inside with his cock had you moaning breathlessly. Then he straightened up, carefully perfecting his movements until your mouth was open and you were jumping on his lap with him to the best of your abilities. He knew he had you in the right spot, you were squirming but desperate to stay close, moaning and completely lost, trying to sink your nails into his skin but weak to the sensations leaving you adrift. He reveled in that, with such pride swelling inside him he didn’t know what to do with himself aside from grabbing both your tits and squeezing them harshly.

He felt the way you tensed around his cock and he knew he had you. With every snap of his hips, your eyes closed further, your moans became breathy, and your legs pulled him more in. He knew he could squeeze you to the point it bruised without as much as a whimper, but he stayed clear from doing it, taking pleasure only in the way his cock was so deep inside you that he knew you’d never forget it.

You took your hands to his over your chest and then it hit you that only he could do you like this. Only he knew every little thing that you liked, only he knew how to grope and squeeze without hurting you, only he knew exactly how to fuck you into oblivion every time. Because it was him.

Fuck, it’s him. After so long—

You tried reaching for him, but your hand dropped to his shoulder as you let the orgasm shake you and steal away your inhibitions if there ever were any. You closed your eyes and felt his body press closer to you, almost as if to hide you from the world as you moaned and cursed him for releasing you like this. He fucked you through it, then hid in your neck when it came to his, grunting and holding you tightly. You grinned and petted his head when he stilled, blissful with having him tucked deep inside you again.

Until he cursed into your neck and you weren’t sure if it was out of giddiness, delight, relaxation, or relief like it would have been for you, or if it was because he was pissed at himself.

When he let you down a bit more abruptly than you anticipated, you were left only with a stronger doubt.

He turned to the side to get rid of the condom and you took the time to put your bra and dress back in place. When he turned back to face you, you had already grabbed your bag from the floor and were just looking at him. Your lips twitched — he looked so fucking handsome with that spark in his eyes.

He cursed, then ruffled his hair for a moment before looking at you again, “I’ll take you home.”

You pulled your hair neatly back and pursed your lips, “I’m staying at Youngjoo’s. I don't have a place yet, so we… wouldn’t have privacy.”

He openly snorted, “You're assuming I want seconds.”

You sighed with a light shrug, “Isn't that what we just did?”

His derision fell through as his features hardened again but you didn't budge. You did what you did and didn't regret it for a second. You were both adults and he followed you, there was no point in pretending you didn't want each other. That was what you asked for and what he had given you, whether that made him angry or not.

But you didn't want to antagonize him. You gave him a short nod, “It's okay, I can—”

He clicked his tongue and gave you a dry look before giving you a nod to follow him. You considered for a second if you should — if it made him so angry, maybe you shouldn't. But tonight you were giving 0 fucks about shouldn’ts. You were doing what you wanted and what you wanted was your hands on him for as long as possible.

So when he stopped next to a red motorcycle and opened the seat compartment to get you a helmet, you smirked. You wouldn't tell him, but you missed exactly that — hugging him while he sped between every single obstacle and your hair flowed behind you with the wind. When you were free to go mad fast but remained safe as you could only feel with him.

He sat first, putting on his helmet expertly and starting the motor in a well-rehearsed move. You had seen him do it before when you were still together, but there was a certain magic in seeing that even if he changed, some things didn’t.

He leaned his head ever so slightly to glance at you and you smirked, finally getting on behind him and gripping him firmly. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you were feeling daring — and he looked back. He checked on you, despite the derision and silences. You took the small win.

“You remember where Youngjoo lives?” You ask in a bit of a shout as he is looking at the road to finally get on it.

He didn’t answer you, but seeing the direction he took, you immediately assumed he remembered. And with this, you allowed yourself to just lean closer, wrap your arms tighter around his torso, and relax. Inhale his scent unapologetically by sticking your face into his shoulder maybe a bit too much; the helmet was big and he surely felt it. Palm his chest and torso over his jacket; you hoped he wouldn’t get too distracted. You were petty, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop and get angry with you or snap your hands away. Knowing this was perhaps the last chance you’d ever have to touch him, so you did. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter to you. You’d remember this later and all the little sensations and you’d be happy you did.

You were lulled by his warm body and the drum of the motor raging on, so you paid little attention to where he was going. All you knew was that when he stopped and pushed a button for a communal garage to open at the foot side of an apartment complex it was not Youngjoo’s place.

He rode more softly through the cars parked underground until he found his spot and stopped. You didn’t ask questions, you didn’t need to. You stepped out of the bike and handed him your helmet, and he took it and put it back, the both of you quiet. You made sure to remain quiet and you followed him, small as a mouse, into the elevator lobby, then inside one where he pressed the seventh floor, and even when the doors closed with only the two of you there.

Your mind was roaring on about him bringing you to his place and the only reason he would have to do that, and your chest would soon explode. With every passing minute ever since you laid eyes on him, it felt like you were living a dream. Only in dreams did you think you’d ever have the chance of being near him, so no matter what, you were winging it. Living the moment, even if all of this turned out to be an angry fuck, you’d gladly get on your back.

He typed the code to unlock an apartment door and you followed him inside, cheekiness left outside in the night right before you got into the bike and decided to make the most of your time with him. He threw the motorcycle keys on a table you couldn’t see because it was dark and turned on the lights, making you hold your breath. He had moved to that place, that much was certain, but even his space didn’t remind you of Jungkook as you expected it to.

You had only taken the step to peep into his home, you meant to turn back and take your shoes off as it was respectful to do, but he was a step ahead. You stepped out of the way to exchange places with him right after he got his jacket on the hanger, but he had something else in mind. His hands followed your movement to your waist, and as soon as you looked up, eager lips were searching for yours.

You instantly melted against the wall, hands raising to run through his hair as you let yourself dive into that contentment again. While you were relaxed, he was clearly impatient. His palms traced your curves in wide but quick movements, so firmly you knew you could have already been naked, he was learning the same. His tongue was inside your mouth almost as quickly as his body pressed to yours, stealing your thoughts and any possibility you ever had to change your mind. Not that you would, and you were sure he knew that. Your hands were gripping him close, your breathing was heavy and dragged and you weren’t fighting his kiss in the slightest, on the contrary. Your tongue was inviting him, your body was arching to expose more skin, you were taking what you could and you’d give whatever he wanted.

But then he broke the kiss and looked down, forcing you to stop as well. You looked at him under wanton fluttering lashes only to find him with that same stiff and reticent expression you had seen before.

Your first heartbeat stung — you could guess why he was hesitating and there was nothing you could do about it now.

The second revolted you — you were there, weren’t you? In his house? He brought you here, so why worry? Why hesitate? Why overthink?

The third got you annoyed — if he was that hesitant, why bring you there in the first place? Why bother?

The fourth rilled you up, and that was when you spoke, “What’s wrong?”

He refused to look up at you but never moved away.

His breathing was calming down and you spoke without thinking, “Changed your mind?”

His eyes finally moved to yours and you saw his anger. And again, like a well-rehearsed exercise, all you could think was how you were right there.

“I’m here,” you said quietly, reaching for the curling strands of hair under his ear.

He didn’t move, eyes fixed on the corner of your lips, and you knew he was forcing himself to stay like this.

“I can leave,” he finally said. “You can sleep here and I can leave.”

“Why?”

He finally looked up at your eyes as you let your head fall back to the wall in a languid movement.

“This is your place, why leave?”

His jaw tensed and you could swear you saw a vein pulsing.

You sighed, “You brought me here so here I am. What do you want to do? Fuck me until morning? Gladly. Just sleep? I’m sure you have a big bed. Drink until we pass out? I’m down. Talk?” His eyebrows twitched and you nodded. “Not sure how that would work, but we can. Or not. I won't say another word if you don’t want me to. Just stop this internal struggle of yours. Do what you want to do.”

You were as comfortable as could be between him and the wall and just waited for his decision. Your eyes stayed on his pensive expression, taking in the little details before going down to trace his wide shoulders and biceps. He was definitely more buff and you wondered if it changed things a lot or—

“You can shower first.”

He backed away from you and you couldn’t help your expression sobering up. He looked almost apologetic, hiding something deep inside while showing you something you could only call a mask.

But you knew him. All those women thirsting after him, wishing they could make him smile and fall for them didn’t know him like you did. For better or worse, all they had were rumors while you had memories.

So you nodded and stepped towards the bathroom, but not before turning around midway, “Please don’t leave.”

The look you gave him was enough — pleading whereas his eyes flickered with an emotion you had not yet seen on him. But even if you wanted to press it and ask, you didn’t. At the end of the day, it was still his choice and you were well aware of it.

You took a calming shower, cleaning the sweat and alcohol from your skin with a shower gel that smelled of him and wondering what your next step should be. You ended up deciding that if he had left despite your request, you would call a taxi and go back to Youngjoo’s. You honestly hoped as you toweled yourself that he would tell you to leave and be clear about it instead of leaving to give you space at the expense of his comfort.

You glanced around the bathroom and ignored your discarded dress and heels in the corner, searching for something else instead. Your eyes fell on a black tee thrown over the laundry basket but that didn’t quite make it in. You grabbed it and brought it to your nose, shutting your eyes instantly with a longing grimace — it smelled of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit the mess of feelings that his very existence created in you, but the tears in your eyes were enough.

You quickly put it on, looking at yourself in the mirror. He always enjoyed oversized clothes, which on you looked like two of you could fit. Your lips curved as you smoothed the fabric over your stomach, his scent gracing your senses every time you took a breath. Nothing beat that comfort.

You turned to leave the bathroom and hoped to find Jungkook still there. You hoped he’d let you keep the tee, though you wouldn’t be opposed to taking it off if it would be replaced with his strong arms—

The scent of coffee hit your nose quickly once in the living room and your brow furrowed. Not because it was coffee, Jungkook liked coffee, but because when you neared the kitchen, your guts twisted. On the counter, you saw a fuming mug and the cinnamon smell instantly teared you up. That plus the bottle of soymilk and the honey pot pushed to the back told you many things: he had those things he never really drank before laying around, he remembered your favorite latte, and he made it for you.

Your eyes jumped to his back; he was looking outside the kitchen window and by the intense coffee scent around him, you knew before he turned that he was having a black expresso.

He looked at you and your guts turned; all you could do was look into his eyes while your fingers gripped the hem of his shirt on you. You were tearing up in a way you couldn’t control, everything was too much. He didn’t leave. You were there, in his life, in his home, wearing his clothes, having your favorite drink that he prepared for you because he still remembered how. That meant he had to care, even if just a little, and you didn’t know what to say but—

Your chin trembled but before you voiced anything, he finished his coffee, put the empty cup in the sink, and passed you to enter the bathroom. The door merely clicked closed and you covered your eyes, trying to reel your emotions back in. You stepped to the counter to grab your coffee and as soon as the taste hit your tongue, your heart shook, creasing lines between your eyebrows as you teared up.

You didn’t want to have hope, but your stupid heart was turning a deaf ear. You never had hope before, you knew you fucked up and never handled things properly, and for the way you hurt him, you knew you didn’t deserve any kindness. You scoffed at yourself and drank more to have the comfort of that warmth down your chest as if it came straight from him. You knew and it made no sense but you were still there and you were willing to delude yourself for a moment longer.

So you took your mug and the opportunity to look around while you heard the shower noise faintly in the background. His place was bigger now and you looked around with a smile on your face. He had the same black leather couch, the same grey bean bag, and the same shoebox by the entrance. The fact that he had a projector screen instead of a TV made you smile, he spoke for ages that he wanted to do that if he ever moved out. But as you took in the rest of the place, your smile broke a little.

On the corner, there was a barbell weight set, dumbbells, a pull-up bar, and resistance bands. He used to work out before, but now you knew why he looked bigger — he definitely worked out more now. You pursed your lips with the sweet latte comforting you as you sipped it slowly; you didn’t want to think about why he was making that effort.

You moved on to peep at his desk, interested in what he was working on, and you stilled. He still had his gaming keyboard, mouse, and desktop, but now he had books about photography on the desk. He always liked photography and filmmaking, but the new camera and microphone spoke volumes about what he was working on at the moment. You searched around for the easel he’d always have with a recent work in progress or his sketch notebook but you couldn’t find them, and so you pressed your lips. You loved it when sketched you, always when you least expected it, showing you beautiful versions of yourself you only started believing because of him.

You finished the coffee, eager for the sweet trace to link you back to him — you wondered what happened to—

You turned when you heard the bathroom door opening, you never noticed he had stopped showering. Your thoughts tripped over themselves at the sight of him: wet raven hair ruffled by a towel you couldn’t see, dark eyes set on you as if he wanted to make sure he was seeing right, soft golden skin covering wide shoulders and swollen arms, chest, leading to firm abs that were always there, but not as marked. Your eyes lowered, but the black towel was hanging on to his hip like you could only envy.

You raised your eyes to find him serious, looking at you, tense features on a tense body.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, waving the empty mug before placing it down. You swallowed a lump at the view of him walking towards you, despite his demeanor. “It’s my favorite—”

You weren’t startled when he grabbed your head and crashed his mouth to yours. You were praying for it to happen, and the burn running down your chest from the way your mouths tried to consume one another had you melting instantly. You wanted him, you weren’t hiding it, and whatever way he wanted to touch you worked as long as he did. As long as those lips pressing yours covered all of you. As long as his tongue fighting yours soon spelled your pleasure at his whim while his fingers pressed marks only he could trace on you.

Your hands moved to those wide shoulders that had your knees wobbly and he pushed them away before forcing your head up to face him better. He wanted your focus on your kiss only and you didn’t mind, but the temptation to grab him and scratch him was overriding your senses. You tried again, but this time he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you with him. You gripped his shoulders for support, finally sinking your nails in the soft muscle just like he was taking small bites out of your bottom lip.

Your ass hit something and when he pushed you on it, you just briefly freed one hand to throw whatever was on the dining table behind you off to have some space. You moaned with the bites he was leaving down your neck while you focused on keeping him close with your legs wrapped around him. He fumbled with the tee shirt to get his hands on you and quickly grabbed your chest in a push-and-squeeze motion that had you moaning and humping him. Fuck, you missed this. No one could ever mess you up like he could, you always turned into a whimpering wet mess with him.

He scratched down your stomach to your hips, squeezing them harshly, then pulled away. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and you raised your arms instantly to let him strip you.

He stepped back and threw the shirt on the floor, hungry dark eyes eying you from head to toe.

“Fuck, look at you.”

A subtle line showed between your eyebrows; his tone was abrasive in a way you weren’t familiar with. But the way he stepped back between your legs while getting on his knees was much more in line with what you knew. Him in a praying position tracing your skin with open-mouthed kisses while he groped and scratched every inch of you was one of the reasons you couldn’t forget him. You couldn’t let go of what it felt like to be desired by that man. The thought alone had you wet and whimpering, the only difference was that now you’d experience it again after only dreams and hopes.

His mouth kept tracing kisses on your inner thighs, just like he knew would drive you crazy, but you didn’t whine about it. No, you wanted it to last. Whatever he’d give to you, you wanted everything. You weren’t beyond begging, but you wouldn’t just with a little bit of torture. No, you knew how that mouth would move on you, how his tongue would lap at the perfect rhythm. You could wait for perfection.

He slapped your ass on one side, opening your leg further with a whimper from you. He repeated the motion on the other side and only then did you notice you were squeezing him between your legs. It made you smirk as you looked down — you could see his dark eyes with a few wet hair strands over them, the hint of teeth as he grazed your sensitive inner thighs. He could spank you all he wanted, you wanted him to. So you smiled and pressed your lips, clearly telling him that you’d keep your mouth shut.

He bit down, getting a deep moan from you. You were clenching around nothing, dripping with slick, and you were sure he noticed.

“Since when are you so patient?”

He sounded annoyed and you giggled wantonly, so fucking amused you couldn’t help it. “I’m patient when it’s worth it.” You could feel his hands pressing your skin, going to the swell of your ass to squeeze, and you nearly sighed. “I wouldn’t dare rush perfection.”

He scoffed but dropped his mouth on you instantly, having all your cockiness evaporating on the spot. He ate you like only he did, grabbing your squirmy self still while he made out with you. His tongue lapped at your clit in a fixed rhythm that you couldn’t explain and seconds later you released every square inch of air from inside your lungs with a deep moan. He knew you liked a stable slow rhythm, but keeping your thighs in place was irking you. It was right there! If only he’d let you move. Just a centemeter right— No! Just one or two to the left and you’d be lost to those sensations you hadn’t felt in months.

You whimpered, but you couldn’t talk while he did that to you. You reached for his hands on your hips and squeezed them, both looking for support and for a way to be free. His humming to your core had you sucking in a breath, but what broke you were his words.

“Stay still, bubbles. Let me get you there.”

And he licked you faster, keeping pressure on you with his mouth that had you whimpering and tensing up like a coil about to spring. Every lap of his tongue increased your tension, pitched your moan, and stole your breath, to a point you thought you’d explode. You sat up in your tension and grabbed his hair, ecstatic. It was him with his face half buried in you, eating you, getting you there, calling you by your pet name like nothing changed.

That thought alone pushed you to the edge and you hopped on the train. Steadily and surely, Jungkook would take you there just like he promised. Just like you wished.

So you started moaning louder, half derailed, “Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so good.” You could barely breathe, but you wanted him to know how much you loved this. “Take me there, please, I’m—”

Your voice broke because you suddenly were cold. You were panting and shocked, but your first instinct was to look down at him and loosen up your grip on his hair.

“Are you okay?”

He faced you and stayed silent, with your slick covering his nose, mouth, and chin while his digits dag at your hips. Your worry was clouding you, having your hand brush his cheek in search of an answer that only came when he stood up and turned away. Then, you blinked to reality and looked down and around. You were confused. Not because he stopped, but because he insisted on staying quiet and to himself.

You got up and were about to speak your mind when you saw that the towel had fallen to the ground. That gave you the impulse to walk up to him and look down shamelessly — he was so hard he was pointing at you. You raised your eyes and found his on yours, darker than before. He was tense and angry, that was clear, but he was hard, having rubbed his hand over his face to clean your slick off him. But then, why was he licking his lips and his lip rings, where your taste was probably stronger?

You took a deep breath and placed your hands firmly on his shoulders, pushing him steadily. He let you, walking back at your will until his calves hit the sofa. You tapped his shoulders once and he sat down. His hands were on your hips and started tracing circles absentmindedly, and you leaned closer to pet his hair. His sweet caresses were enough to soothe you, to become sure of something you weren't sure you had the right to be sure of. But it didn't matter — he chose the wrong night to be indecisive. You were willing to choose for you both.

You kissed his head before getting on your knees in between his legs. He gave you a dark cold stare and with anyone else you might have cowered, but not with him. You waited a moment with your hands over his legs, but he never gave you clear permission, incentive, or rejection. So you took the option that suited you best and leaned in.

You trailed your lips over his soft and built thighs, kneading the firmness with a whimper caught in your throat. You kissed closer and closer, releasing sighs left and right and paying little to no mind to what he would think of you for it. You both had always been like this: crazy for one another, praising and worshiping as quickly as you would use and abuse. You had never had another relationship like it, before or after, and to say you missed it would be an understatement.

But you weren’t going to sob over past mistakes right now. No, what mattered now was to not make a stupid mistake like not kissing, licking, and scratching every inch of him until he either begged or complained or you lost it.

You moved ever so closer to his crotch but stopped by his balls first, giving them wide-tongued licks that had him sighing. You glanced up to see his eyes closed, wet hair dripping down his shoulders, and the first hint of relaxation from him. That’s it, you coed in your mind. Fuck did you miss seeing him falling apart, you craved it and you’d do it.

You kept licking and kissing and as you moved up his shaft it occurred to you that it didn’t matter that you hadn’t come. It didn’t matter if he had given up or even why. You weren't opening your mouth around his tip and licking it with hunger because you wanted something in return.

You moaned as soon as that taste hit your buds and your thoughts became a blur. You bobbed your head mindlessly, drooling over him, using the expanse of your tongue on his tip, taking whatever you could no matter how because you fucking missed it. That taste, that hardness, the hand that came to grip your head but remained light as a feather, and finally, you looked up. His eyebrows were knit in pleasure with his mouth agape, tongue peaking through, and licking his lip ring while grabbing your head in a firm yet loving gesture — that was it, the prize. He was finally relaxed as you bobbed your head and drooled all over him and the perspective of making him weak exhilarated you in a way that had you going harder, firmer, stronger. You didn’t notice, but you were breathing in between his cock touching your throat, your cheeks stayed hollowed, and your hand accompanied your every move over his shaft while you played with his balls. When his precum invaded your mouth, all your thoughts went out the door.

You gripped his cock firmer and moaned all over it, adjusting your posture to focus even better. Fuck, did you want his taste in your mouth. You touched yourself to the thought of it before, of him, but now being there on your knees with his grunts finally adoring your ears, your focus was all on him. You could come later to the memory of that very moment, all he had to do was let go and shoot warm ropes of cum down your throat.

But he recoiled away and guided your head away. You had no idea if he pulled your hair, but you knew he never asked you to stop. The only sounds out of his mouth were grunts of pleasure and you had seen his face — he was on cloud nine with you. He liked it, he was weak for it, for you and the way you did it, so why?

You looked up, an arched eyebrow quizzically raised, but he had his bicep covering his eyes while his chest heaved up and down. You were done with him stripping away everything you wanted from you, so you got up and got on his lap with a knee on either side of him. You thought he might have shooed you away or told you to get off, but no. His hands went instantly to support your hips and you were even more irked.

“Why?”

He opened his eyes and the stiffness was back to his pleasant features. That had you pouting with tears in your eyes. Maybe you could figure out why, but you didn’t care — you leaned forward and brushed his cheek gently. He brought you there, he wasn’t rejecting you, pulling you away, or anything like that. It was time he made a decision.

“Why push me away?” You insisted, letting your nail graze his sweet cheek gently. He recognized that tone in your voice, and that was why he answered.

“I was about to cum.”

“So?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes only hardened, and you looked down at his erect cock between you. There were so many things you could say, and so many paths to choose from. You could get angry, whiny, blow him anyway, ride him, and you considered every option. But you kept reverting to that anger behind those beautiful dark eyes. And as you both faced each other, you knew why he was mad — because you hurt him the year before. Because what you were doing was maybe a source of conflict, it sure could have been for you as well if you didn’t still…

Well.

Your expression softened as you leaned to close your lips near the skin of his forehead, “Take it out on me.”

He didn’t move or respond and you just dragged your lips soothingly over his skin in small peppered kisses.

“Please,” you whispered. “Take it all out on me. I want you to.” You dragged your nails up his neck and he leaned his head forward. “I need you to.”

His hands gripped your waist as he seemed to hide in your chest and you sat closer to him. You petted his beautifully longer hair, still wet under your touch, and sighed when he pressed your back to keep you close. You smiled and kissed his head, taking that as a yes. So you waited like that until he decided how he would do it.

Your answer came when he glued his mouth to your chest and started nibbling down until he caught a nipple. You didn’t hide your sigh — he was a tits kind of guy and he always loved yours, worshiping them in every sense of the word. And you had always loved him for it and for the way he could leave you a moaning mess with his attention there only.

So you hissed and sighed with his mouth, tongue, and teeth driving you insane. To return the favor, you reached down in between your bodies and found his rock-hard boner. Your spit was drying, but not yet, so you jerked him off gently through your pitchy moans.

You could feel him twitching in your hand. You knew he loved your tits and got lost in licking and biting them. You knew he got crazy when you played with him at the same time, playing with his weakness while truthfully wanting nothing more than for him to play with all of you.

So you leaned down by his ear. “Come on,” you whispered in a low tone. “Take it out on me. Do it.” You gripped him a bit harder, earning a stronger bite from him that had you instantly hissing and clenching around nothing. “I want to feel you.” Your hand never stopped and he seemed to be listening to you — only his tongue was moving. “Hard. Deep. Fuck it all out on me.”

You buried your nose in his hair and waited, never stopping your hand on him. You’d prefer he fucked you senseless, but even jerking him off would be nice if that was his mood.

But you doubted it was, and indeed, it wasn’t. He let go of your abused nipple and faced you for a second. He didn’t comment on anything you said, he only grabbed you firmly by the hips and stood up, taking you with him.

You gasped mutely and hugged him strongly, only to realize that he was carrying you without an ounce of effort. He was truly stronger, which could mean he would fuck you harder—

He dropped you on his bed, making you whimper and your tits bounce around, then moved away. You sat up, worried about him just leaving, but then you tilted your head. He was adjusting a full-body mirror that was purposefully facing another wall to show the bed. You saw your reflection on it and mused over why he had that mirror set like that and took the time to change it.

He neared you while rolling a condom and you looked at him, breath slowing with the perspective of what would happen now. He traced a hand down your hip and you laid back, but he immediately gripped both your sides and turned you around. You puffed, half annoyed half melting at being handled like that, and got on all fours for him. You thought he’d toy with you and you’d patiently wait for what you wanted most, but he didn’t. He instantly put his cock at your entrance and you groaned, gripping the sheets with the desire bursting through you.

“You want it?” His tone was quiet but sure, almost cold. His hand struck your ass but you only gave him a gentle moan. “Get it then.”

You bit your lip and moved back, opening your mouth with the familiar stretch that had you curling your toes. You went slowly, thankful for his resistance that allowed his cock to brave more and more, inch by inch, until you felt full. You knew he wasn’t totally in, and he reminded you by jerking his hips once until he bottomed out. You gave him a little whine and he chuckled.

“There. Didn’t think you had forgotten how I fucked you a second ago, but I’ll remind you.”

He snapped his hips into yours and you knew he wouldn’t be gentle, but you didn’t care. He was doing what you asked, finally connected to you, giving you the pleasure of your dreams. It didn’t matter if he was treating you roughly, you asked for it. You wanted it, you needed it. Him, his anger, anything he would give you.

“Look at you,” he grunted before gripping your ass better. “I haven’t even started.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head to face him through the mirror. You gave zero fucks about how vulnerable you were, needy, greedy, whimpering, and begging for more even though you knew how much more could come. No, you looked at him. At his focused expression telling you this wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. At his flexed abs, tense thighs, and buff biceps. At his hand on your ass, squeezing. At his eyes moving from yours to verify your position — not only if you looked good, but at your knees and elbows sliding. For your comfort. It had to be, right?

You were tucked in his grip, so when he went harder, you had nowhere to go. You took his hips slapping against you and moaned loudly, abandoned to the feeling that only he fucking you could tear out of you.

“Can’t take it?” His voice was mocking. “How’s that?” You couldn’t coherently answer. “Are you that desperate for a proper dicking?”

“Wasn’t that what you did before?”

You barely got it out but he heard you, not stopping for a second. “Clearly wasn’t enough. Your boyfriend must be doing a really sloppy job.”

His voice was tense, you wondered if bitterness was in the mix, but you were too high to think about it.

“No boyfriend. Maybe that’s the problem.”

His hand struck your ass so hard you whimpered a cry. In a second, he was rubbing that area and gripping you closer, fucking you harder. It made you see stars and you couldn’t get enough.

“So whiny,” he grunted, “so needy.”

You scoffed. He was the one fucking you as hard as possible.

“Do you always moan like that?” You felt his nails on your asscheeks. “Any cock can get that noise out of you.”

You grinned, “No, only yours can.” You expected another slap but it didn’t come. “Never met anyone who can fuck me like you.”

He smacked the other asscheek harshly and gripped you so hard that the constant hit of his cock deep inside you almost short-circuited your brain.

“But you searched.”

He was speaking between gritted teeth, but you were in no condition to notice. “So did you. Fucked how many right here, on this bed?”

He smacked your ass again, but looking through the mirror you could see he wasn’t just angry now. His eyes were closed as if in pain. But you were too rilled up to stop.

“Looking for what? Any tight cunt?” He was getting sloppy and you couldn’t shut up. “Or did you really think anyone else could get you this desperate?” You fucked yourself on his cock against his rhythm and you could swear he growled. But who cared, he was snapping his hips to yours again. “Why so quiet?” His hand striking your ass had you arching for him, but not quieting down. “Tell me. Do you cream yourself this easily with—”

He pulled your hair, forcing your back to arch and take him deeper. Your mouth opened, instantly melting in ways only he could cause until you shivered when you felt him near your ear.

“No.” You opened your eyes in his silence to find him looking at you through the mirror. If your opened mouth spelled how deep he was buried inside you, then his eyes told of how desperate he was. “Only you do this to me. Only you drive me this fucking crazy.”

He connected his nose to your shoulder despite ramming into you wildly and grunted together with you. You couldn’t stifle your moans, your curses, or your prayers. But you yelped when suddenly he let you go and rolled you over. He got between your legs and immediately slid inside, earning a sigh from you and a plea.

He pulled your legs over his shoulders and leaned down over you, seeing your eyes widen. You extended your hands, what for you weren’t certain, but he grabbed them and pressed them to the mattress on either side of your head.

His hips restarted their rocking and you moaned desperately. You squirmed, and moaned, and said his name, and begged, and squeezed his hands, and all the while he never stopped fucking you. He was sweating, it was dripping over you, but you couldn’t care. All that mattered was that he was as deep as possible inside you, torturing you with how good it felt, and you were there for it. Loving every moment.

“Fuck— You’re so deep—”

“You like it?”

His tone was gentle, almost as if he wished for nothing but to please you. You were lost. You wished for nothing else but him.

“Yes— Yes—”

You were desperate, at the edge of your emotions with tears in your eyes and he saw it. “Tell me what you want.”

“You!” Your answer was instantaneous, at the end of a moan. “You, fuck, please, you, just you—”

“I’m here.”

You gripped his hands and anxiety crossed your features for a moment, “Please.”

He kissed you, relenting his rhythm, only to whisper to your lips, “I’m here, bubbles.”

You opened your teary eyes to look at him and your heart shook. His eyes were sweet despite the pleasure and effort mingling in his features. He was looking at you, really looking, really seeing you, and he was there. He wasn’t taking it out on you anymore, he was really with you, like he once was.

You didn’t want to delude yourself, but the way he continued, staying close to your face to peck your lips and your cheeks, was swelling your heart too much to be contained. You moved with him, lulled by that movement you longed for for too long. That thought alone got you on the right tangent and you made sure to tell him through moans, looks, and your hands in his. He nuzzled you, sweat dripping down, and answered every plea and moan with signs of his own pleasure.

You let it grow inside you until you knew you couldn’t be contained, and neither did you want to. You opened your mouth to tell him and nothing came out, but he got it.

“Come with me.”

He grunted his words before kissing you and you whimpered and moaned your overwhelming pleasure without breaking away. He groaned into your mouth and pressed your lips firmly when you were both done, panting, sweaty, and spent.

You didn’t think about what would happen after that; truthfully, you wished time would stop. For a moment you believed it could be true — he stayed inside you with his mouth on your neck just suckling as you enjoyed his weight over you. You were drifting away, so utterly relaxed, happy, and fulfilled.

Until he pulled away and your heart cracked.

You couldn’t open your eyes immediately, you weren’t ready to face it again, not after the way you were just together. But when you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised.

Jungkook looked tired and sleepy, but that was it. He was extending his hand for you and you grabbed it. He pulled you up and dragged you to the bathroom, pointing at the toilet and turning to handle the condom. You peed but your mind latched onto nothing, you didn’t want to ruin that bliss.

He took your hand again and pulled you back to bed, opening the sheets before pushing you gently with an arm around your waist. You sighed and leaned back into him. He was holding you to his chest as he covered you both with a sheet and you could swear that was all a dream. All of it.

[Next part>]

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silvergreenseraphim · 17 days

Text

Sephiroth: It takes a strong heart to control a superior body. A strong heart is a heart that does not hesitate. An unshakeable heart, an unwavering heart, a ruthless heart…

Sephiroth: Soldiers who put emotions first are second-rate. No, I should say they are old-fashioned. In that case, there is no point in them existing.

Sephiroth: This is a battlefield. Killing the enemy is the only way to survive!!

Glenn: You’re right. This is a battlefield. There is no choice but to live or die.

Glenn: But Sephiroth, you don’t have anything to prove anymore. You are strong enough. So be kind. That takes strength.

Glenn: Sephiroth….just a little is enough….

Sephiroth:….I’m not a modified human…

Glenn: I know. I’m sorry.

Sephiroth:…..this isn’t what I wanted to be….

—

(A Direct translation of Sephiroth’s speech about the battlefield and Glenn’s response in chapter 5 of The First Soldier.)

Note:

“Cyborg” in the official English translation refers to the side of Sephiroth that is unnaturally modified. When Sephiroth denies that he is a cyborg (modified), he says specifically that it was never what he wanted. He subconsciously expresses a sorrowful longing to never have been enhanced or tampered with inside the womb. This unnatural invasion of his pre-born body led to his further modifications as a child raised by Shinra and Hojo. A combination of this treatment allowed him to wield superior strength.

Before Nibelheim. Sephiroth does not know that this enhancement to his body was something done to him before his birth, but he knows he is different and special in some way.

In this chapter, we learn at last that it was not what he wanted to be. It is possible by this point that Sephiroth believes his own denial of being modified. He can accept mako treatments and he describes his own training, but the secret of his birth is still that; a secret. He may be unaware that his body was ever changed. For all he knows, he was born with special abilities and other SOLDIERs are modified to mimic his talents. This is true if we consider it. Sephiroth was the only SOLDIER that was “perfect” from birth. His strength is not to be compared with.

All of this aside, the point stays firm. Sephiroth never wanted to be the special creature he is. He did not want to be different. This is why when he discovers this difference that he loathes was not a natural deviation beyond anyone’s control, but a production of Shinra, his hatred for the company explodes. They forced that difference upon him and took away his life. They took away his chances to be a normal human. On top of that, they lied to him about it for his entire life. It was the worst betrayal Sephiroth could fathom.

#thank you to my friend for helping my grammar with this post! i wish she had a tumblr.#sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #ff7 #ever crisis #the first soldier #glenn lodbrok #my translations #young sephiroth #meta

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tremendum · 2 years

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heyy, can you write din djarin x reader where she's smth like a princess and he's hired as her bodyguard by her father or brother whatever you want (I know this is basic plot but can't help it 😭) tysm❤️🥰

i got u babes! its cute ive never written something like this but i hope u like it!! <3 its fluffier than anything ive really written to tysm for the request! also this is NOT PROOF READ im sorry

after midnight

(gif not mine!) pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of terms like princess/duchess/daughter) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 6.2k summary: “you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.” warnings: mentions of political unrest/uprisings, reader resents their parents/family because monarchy is BAD folks, threats of death, but smut (PiV, unprotected), mutual masturbation (m&f), teasing, light themes of possession at one point, mentions of eating. cumplay/creampie. i think that's it.

★

YOU are no stranger to fear.

it's been a gently lived life for you, in your several decades orbiting the power of your parents' suns.

the duchess of your family's system, the 'Prize Jewel' your mother loves to say; the one who got the love of the people but sought none of the power.

you weren't the heir, not to the throne: that duty fell unto your younger brother, as per custom tradition. so you were coaxed into a life of sitting around, humming as your ladies in waiting braided your strands, staring longingly as your brother wielded blasters and vibro-blades; as if that is what constituted a good ruler.

so perhaps the fear you've grown accustomed to is the fear of the mirrors that so delicately lined your chambers; the mirror that appears on your own face as any noble speaks to you, as your father commanded you to embark on diplomatic missions that should be left to those who have any stake in the future of the system. the mirror which constricts any true personality or truth from presenting you to the galaxy. you were the duchess, your parents' daughter; you were not yourself.

you'd never gone off world, to either of the other planets in the crown's domain - until the day you did.

that kind of fear was different.

the tumultuous tracks of your heartbeat when that creaking drop ramp was sealed, those days ago; the footsteps that rang out like funeral chimes as the tall Mandalorian bowed his head to you before escorting you upwards into the cockpit of the ship that was to take you to the other side of the system.

you were not, though, afraid of him.

Mando had been your shadow for several months before you left on your enterprise - you were no longer frightened by the cold, sharp angles of his body, the dark rumbling of his scarce voice. now, that same low hum as he listens to you is welcomed. encouraged. sought for.

no, the fear was from something else; there was a scratching, a slow but insistent simmering that tightened the muscles of your lower back and your upper neck until you woke up in sharp gasps of discomfort.

maybe the fear was in the winding hills that turned into mountains, jagging up and into the sky; your fear clung to you even as you lifted your legs and climbed over top of them - those towers to the sky - and settled yourself with the acknowledge that your parents had sent you on this diplomatic embarkment to a hostile insurgence group with nothing more than the Mandalorian bodyguard and a datapad containing an ultimatum which was surely the fuse to the ticking bomb of your family's dominating sovereignty. the crashing of a scepter, or the squashing of a bug.

thankfully your father, in all of his Majesty's grace and wisdom, had offered you a full set of your Ladies of the Household on your journey - as if they'd protect you from blaster fire, or kidnapping, or whatever joys may have lied in wait for you once you reached the rebel territory.

and he knows you are highly mistrusting of those parasitic Mynocks he calls the Kingsguard; that was in fact the sole reason he'd hired the Mandalorian to be your personal guard.

so your father at least had the sense not to call upon the lord commander to escort you, as it would be likely you'd either be dead come nightfall or your cot would be empty come morning rise.

so he'd insisted on only the Mandalorian instead.

a fiercely dauntless man, a walking shield, as clever as he is dangerous.

after seeing him fight, there was no doubt Mando could protect you from hundreds if he needed to.

there was a stint by another insurgent rebel group, of which your family was battling many currently; they'd made threats on your life, so Mando has shown up with a personal arsenal and enough intimidation to make any man fall to his knees.

it took all of thirty seconds of staring at his figure, hearing his voice, to decide you'd fall to your knees for him, too.

and just before you were ordered to visit the duke of the defecting planet, you were informed he would be replacing the four kingsguard subordinated to Mando who usually escorted you around the kingdom.

one man instead of five? you were sure the King was finally sending you to your death, punishing you for his lifelong regret that you'd not been a son.

but you soon came to like Mando and his stoic, taciturn presence.

and at least your instructions were simply to deliver the ultimatum and leave the atmosphere within the hour; the insurgent's strategists would not, as your father and his Hand had believed, have enough time to read through the full terms before deciding they should just break into the duchess's chambers and slit her throat anyways.

you escaped the planet with nothing but a blaster shot grazing Mando's side and the hate of an entire species of oppressed constituents hurling insults at the Crown.

no slit throat for you - but in the end, you wouldn't even blame them if they'd tried.

you know, now, that your fear clouded your eyes, as bright as they may have been back when Mando was hired as your bodyguard. but they grew thick, the clouds lifting into the stratosphere and slipping into Mando's helmet with the modulated, quiet inhales you've come to know almost as your own. you don't think he ever intended to frighten you.

he was there to protect you. and he has.

he has not left you since arriving to the midway planet, where you'll stay for a few days before returning back to your kingdom planet.

here, there is fresh air, the salt of the sea, deep ripe fruits, and warm breezes. there is no fear here, only heat.

Mando helps with that, though he won't let you admit it.

as you stare at that unwavering gaze, surrounded by the gilded intricacies of the farewell feast, all you can do is imagine him. Mando, his body on yours, that cold, heavy metal against the thrill of your heated bare skin. he tilts his head slightly at you; you wink at him over your cup of wine. the man next to you makes conversation about your father's latest agriculture subsidies.

you look back to find the relaxing - bone chilling- gaze on you still. you wonder if he'll crack before you do.

there have been close calls; once, when you'd drank a bit too much ale in the city square and Mando had carried you back to the keep, tucked you into bed as you tried to pull him in with you - you should stay, Mando - the time he'd agreed to teach you to spar and you'd ended up wide-eyed and pinned beneath his very sturdy frame.

you've seen the pressure on his flightsuit beneath those layers when you'd teased him - his own admission of guilt, that he feels something for you, too.

when you'd asked him to help you shoot a blaster, when you'd left the fresher open to shower, or not particularly covering up when you prepared yourself for the day. though he was always there, always at attention for the slightest danger.

even last night, you felt the stuttering in his breaths when you'd sat on your bed, staring down at him - his hand in the nook of your knee, the other unlacing your sandals that'd crawled up your supple calves the entire day. you'd felt his leather hands brush against the soft skin of your thigh, the way that helmet had stared up at you from between your legs. at your service.

you know he could see the way you jolted when he'd place his hands on your hips in passing, or how you'd get particularly flustered at the flip of a blaster trigger, the flex of a muscle under a flightsuit. you didn't try to hide your attraction to him.

but all of those things; those moments you had - even the subtle brushes of his hand just low enough on your lower back, the smiles you'd share even with the barrier of his cold beskar, the soft conversations you'd hold just between the two of you: all, under the soft shadows of the moons which orbit you.

never in the broad daylight.

those souvenirs, the ones which you held close to your heart in the last few weeks, high up in the pews of your heart's cathedral; all idolized yet forgotten with the mornings that rise in clean beskar glinting and sleep rubbing from your eyes.

DIN is sure you're looking straight through him.

those eyes; you're coy the way you look at him now, over the meal you eat at the table.

swirling with mischief.

that trouble-making look, the one he's studied for months as your personal guard. to the constituents of your family's crown, you were the sweet, young girl destined to marry away and sire many noble children. but behind palace doors, you were alive, you were a bolt of electricity that was never to be tamped down.

Din remembers how fiery you'd been when the King had ordered Mando to escort you to the insurgents with your Ladies of the House. you'd requested they not accompany you in this formidable expedition because, as he recalls you'd said, 'how can my bodyguard spare to protect not me but also ten others? shall we just get it over with and behead us all right here?'

he'd smiled behind that helmet when the King and Queen had heard your snippy tongue.

and so it was just you and him, as it'd been for months. and he likes it that way, as much as he would never admit that; you're a kind woman, much too old to be under the reigns of your parent's power but too caught in the web of bureaucracy to untangle yourself from it.

Din sees you tilt your head at him, blatantly ignoring the conversation at the table. heat courses through him at your adamant, keen attention on him despite him likely being the least worthy of your thoughts in this room. still, as always, you tease him.

a drop of a wink; syrupy, sweet, and much too indecent for the public space; much less for you to deliver towards your personal guard. he burns red under the helmet, heat rushing down towards his groin at the way your lips move around the spoon in your mouth.

you know he's watching you, of course; he's always watching you. it's in the job description.

maybe that's the problem: he watches too much. it's always been hard for him to remain simply professional with you, but it's been much more challenging the last few nights as he's tried to get a few hours of shut-eye in the dead of night; with your sweet soft breaths on that large, plush bed that nearly swallows you whole.

it's been excruciating - watching, as you run your hands over your bare legs, kissed by a sweet silk nightgown. massaging your plush skin, slipping just above the hem before dipping down - your lashes fluttering up at him as he stands tall and at attention over you.

he was a dead man, and he'd known it the moment he laid eyes on you.

you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.

he wonders if the true tragedy after all was his not watching: although you'd left the crack in the door when you'd stepped into the fresher last night, toweling off your soft skin as steam curls round the doorframe and pulls at him like the tentacles of some lust-ridden beast. you'd given him one of those coy smiles last night as you'd slinked out of the fresher: "thought you said you were always watching, Mando."

you had him wrapped around your dainty, manicured finger and you knew it.

your brows raise at him as you look back up to where he stands, just on the other side of the table, as the diplomats around you at the table buttering you up with a glass of wine, a divine feast, and fancy political phrases.

it doesn't suit you, as you've claimed to him countless times as you strip the bangled gold from your neck, ears, fingers, thighs and slip into something a little more comfortable and a lot less modest. it doesn't really suit you, he guesses. he likes you much more in the throes of your casual time; wearing trousers and a tunic, blaster strapped to your thigh though you don't quite know how to wield it. when you have no handmaidens to primp you and pluck you, to comb their fingers through your hair or paint fancy colors onto your eyelids. you were heavenly like that, in your most comfortable state.

that word; heavenly. the word sounds adolescent, when he looks at you.

you transcend beauty; you're alive, you're nothing but yourself, a woman with life and regret that her world bore her name long before she was born. you told him, as he escorted you through the war-torn scrappings of the insurgent city the day before, that you wished to be free from the chains of royalty. to the royal court, you were nothing but a mirror for them to project their desires.

when you look up at him with those tempting eyes, smirking at him when nobody at the table is looking - Maker, Din swears he will throw away everything he's worked so hard to keep professional.

YOU had pulled the best of the feast onto your napkin once you bid the hosts thanks for the feast, hiding it under the layers of your gown as Mando walked you back to your chambers.

"I kept you some." you offer meekly now, heat painting your face as you offer the spread to him, having taken off your shoes yourself this time. he'd kept his sight on you the whole time, the visor of his beskar piercing you with each movement.

his helmet tilts in question; you spread open the napkin to reveal the small feast of delicacies you'd packed for him. you wonder how he'd missed it, when his eyes were always on you.

"you shouldn't have." he's demure in tone, shifting from his casual position leaning against one of the stone pillars near the intricate dressing screen to standing evenly on both long legs; you smile gently, heart fluttering.

"I thought you deserved some of the feast." you reason, "you did more work than I did, after all." you grin, shrugging a shoulder. you feel the fabric slide over your bare shoulder and it brushes against you like a feather; a ghost of lips that could never be blessed upon your skin.

cursed to always lie in weight under the heavy support of beskar.

but his fingers; they're a different story.

they're gentle, tingling as they brush up the expanse of your deltoid, cascading with a buttery kind touch to return your dress to its rightful place. his hand, swallowed by the leather that protects you so devotedly, trails down your arms, soothing every goosebump that rises in its path. your hand catches his wrist before he can pull away; the tantalizing, intoxicating air in the room rendering him languid as you pull, gently, until your lips press gently to the tip of his thumb.

his breath falters in a staccato as you gently, tenderly press kisses to the tips of each finger; each, a promise. an unnamed affection for the man who does nothing but protect, nothing but exhilarate. the movement feels like the stretch of a plastic band, stretching the tensile strength of your aptitude for waiting, for restraining yourselves.

you wait with baited breath for it to snap in your faces.

it doesn't, though. his hand falls away gently, leaving you to still orbit around each other like lonely stars, crossing paths every few blue moons.

when he speaks, he sounds almost strained. "thank you, ner cyar'ika. you are kind."

your cheeks are warm and they heat up more when you smile up at him. and this time when you step away into the fresher, you make sure the door is fully closed.

the water is warm, curling tendrils of milky sweet oils that bathe your skin in a sweet, plush aroma. you return to the main room slowly after you bathe, ensuring he'll have enough time to return his helmet to its proper place before you see. you wring your hair out with your hands as Mando rises from where he sat on the loveseat; his full height shining that reflective metal against you. your warped, clean, scrubbed reflection stares back at you.

he.... he sees you.

you've always noticed it; maybe that's why you'd commanded your father's men to leave you at the first sight of the Mandalorian's skills - you see a lot of yourself in him. a life concealed behind the preceding reputation: a princess - young, beautiful, generous, stagnant. a Mandalorian - bounty-hunter-turned-guard, sturdy, resourceful, rough.

mirrors follow you no matter where you go. they've been thrust upon you your entire life, every snaking hallway of the kingdom winding down reflective images of your youth, bouncing you from person to person, nothing but a blank canvas for the aristocracy to paint their whims upon.

you suspect, as you stare at Mando's unwaveringly reflective armor, that he understands that more than either of you could know. your heart soars with affection as you pad up to him, craning your neck to take in his entire height.

"did you enjoy it?" you ask with a small smile, combing your fingers through your wet hair. he nods, "yes, cyare. thank you."

you shake your head, unburdened by the gesture of gratitude. "let me guess- your favorite was the..." you pinch your chin with your fingers, scrunching your nose as you pretend to think. "chocolate cake." you say finally, tilting your head as you try to gage his reaction.

a tilt of a helmet, flickering in the candlelight of your chambers. "yes." he sounds surprised; as if you didn't know just as much about him as he knew of himself. it sparks butterflies in your stomach.

"I know you like it sweet, Mando." you tease, sending him a soft wink as you set your face cloth down on the table he leans against; you stare up at him from this angle, your movements molasses as you smile, hand sneaking around his ribs to hold him lightly. his hand rises tentatively to steady your waist, thumb rubbing the satin of your nightgown. "don't worry, I do too." you whisper.

he sighs.

it's a soft, gentle thing; one that nobody would dare imagine your big, bad Mandalorian protector to ever release. but you know him. you see him - Mando is many things, and one of them is hesitant. not unwilling, or shy: hesitant.

(you'd wait a thousand lifetimes for him.)

"cyar'ika," he starts, tone slipping into that gently warning one - the kind he gets when he's feeling bashful. "I don't like it when you tease me." he chides, and it's - kriff, it's playful. you can almost see the grin behind that helmet; his fingers pinch at your sides gently and you screech with laughter, swatting away his touch but hoping he'll soon return it, much like a magnet.

"you do, though." you defend, emboldened by the privacy and the budding tenderness that coaxes you into his arms. his hands soothe over your hips as you stare in silence.

warmth surrounds you; coaxes you to mutter it-

"stay with me, tonight?" you whisper, eyes wide at your own words, shocked you'd finally given in to all of the hunger that has swirled between you for all this time. his helmet tilts. "I am always here with you. my job is to watch you." he says gently, the lilt of guilt ever present in his voice.

you shake your head, eyes shutting in frustration - not at him, never - at who, then? your father? your mother? the last name you've been cursed with for your life? the privilege, the restraint?

"Mando." you say, pressing your palms flat against his chest. "you know what I mean." your eyes swirl with emotion: please, Mando, I can't keep waiting like this.

he waits. "it would be wrong."

you tilt your head, "it wouldn't." but you, much like him, are at a loss for words. a life of inoculation has rendered you unable to express any semblance of amorous emotions, even to this man - the one who is your confidant, your protector, and possibly your only true friend in this world. "I need you. I will-" you swallow, your heart thundering with desire, "I will do anything for you, Mando."

you can't resist the growing wetness in the apex of your thighs as his helmet moves over your figure, wrapped in a silky robe and still wet from bathing. he hums lowly, a long and slow sound, his head tilting ever so slightly as you clench your thighs in search of relief from the growing pressure.

"I have wanted you since I met you." he sighs, hands falling from your shoulders. "but... I shouldn't touch you."

DIN can see your eyes flicker down as he says it.

maker damn you; you've always been too clever for him. he sees the hunger swirl in your blown out pupils, the same hunger that plagues his mind and has sent blood rushing downwards. he feels himself throb as you grin up at him, lashes fluttering as a droplet of silky water trails down the expanse of your bare, awaiting neck.

you know him, you see him. and he thanks all of the stars that you know how badly he needs you, too.

"well, if you can't touch..." you tilt your head to stare up at him through your lashes, loosening the robe which covers your silk nightgown; each inch that slips down your body, Din feels himself stiffen and heat with desire. "...you can at least watch." you whisper, letting the robe drop before you step back from his figure; his eyes trace over every curve, each smooth line and jagged bump.

when you're far enough away, he lets out a shaky breath. "gar Kelir ruin ni, dala" he mutters to himself, swallowing thickly as your figure slinks away from him, traipsing onto your plush bed.

his heart thunders in his chest; you lie on your back, gently, eyes meeting his somehow through the shield of beskar as you move your hands slowly, slowly up your legs. silk catches on your deft fingers as you tease yourself, sighing in relaxation.

Din, standing rigid as a pole as he watches you, cannot look away. you seem flushed, even as your fingers trail over your breasts, toying with the pert nipples which poke through the smooth fabric of your dress. a whimper; high-pitched, breathy as your eyes splinter to Din again. "fuck," you whisper, one hand dragging down to torturously drag the hem of your gown upwards, up, up-

he's salivating.

your thighs, plush and welcoming, spread as you spread your glistening cunt for Din to see. for him, he realizes, only for him. a dark wash of possession shudders his whole being as you let out a whimper, the cool air hitting your wet, hot heat as your fingers start to spread your juices; it takes every ounce of restraint from Din to not just pounce on you, take you right now.

your finger finds your swelling clit and your strangled groan sounds too much like his name - your eyes are hooded, littered with desire and pleasure as you lie out on display for him.

he can't help but watch; his cheeks, hot. his hands, clenched - his heart, thundering, beating hard as Din watches you touch yourself with hungry eyes. your moans are smooth, melodic to his ears as you slowly dip one finger into your heat, whimpering as the stretch as your greedy little hole swallows you up.

he can't stand it.

Din takes a step forward, a staggering, desperate step towards the bed- your eyes snap up from where they'd watched you take your own fingers, eyes blown wide. you whimper, you goddamn whimper it, "M-Mando."

YOU almost pass out when he mutters it, low and baritone.

"take it off." Mando mutters darkly.

you stop your languid pumps as you stare up at him, eyes wide as you see him, now looming just over you, eyes trained still on your heat.

slowly, you sit to peel the dress off of yourself, the material catching on your nipples and sending a shiver down your body.

you're soon bare; laid out for him, your entire body on display for him as you stare up, chest heaving with desire. his helmet does not leave your form as he watches your hand snake back down, toying with your wetness as it pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress below you.

there are thousands of things you wish to say; nothing escapes you except whimpers and moans, the muted, heated pleasure swirling through you as you slip your fingers into yourself, pumping languidly. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the bite of cold beskar on your bare chest; the thickness of a warm cock slipping through you.

your eyes stay on him instead, though; the reflection of your squirming, pleasured body on his beskar. you feel sweat sheen your forehead.

your heart nearly stops as Mando slowly starts to palm himself; his cock, hard and strained against the fabric of his flightsuit as his hands pull himself out of the pants. your eyes widen and your fingers start to pump into you quicker, moaning out Mando's name as his hand slowly starts to pump himself.

his cock, skin golden and veins prominent as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. arousal floods around your fingers as your other finger falls to lazily toy with your neglected clit. one hand grasps your breast and pinches a pert nipple, your back arching as you whimper.

you need Mando, you need him.

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck M-Mando, I need you. i-it's not enough, need more." you groan, the dam breaking as the low high you've been riding simmers.

he stops his own movements, his chest heaving beneath the beskar.

"I don't-" you swallow around your dry throat, "I don't think I can cum without you." you admit, heart thundering as you stare up at the beskar wall. "please."

he pauses and your words hand in the air; suspended by a string, one that is tight and ready to snap.

"stand up, princess." he orders.

DIN almost smiles at the speed at which you scramble on eager legs, to stand up, staring up at him with wanton need. he takes a deep breath before one hand reaches out to graze the swell of your breast; the plush give of soft skin, the goosebumps that trail behind his touch. his cock twitches as your hands find him, pumping slowly as you bite your lip.

he groans at the soft feeling of your gentle hands around his thickness; your lips grazing over his beskar chestplate.

his hands tug you as he falls to the mattress; a squeal leaves you as your hands grip onto his shoulders, "Mando!"

he grins beneath the helmet.

the smile slowly fades into a grunt of pleasure as you eagerly find your place straddling his hips; your wet hot cunt envelopes his cock with your slick, rubbing him as you whimper. "fuck, cyar'ika." he grunts. "gonna fuck you nice and good. promise." he mutters.

you smile as you nod, "maker, Mando. I've-I've dreamt of this." you mutter. he smirks- he knows you have. he's heard it.

but the pride is soon washed away with shock and pleasure as you line his head up at your entrance, easing onto him gently; his hands squeeze your bare skin and he wishes he could pull his gloves off and really feel you.

dank ferrik, you are so tight around him; swallowing his thickness in your greedy cunt as your breath stutters, gasping at the stretch. you're hot, wet, and Din's eyes shut tight at the feeling. kriff, he won't last long.

you take him gently, slowly, and all Din can do is breathe through it and resist his hips from bucking upwards and spearing you into two.

his brain is a puddle as you fully sheath yourself on him, thighs plush and shaking as you swallow him.

"that's good." he mutters, breath shaky, his hands guiding you to move against his hips, "how does it feel, princess?"

"Mando, fuck, y'so big, filling me-" you're moaning and he thinks he may pass out; heavenly, heavenly, you you you-

you groan as you start to fuck yourself on top of him, your gummy warm walls coaxing Din towards his high, having been spurred along by the pleasure you'd been giving yourself earlier.

you shudder at the curling sensuality of his words and he can feel you gripping him tighter and tighter, pulsing around him and dragging him down with you into the depths of pleasure. shivers of pleasure coast down your entire body as Din starts to piston up, his thick length, smooth and hard, spearing into your hot cunt. your desire drips down and smothers the fabric of his flight suit; briefly, he thinks he will never wash them again. your breath is laborious as you near your high- Din chases his, too, because this has already gone on for too long and he's greedy, as greedy as your tight, pretty cunt is and-

he lets out a splintering moan when you cum with a scream; your legs quivering, weakening as you slump against him. Din fucks you through your high with a moan of his own, pushing up into your pulsing pussy, the wetness easing him to spear into you with a fire of ecstasy.

"good- you're so good, y'feel so good, Mando," you whimper. that's it for him - he cums with a long groan, release snapping through him with a moan of your name.

he sees colors, shapes of you in a meadow, spread on a blanket with him taking you from above; with you riding him in the cockpit of his ship; you, thighs spread on your father's throne while he delves his tongue through your plush folds.

you are his. you will always be his, nobody else's. he will consume you.

he fucks up into you as he rides through his high, his seed smearing your chanel as he holds you close. "fuck," he mutters, rolling you both onto your sides as his hand caresses your cheek.

"s'good." you mumble, smiling at him.

he smiles back. you can't see it, but he knows you can feel it.

"m'not done with you yet, princess." he promises, tugging you towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs to see his own seed leaking out of you, mixed with your own wet, sticky spend. it's a sight better than any he's ever seen; shivers of desire roll down Din's spine.

and then Din spends his time on top of you, pulling orgasm and orgasm from you until you're crying, shaking and heaving breaths; he's shaky, drunk from the pleasure of your wet arousal. he aches to taste you, to coax you to sleep with his tongue lapping up your spend; he needs to taste you.

perhaps, another time.

he soothes himself for now with his fingers, his cock; another time, he will taste you.

---

YOU are exhausted. you can barely stay awake; but as Mando lays with you between the sheets, you can't help but feel so alive. the sun starts to creep towards the horizon line, over the shimmering sea; the gentle breeze of the world flowing through the faint curtains.

"Mando?"

he cranes to look down at you, his thumb tracing over your spine.

"in the morning," you start, your hand trailing over his beskar. you figure it isn't comfortable to don this armor in the plush of your mattress; he stays no matter, willing to give you what you want. always, whatever you want. forever.

him.

you chew your lip, "will we- I mean, I just..."

a thumb, warm though marred with old leather, pulls your lower lip from the clutches of your pearled teeth, soothing over the plush, bitten skin. a shiver runs down your spine as he coaxes you to stare up into that endless helmet.

"what is it, mesh'la?" his voice is deep and soothing in its modulated baritone. you preen at the nickname in his native tongue and though he has willingly taught you words and phrases of his language, you are unsure of this one's translation. it sounds lovely coming from him.

"please don't take me back." you whisper.

he tenses under you; you can feel it. you wish you didn't have to plague him with your burdens of asking him such a crime; to take the duchess, the girl made of nothing but stardust, and give her the life she deserves.

a whisper of your name. quiet, an exhale gentle and barely picked up by the modulation function of the helmet.

DIN has been waiting for you to say it.

he wonders just about when he realized you were going to ask him to take you away. was it just now, after you'd finally connected in bliss? was it last night, when he'd taken a blaster shot to protect you - his job, of course, but a lifetime of debt to repay to him, you'd claimed - or, perhaps, was it all those months ago?

your words pull him from his shock as you mutter softly.

"would you take me with you? away?"

all the moments shared between your two souls wait with baited breath as Din tries to find his words through his thundering heart.

"in the morning..." he parrots your words from before, but with a different tone. regret. his heart thumps as you tilt your head, bare shoulder glinting in the light of the moons. "will you still want that? will you want..." he doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't have to. not with you. want me?

you look at him with eyes so soft he almost melts. "I've always dreamt of leaving my life. it's not who I am." you're firm in your words, hand curling over his shoulder as you blink, "I never thought I would act on it. I had nothing to do, nowhere else to go. but now..." you shrug and he starts to feel hot at the implications in your voice.

Din's heart thuds importunately under your sweet palm; could you feel it, under all the layers that separated his body from your bare one?

"if-if you'd have me... it'd be a dream to stay with you. wherever you go."

Din can't breathe; so many words burst to the forefront of his mind, but all he does is stare in awe.

you'd been watching life through the jail of your parent's grasp your whole life; and what is the princess of a mid-rim planet to the rest of the galaxy?

stardust.

"wasted dreams?" you ask softly, shaking your head, "that's worse than death, Mando."

YOU fall asleep with Mando's arms wrapped tightly around your middle; the weight of beskar pushing you deeper into the comfort of knowing you've spent your last night ever in this system.

his words echo in your head.

in the morning, mesh'la, we will leave here. wherever you'd like.

it's illicit; the things you're about to do, the traditions which will be seared. your eyes, bleary with exhaustion and hope, looks to the mirror across the room.

you lie in the arms of the Mandalorian, bare besides the plush sheets which wrap around your figures - and when you stare into the reflective piece of decor directly across, it's you who stares back in the reflection. you smile to yourself.

stardust.

those moments, you hope, will shine in broad daylight now in tandem with the sweet secrets after midnight.

taglist: @silkiers @toobsessedsstuff @millersdjarin @tizylish @cloufire @kalea-bane @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @hello-th3r3 @bbyanarchist @ponyboys-sunsets

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#din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader smut #sw smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

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captainfern · 11 months

Text

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Three - Good Girl •

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - after hearing the kind of treatment you're giving his teammates, the number 8 thinks it's only fair for him to receive the same treatment too lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], oral fixation type beat, oral [m!receiving], dry (wet?) humping, thigh-riding, discussion of m!masturbation, degradation, light dumbification, praise, dacryphilia?? idk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, discussion of foursome/sharing, simon's a little possessive tho, and simon's obsessed with you tbh, and he talks about his dick a lot lol, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Ghost is a number 8, or eighthman – supports the back line, carries the ball well and tackles strongly. this position tends to be the perfect mix of strong and agile.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part two | part four ->

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

"How was dinner?" Simon asked that evening, entering his and Johnny's shared flat, kicking off his shoes near the door.

It was late, nearing midnight, when Simon returned home. He, Price and Gaz had trained for several hours, and then went out to dinner. Simon returned home expecting for Johnny to be occupied, and so he entered tentatively, but he found the Scot sitting on the couch watching some shitty reality TV programme.

"It was nice," Johnny said flippantly. "Yeah... real nice."

Simon raised his eyebrows, coming to perch himself on the couch– the couch that, unbeknownst to him, you had made a mess on just a few hours prior. Simon looked over at Johnny, who ignored the blond and continued watching TV. Slightly annoyed, Simon snatched the remote and shut the TV off, much to Johnny's dismay.

"Hey!" Johnny frowned.

"Tell me about your date." Simon said, and Johnny sat up, leaning back against the plush armchair.

"It wasn't a date," Johnny rolled his eyes. "And I told you, it was nice. She's really nice company, you know."

Simon hummed, intrigued. "I bet..." Then, he waited for Johnny to continue, but he didn't. Simon cocked his head to the side, and Johnny mimicked the movement, a grin on his face. Simon rolled his eyes. "You already know what I'm about to say."

Johnny laughed. "No, we didn't fuck."

"How come?"

Johnny shrugged. "Just the way it went. Dinner was nice, and we talked for fuckin' hours. I could listen to the lass talk forever," he smiled, then continued. "By the time we stopped talking, it was too late, and she had to head home."

Simon narrowed his eyes at his friend, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arm atop the top of the backrest. He drummed his fingers against the fabric. "S'that all you did? Talk and ate?"

Johnny smiled. Simon knew that fucking smile.

Simon raised his eyebrows, imploring Johnny to tell him everything. Johnny cocked his head to the side again, wanting Simon to ask about it.

"Fuck sake," Simon shook his head. "Fine... what did you do?"

"'M glad you asked," Johnny split into a cheeky grin. "Since you really want to know–"

"Really is a bit of an exaggeration–"

"She played with herself while I watched. Right there on that fuckin' couch, Simon." Johnny nodded at the couch, and Simon instinctively looked down at the fabric. Johnny smiled. "Right where you're sitting, actually."

Simon made no effort to move. He looked back up at his friend. "You told her how to touch herself, Johnny?"

"Mhm," Johnny said proudly. "While I fucked my fist, too. Came so fuckin' hard I almost burnt my fuckin' roast."

Simon laughed through his nose. "I don't think the force of your orgasm is what made you almost burn your roast. It more likely had something to do with your distraction."

"It was a bloody good distraction, Ghost," Johnny said around a smile. "You... you need to try her, sometime."

Simon felt his eyebrows pinch together in a subtle frown. "Don't talk about her like that. She's not a toy."

Johnny looked offended. "No, no, didn't mean it like that. I just mean, you know, if you wanted too, she'd... she'd probably let you."

"Let me what?"

"Let you..." Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Let you fuck her."

"Wow, real mature, Johnny," Simon quipped, leaning back into the sofa, adjusting his sitting position with a shift of his hips. "What makes you think I want her like that?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "I'm not fuckin' blind, Ghost. You fancy her, as do half the fuckin' team, eh? And besides, who wouldn't like her like that. She's perfect."

"Perfect?" Simon mumbled out, looking around the living room.

If he put his head at a certain angle, in a certain direction, he could smell you– the sweetness of your perfume, the fragrance of your shampoo. It managed to linger in the air over top of the smell of roast, and the vague tang of citrus cleaning products.

In the armchair, Johnny shrugged again, eyes wandering. "Well, you know, I could put in a good word for you if you wanted me to."

Simon shot daggers at Johnny, then got to his feet, stretching out his back. His knuckles cracked when he flexed his fingers, a throbbing pain appearing at the base of his fingers. Johnny noticed the way Simon's face contorted into a pained grimace.

"Oh, so the appointment's real?"

"What?" Simon frowned.

"You're really going to see her 'cause you're hurt? I thought you'd made it up." Johnny said, and Simon huffed, annoyed, tossing his Scottish friend an unimpressed look.

"Yes, I'm hurt, you fuckwit," Simon muttered, holding his right hand to his chest. Then, defiantly, he turned back to his friend. "You know what?"

"What?" Johnny was grinning now.

Simon wished he could wipe that cheeky grin off of his friend's face. But he knew he couldn't. Not when his next words made the smile grow tenfold.

"I am going to try her an' see how perfect she really is."

•º•º•

Simon didn't want to come onto you to strong– pun definitely not intended. Not yet, anyway.

He didn't want to crowd you, or stress you out. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel as though he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want that. He admitted telling Johnny he wanted to try you was a fucking prick thing to say, but he didn't know how else to phrase it. Because, well, it was true. He did want to try you. Just like Johnny and Gaz did. The lucky bastards.

His interest piqued when he got a good look at you on the sidelines of one of their first matches. Of course, he saw you on your first day, and around the grounds several days after that, but he really got a good look at you when you were taping up Gaz's wrist all those weeks ago.

Simon was benched, and sitting at the very opposite end to you. He did find himself glancing over in your direction every so often, just to see what the fuss was about. Many of the lads had taken interest in you, but you seemed oblivious– or possibly just immune– to their charm. But, Simon did notice that Gaz's charm seemed to be working.

So Simon took note.

He noted the way Gaz was genuinely nice to you, polite and well-mannered. He didn't flirt with you heavily, not like how the other players described their flirting tactics. Gaz was feather-light with his advances, and he never forced you close to him. He simply allowed you to gravitate towards him.

And so that's how Simon knew he wanted to play it. He had always been a strategist– being a number 8, that line of thinking was critical. He read the play well, picked up on body-language and non-verbal cues– that was his job, basically. So he took note on how Gaz approached you, how he spoke to you, how he spoke about you to the others. The winger was polite, respectful and, above all, successful.

He had told Simon, Johnny and Price all about his little encounter with the team's physio while at the gym a couple of weeks before Johnny decided to give it a go. He explained how he did it, why he wanted to do it– and then proceeded to gush about how much he enjoyed it, how much he enjoyed you.

You, you, you.

That's what triggered Simon's interest in you.

Of course, like he said before, he picked up on a few things while you taped Gaz's wrist that day. You were so gentle with him, smiling and joking, and you did your job so well.

But when Gaz couldn't shut his mouth at the gym that night, and now how Johnny wouldn't stop fucking smiling about you– god, Simon really, really wanted you now.

And usually, when Simon wants something, he get's it. He got the number 8 position in the team. He got player of the year last year. He'll get the team's physiotherapist, too. If Johnny could do it, surely it wouldn't be too hard.

But Simon purposely made it harder for himself to ensure that everything seemed easier on you.

The first appointment he had with you, where you took his hand so gently into yours, running your fingers over his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, he willed himself not to get hard. Willed himself not to pop a fucking boner in his boxers at your touch, at the way your pretty eyes stared up at him, and the way you had that welcoming, warm smile.

That appointment, he made sure he didn't flirt with you. Not one little bit. He kept conversation casual, platonic. The small talk was polite and, dare he say it, mundane. It was his own fault, but he had to stick with it. He asked you about your day, about future appointments. He asked you about why you took the job, and how you were liking it so far. He didn't push it.

But, after booking the next appointment, he headed for the door, looking over his shoulder to give you the simplest of smiles. He then uttered, "Have a nice day, love."

Success. He watched you fidget on the spot at his words. Then he left.

He'd jerk off to your expression in the shower when he got home. But first, he needed to go to the fucking gym.

The next appointment, about a week after the first, Simon knew it was time to start wiggling his way into your mind. Get you thinking about him. He knew you were still thinking about Soap and Gaz– and probably still paying them visits, too– so Simon knew that putting thoughts of him into your head wouldn't be too hard.

So he planted little seeds. Polite, of course, without pressing into any boundary that he knew would make uncomfortable.

But he placed lingering touches– brushing his fingers against yours when you handed him something, or craning his head just a bit closer to yours when he looked over your shoulder as you showed him something on your computer. He wore more cologne so it'd linger in your office. He said hello to you in the hallway before anyone else could. He made sure to do his warm-up stretches in the middle of the playing field where he knew you'd have a good view from your office.

Strategic. Like all number 8's should be.

And he wasn't the best number 8 in the entire UK for fucking nothing.

He noticed it start to work that very same week. The following days after his second appointment, leading up to his third. Days he noticed your eyes light up when he waved to you in the hall; days you smiled from your window while you watched him warm-up; days where you got flustered when he winked at you while you were talking to Johnny.

Johnny noticed it too.

That happened just a few hours before his third appointment– an appointment he scheduled a bit earlier in the week than usual, only a few days after his second. He was so close.

Johnny teased him. "You're on the fuckin' prowl, Ghost."

"Don't say it like that, Johnny, what the fuck," Simon growled. The pair were walking from their flat towards their home stadium. Simon shook his head. "She's a human being."

"She sure is," Johnny said wistfully, as though remembering something he was fond of. Simon guessed he was, something fond of you, so he elbowed the Scot in the ribs as they crossed the road. Johnny laughed. "Alright, that's enough, I get it."

Simon grumbled under his breath as the two friends made their way towards the stadium along the roadside. As cars drove past, he heard the voice of a kid yell, "Ghost! Soap!" which made Simon smile.

After a moment of walking in silence, Johnny cleared his throat. Simon looked at him in annoyance.

Johnny pouted at Simon's expression. "What're you mad for? I haven't said anything yet!"

"You don't need to," Simon said. "I know whatever you're about to say is gonna be stupid."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Johnny grumbled. "You're no fun."

Simon looked at Johnny, then over to the looming stadium, then back to Johnny again. He sighed, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he walked.

"Fine," he said. "What is it?"

Johnny smiled. "Have you got a plan?"

"A plan...?"

"Yeah to, you know, woo the lass."

"Woo the lass," Simon echoed with a mouthful of disinterest. "You're a fuckwit."

"Hey, I'm just asking!" Johnny held up his hands in mock-surrender. When he put them back down, he wiggled his eyebrows at Simon. "...So?"

Simon rolled his eyes.

Johnny smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Simon sighed through his nose. Johnny was right, but he didn't want to admit that. Simon'd rather hurt his other hand than admit it, because the look on Johnny's face already– and Simon hadn't even admitted anything– was enough. Enough for Simon to shoulder Johnny and force him off the pavement.

Johnny laughed as he toppled over into a row of hedges. He yelled out at Simon as the blond kept walking. "Don't go throwin' me 'round, Simon! Otherwise I'll end back up in doc's office!"

Simon clenched his jaw. Don't bite back.

•º•º•

"How does that feel?" You asked, two hands holding one of Simon's large ones.

Your soft fingers traced over his lower knuckles, pressing gently on the space of finger between those knuckles, and the row in the middle of the fingers. You rubbed circles on each finger for a couple of seconds, and Simon watched you, his gaze unwavering.

You felt very warm.

"That's good," Simon said quietly when you got to his pinky-finger, pressing at the bones and joints and looking up to his face for any flicker of pain. He looked at you as you searched his face. He allowed himself a small smile. "It's good, doc. I promise."

You smiled back up at him and dropped his hand. He frowned.

You didn't notice. "Good, that's good. Alright, so I suppose this is our last appointment..." you meandered over to your computer, sliding into the chair and beginning to type at lightening speed. Simon watched your fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Our... last one?" Simon voiced, tone even and not at all betraying the disappointment he felt inside.

"Yep, our last one," you said. You finished up on your computer and then looked over at him with a beaming smile. "You're all good to go."

Simon slid off of the medical table, not having to drop far. He towered over you, which he knew you liked– based on the way you chewed subtly on your bottom lip when he stood over you.

So, phase one of his plan that, if Soap was somehow listening, definitely did not exist– use his height to his advantage.

You got up from behind your desk to walk him to the door, and Simon took the opportunity to walk directly next to you until you both reached the door. When you opened the door, Simon stepped into the frame and turned around so he could face you, leaning his shoulder against the framing and crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. He watched the way your eyes followed the movement. You swallowed nervously.

"Thanks for that, doc," he said lowly. "I appreciate it."

"O-oh, yeah, it's no big deal," you stuttered. "Just... just doing my job, you know?"

Your eyes didn't meet his. Not when he was executing phase two– holding eye contact. A soft kind of eye contact, the same Gaz always used. Simon kept a slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, his lids lowering a fraction as his eyes scanned your face, darting from your eyes to your lips in perfectly timed intervals.

Your throat was drying. You cleared it with a low cough. "Right, well... did you need anything?"

Phase three, the riskier part of the plan–

"You like the way I look at you, doc?" Simon whispered. He felt nerves twisting in his own stomach as he waited an eternity (less than a second) for your response. He looked down at you softly.

You cleared your throat again. "I... I mean, I don't– I don't mind if, you mean– if you meant it like that–"

Phase four, even fucking riskier–

"Answer my question, doc," Simon whispered. "An' use your words, hm? You like the way I look at you? You like the way I'm talking to you?"

And, if his plan worked, if it somehow worked, then the outcome would be–

"...yes." A whisper from your pretty lips.

Perfect. Mission-fucking-successful.

"Yeah?" Simon was still leaning against the doorframe. "How do I make you feel?"

"...warm," you confessed quietly, not meeting his eyes. "You... fucking hell, you give me butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Simon grinned. "Do I? How else do I make you feel?"

Simon walked forward, and you walked backwards. Enough so that he quietly shut the door and then spun the lock. It clicked. Locked.

You swallowed. "I– you–"

"Look at me when you're talking to me, doc."

You looked up at him, his hazy blue eyes and the mosaic of scars running across his face.

"How do I make you feel when I look at you like this?" He asked, moving forward. You were backing yourself towards your desk. He cocked his head at you. "How do you feel when you look at me?"

"Good," you breathed. "Feel's good... I like the way you look at me and... and I like looking at you."

"Yeah? You do, love?" Simon goaded, and your backside hit your desk. "D'you want to know how I feel?"

You nodded quickly. Simon chuckled.

"O'course you do..." He stepped into your space, the lower part of his chest up against the top of yours. He looked down at you, his arms coming to rest on your hips. "Is this okay?"

You nodded. "Yes..."

Simon leaned down until his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, your lips just a hair-length apart. You could feel his breath fanning across your face, and your stomach flipped at his close proximity.

"I love the way you touch me," he whispered, his words tickling your lips. "Love the way you look at me, too. Y'look at me like I'm the prettiest thing on earth, don't you? Love the way you look at me with them pretty eyes, like you want me to fuck you, hm?"

Your mouth dropped open in a gasp, and Simon took the opportunity to press his mouth to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. One of the hands he had on your hips moved upwards to cup the back of your head, moving you closer to him as his lower body pushed yours against the wooden desk.

"That's what you want?" He asked, breaking the kiss and shifting his pelvis against yours. You could feel the hard, large imprint of his cock against your front, and it made you whimper, squirming in his hold. He hummed, closing his eyes as you ground yourself against the growing bulge in his trousers. "Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill your tight cunt with my big fuckin' cock, hm?"

You moaned, and Simon swallowed it– kissing you roughly by pulling you into him using the hand he had on the back of your head. His tongue licked against yours, running over the ridges of your teeth, and he groaned. He groaned at the taste of you, the warmth and the wetness of your mouth. His cock twitched in his boxers.

He pulled out of the kiss, placing one quick peck on your lips before pulling his face away. "Got a pretty damn mouth on you, doc."

The hand on the back of your head shifted to the side of your face, and you were blinking back surprise when his thumb brushed over your lips. You opened your mouth when he flicked his thumb against your bottom lip, and he grumbled in his chest– a pleased purr, almost– when he slipped his thumb into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around the digit, retaining eye-contact as you sucked his thumb further into your mouth, the rest of his hand holding firmly onto the base of your jaw.

Simon pressed his thumb down onto your tongue when you took the digit further back into your mouth. You gagged, but he kept his thumb there. You gagged again, eyes watering, and Simon slowly dragged his thumb back to the front of your mouth, flicking it against the tip of your tongue.

"You wanna suck my cock, love?" Simon asked in a whisper, swiping the pad of his thumb along your teeth, feeling the ridges of your molars and the points of your lower canines.

You whined around his thumb, still sucking gently, nodding as his eyes swept over your face.

"'Atta girl," Simon praised, pulling his thumb from your mouth and then gripping your jaw, smearing your saliva across your cheek. "How about you get down on them knees, doc?"

He spun you both around so that he was now leaning his backside against the desk. He then let go of your head and allowed you to lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your hands resting on the thick of his strong thighs.

He gestured to his fly and button, and you got the hint. Saliva already pooling in your mouth, you popped the button of his jeans and then unzipped the fly, lowering them enough to get a good look at the imprint of his cock in his boxers. There was a small wet patch on the front, and it made your pussy flutter around nothing.

Acting on your own accord, you leaned forward and pressed kisses along the bulge, tongue moving against the cotton, laving over the patch of pre-cum that stained the material. Simon's hand shot down to hold the crown of your head as you kissed the hard imprint of his cock, whimpering in the back of your throat at the warmth against your lips and tongue.

His hips bucked, the stain of pre-cum growing bigger as his cock leaked within the confines of his boxers, twitching as the warm wetness of your mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses over it.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it, love," Simon breathed. "Kiss my cock– use that pretty mouth."

You whined against him, nose sliding over the waistband of his boxers. Your fingers trailed up his thighs until they reached the waistband, and you leaned your head back so you could pull his boxers down far enough for his cock to fall out.

Simon's cock was heavy, curving forward under the weight of his arousal, his balls heavy too, waiting– just waiting– to bust a load all over your pretty face, or in that warm mouth. His tip was flushed red, all the blood flow having travelled down while you kissed him, leaking droplets of pre-cum. And then your favourite part– the dark blond hair of his happy-trail leading to the patch near the base of his cock.

You whined again, bringing a hand to your face and spitting in it, before wrapping your fingers around the girth of his cock. Simon groaned, fingers flexing around the top of your head, holding you still as you began to work your hand up and down.

"Dirty fuckin' girl, that's it," he hissed, your eyes on him as you jerked him off. Your lips were just a whisper away from his leaking tip, and with each laboured breath you panted out, his cock twitched. He looked down at you with a lust-drunk gaze. "Are you going to keep playing with my cock, or are you going to put it in your mouth?"

You answered him by opening your mouth and letting your tongue drop out slightly. He hummed– a deep grumble from his chest– pleased with you, before bringing his free hand down to grab the base of his cock. You dropped your hand away from him, instead resting it against the solid warmth of his thigh.

Simon fisted his cock in front of your face, one hand keeping your head in place. He angled his hips so he could tap the flushed tip against your tongue, smearing pre-cum along the flat of the smooth muscle. A bead of saliva pearled at the tip of your tongue, and he smacked the tip of his cock against it, forcing your saliva to drip out of your mouth and down your chin. You frowned at him, and he smiled, whispering, "so messy."

Your jaw was just beginning to ache when he finally dropped more of his cock against your tongue, the solid weight of it wiping the frown from your face. You continued to look up at the rugby player before you as his cock inched further into your mouth– slowly enough that you could feel the velveteen ridges and veins across the surface of your pre-cum tainted tongue. You whimpered softly as Simon held your head firmer, feeding his cock into your mouth, forcing your tongue to draw back inside and your lips to seal around him.

"Take it..." Simon whispered, his tone soft. The fat head of his cock nudged the back of your throat after a moment, and you immediately gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes. Simon tutted, shifting his hips back and pulling his cock away from your uvula. His fingers massaged the top of your head. "What's 'a matter, pretty girl? S'my cock too big?"

You frowned at him again, your hands tightening against his thighs. Without his instruction, you pushed forward and took more of him into your mouth, the leaking tip nudging near the back of your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blurring your vision as you took most of him, your nose parallel to his pelvis. He was still holding his cock, so your lips pressed flush against his knuckles. You worked your tongue around him, smoothing warmly around the girth of his cock, and he tossed his head back and groaned, hips twitching.

"Yeah, that's'a fuckin' girl, baby–" he growled, head flopping forward to watch you once more. "Yeah, take my fuckin' cock. Take it all in this pretty mouth."

He removed his hand from his cock, instead gripping the edge of your desk for leverage. His other hand remained on your head, gently beginning to guide you. You worked with him– taking him as far back in your throat as you could, coating his cock in saliva, running your tongue along the underside of him until he eased back into your mouth a bit– then, you circled the tip, sucking gently, hollowing your cheeks, before he was pushing further in again. You took one hand, still sticky with your saliva, and pumped the base of his cock– all of which you couldn't fit in your mouth.

He grumbled out grunts and groans, his eyes on you the entire time. You did your best to maintain eye-contact as well, but tears were still fresh in your waterline, and the force of his thick cock sliding down your throat urged your eyelids shut.

A tear slipped from each eye, dropping down your cheeks. As he panted, focused on the warmth of your mouth around his desperately hard cock, Simon moved both of his hands to your face. He cupped both of your cheeks, running his thumbs along your cheekbones and catching the tears, smearing them across your soft skin. You blinked up at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at you. He continued to cup your face, both large hands heavy on your cheeks, as he gently guided your mouth along his cock.

"There you go, that's my girl..." He muttered, pulling your head right down to the base of his cock, your throat constricting around him as you resisted the urge to gag. You whimpered around him, the heady tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat, messing with your oxygen intake. The vibrations from your whimpering made Simon groan above you. "God, love, keep doing that. Jus' like that, yeah... fuck– keep using that pretty mouth."

He continued to look at you– in such a way your stomach was doing flips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You desperately blinked the moisture from your vision so you could see more of his handsome face, and the way he occasionally drew his lower lip between his teeth, and the way his dark brows pinched together in pleasure.

He still had both hands on your face, guiding you, petting you, stroking your cheeks and thumbing your cheekbones. His eyes never left your face as you sucked his cock. You were the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

Simon groaned at his own thoughts, hips twitching, more pre-cum dribbling out of his slit and down your throat. You swallowed around him, and he groaned again.

"Fuck– fuck– m'close, love, m'so fuckin' close–" Simon whispered, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls begin to tighten, along with the muscles in his lower abdomen. He held your head just a bit tighter. "M'gonna paint your face, doc."

Romantic, you thought, and you couldn't help but let slip a small giggle around his cock. Simon groaned, his hips jerking faster as he held your head in place, essentially fucking your throat. He was still so gentle though, despite the urgency of his thrusts into the warm heat of your mouth. You let him move you along the length of his cock, saliva dripping down your chin, before he was pulling you all the way off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting the tip and your lips.

"Tongue." He said breathlessly.

You stuck your tongue out as he fisted his cock quickly, wet sounds eliciting through your office. He groaned, a hiss of your name, before he was coming across your face. Most of his cum spurted across your tongue and in your mouth, but splatters flecked over you, milky strings along your saliva-slick lower face. Simon groaned the entire time he came, still pumping his cock in a bruised-knuckled fist, dribbles of white dripping from his cock while you curled your tongue back into your mouth and swallowed.

He was breathing hard, stuffing his semi-hard cock back into his boxers and trousers, and reaching down to take you by the upper arms. You let out an involuntary yelp when he effortlessly hauled you to your feet– as though you weighed absolutely fucking nothing– and pulled you with him. Wordlessly, he rounded your desk and sat down in your office chair, yanking you down onto his lap.

"Good girl." He was whispering as he brought his face to yours and kissed you. You hummed a moan against his lips. His tongue coaxed your mouth open, and the warm, wet muscle was smoothing against yours before you could even think.

One of his large hands cupped the side of your face, his thumb smearing a fat droplet of his cum against your cheek, while the other hand held your hip. With that hand, and all while kissing you, Simon guided you to straddle just one of his thick thighs, and slowly began rocking you against it. He tensed the muscle, and immediately felt the warmth of your clothed cunt beneath your trousers.

He broke the kiss to moan against your lips. "Fuckin' hell, doc, you're fuckin' soaked."

You whimpered, almost embarrassed, as Simon gripped your hip harder and ground you against him. He pressed you down heavier against him, revelling in the way he could feel the warm wetness of your core through both yours and his trousers. He kissed you again, rougher this time– a small clink of teeth, and a large amount of cum-tainted spit.

Butterflies in your stomach, you helped his urging movements. You moved your hips back and forth, sliding yourself against the taut muscles of his thigh. A high-pitched noise filtered from the back of your throat as your clit began to throb, your underwear damp against your slit. You tilted your head back, breaking the kiss so that you could mewl quietly into the silence of your office. Simon immediately attached his mouth to your throat, sucking harshly.

He grunted against your throat. "This pussy's all wet from suckin' my cock?" He then angled his head to suck kisses along your jaw, you face still inclined towards the ceiling.

"Yessss–" You whined, moving your hips faster. He let you– smiling against the skin of your jaw– letting the hand he had on your hip keep up with your desperate pace.

The two of you fell into a short, comfortable, lust-filled silence. The sounds of you panting, his grunting against your neck, and the shifting of fabric the only noises in your office. You whimpered as Simon continued sucking and biting kisses along the expanse of your neck and throat, the skin there sticky with his spit. You could still feel his semi-dried cum on your face.

But as you neared your first orgasm, rocking your clothed cunt against his thigh, your noises grew louder. You whimpering turned to stretched-out whines, and your panting increased in volume, coupled with airy moans– sounds that Simon loved and sounds that had his cock throbbing hard in his boxers. But he didn't want to compromise this situation at all.

The hand he had cupping your head moved along your face, two fingers dragging along your cheek and collecting a generous amount of his cum. Then, he simply shoved them past your lips and pressed down on your tongue, cutting you off mid-moan. Your eyes flew open, finding his, as you instinctively began sucking on the digits.

"You're a noisy girl, aren't you?" Simon muttered, eyes mapping every aspect of your face. "A noisy girl, and a messy girl."

You whimpered around his fingers, eyes almost rolling as your orgasm built heavily in your lower stomach. Your thighs quivered alongside his, and he could feel your cunt pulsing against him– all warm and wet and begging for his cock. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

You were so close– your entire body buzzing against him, skin flushed with a layer of sweat, face and neck sticky, lips tender from the force of Simon's kisses. Your orgasm was building, and building, and building still, and you were so close–

"Come for me," Simon ordered in a soft whisper, his two fingers rubbing against your tongue. "Come for me, love."

It was like your body had been waiting for his permission. The band in your lower belly snapped, your orgasm racking through you in forceful waves, your body shaking against him. A loud moan was caught in your throat, his fingers pinning your tongue to the floor of your mouth, forcing you to whimper out to him instead. Your eyes dropped shut, a bead of saliva pushing out from between his fingers and your lips, running down his wrist. He groaned.

But he didn't stop rocking you against him. Even when you tired and your desperate movements slowed, he didn't. He didn't slow. With all the stamina and strength of a good number 8, he kept his hand tight on your hip and continued to grind you against his muscular thigh.

After a moment of realising that he was not stopping, your eyes flew open and found him already looking at you. His eyes had been on where his fingers disappeared into your mouth– and he pushed them in further, until the middle knuckles slid past your lips. You almost choked, moving your tongue around them now that he wasn't pinning them to the bottom of your mouth. His eyes then found yours.

"So pretty..." He muttered. "So pretty when you come. Want you to come again."

You whimpered, frowning. Simon chuckled, a beautiful smile stretching across his face. He leaned in, moving his fingers to one corner of your mouth so that he place a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he was still smiling.

"You thought I was done with one?" He asked you, not quite condescending, but enough so to make you pout around his fingers. "No, no, love, we're not stoppin' at one. We're not fuckin' stoppin' until you've drenched my trousers, got it?"

That had your second orgasm creeping up inside you. You nodded wildly, and he pulled his fingers out of your mouth briefly to give you a pat on the side of the face.

"Good girl." He said, and then his fingers were back in your mouth again. This time, he hooked them around your bottom teeth and, with his thumb on your jaw, he pulled your mouth open just a little bit– enough so he could lean in and kiss you deeper than the last time. He licked into your mouth and you squirmed against him, the feeling of his tongue against yours making your hips stutter against his thigh.

He kissed you like that, with his chin resting on his own fingers, until your second orgasm hit you. He pulled away with your spit smeared across his lips as you came, your cunt pulsing against him again. He could almost feel your heartbeat in the warmth of your pussy, making the muscles of his thigh flex again. He continued to rock you through it.

"I think one more will do it," Simon hummed, more to himself than to you. He could feel the heat of your slick soaking through your own trousers, but it was yet to soak through to his. He wanted a wet patch on his fucking leg. "You can do one more, can't you, doc?"

Simon pulled his fingers from your mouth and gripped both of your hips now. He renewed his efforts, dragging you across his thigh, your legs shaking around him as your glazed eyes struggled to stay open. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, brain fuzzy, body warm against his.

You mewled, hoarse and barely above a light whimper. "Simon–"

He groaned. "Fuck yeah, love, want you to say my name like that again. Go on. Say it again while I drag this pretty pussy over my thigh."

You did as you were told, moaning out quietly, your head dropping onto his shoulder. You mewled another "Simon–!" against him as you mouthed at the flushed skin of his neck. You were met with another deep groan, rumbling in his throat.

"Fuck," he grunted. "You– fuck– you have no idea how many times I've fucked my fist to that sound in my head. So many times I've come all over my fuckin' hand thinkin' about this perfect fuckin' pussy."

His accent was thickening. That made you moan.

He ground you harder against him, tensing his muscles tighter. You moaned into his neck, your body shaking.

Simon placed a gentle kiss your damp forehead. "Come on, love, come one more time. Soak my fuckin' thigh. I know you can do it, doc, I can feel how wet you are."

You whimpered. "Simon, please–"

"Look at me."

You did. You picked yourself up and looked at him as he guided you towards your third orgasm– your third orgasm in your fucking trousers only by grinding against his leg. Oh my god–

"When you come..." He began softly, one of his hands moving from your hip to hold your throat carefully. He held your head still, forcing as much eye-contact as he could. "When you come, I want you looking at me with those pretty eyes. Got it, doc?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently and repeated a soft "good girl" for what felt like the hundredth time. But you weren't complaining. It had your stomach twisting, your swollen clit pulsing, and finally your third orgasm washing over you.

Like a good girl, you listened to what he said. You maintained eye-contact as you came, despite the overwhelming urge to shut them. Your body shook against his, your cunt gushing into your underwear. You moaned his name and he kissed you quiet.

He chuckled against your lips– a triumphant smile forming as he felt your arousal dampen the leg of his trousers. He pulled away and lifted your hips lightly, getting a good look at the dark patch on his thigh. He moaned, cock twitching.

"God, what a messy fuckin' girl..."

You mewled, high on pleasure, beginning to palm at his crotch where his bulge pressed up against his zipper. Your hands groped the shape of him, and he hissed, grabbing hold of your hand.

"You want my cock that bad?" He whispered, your foreheads coming together and the two of you staring down at his bulge. "You want my cock in this pretty pussy?" The hand he had on your throat somehow found the wet space between your legs, rubbing his fingers along the seam there. You were so wet. He groaned. "You want my big cock to stuff this wet cunt, hm? Fill you with my cum? Fill you up and ruin you for anyone else?”

"Simon, oh my god." You uttered, still pawing at his hard cock. Your cunt was throbbing so fucking bad.

"This pussy just can't get enough, can she?" Simon mused, still rubbing at your overstimulated core, fingers grinding against the damp material covering your slit. "You fucked Gaz an' Soap, an' now you want my cock? So greedy, baby. Such a greedy little slut..."

His tone was so soft, that you almost missed the degradation. Instead, you shook your head, whimpering quietly as your fourth orgasm built in your lower tummy, the base of your spine tingling.

"No, no, haven't– fuck– haven't fucked them." You whispered hurriedly as he worked his fingers against you.

Simon tutted. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd love for both of them to fuck you, yeah? Just want three big fuckin' cocks stuffin' this tight fuckin' cunt."

Strong accent, more cussing. You moaned loudly. God, he was hot.

"I bet you want the captain's cock too, eh? Wouldn't be fuckin' surprised."

You moaned again, orgasm building heavier and heavier inside you. You imaged Price for a split second, and you moaned again.

Simon chuckled darkly. "Yeah? Needy girl, wanting four men? Want four cocks? Want us all to fuck you dumb, eh?" 'Course you fuckin' do."

"Please, Simon..." You whispered, body on fire.

He groan from the back of his throat. "But s'just me now, an' I'm the one making you come. So go on, pretty girl, come once more for me."

You came for a fourth time and you swear you almost blacked out. Stars burst behind your eyelids, a long string of whimpers falling from your lips as your cunt leaked arousal into your underwear, wetting your trousers even more. Simon peppered your face with kisses as you came down from your high, trembling, before he gathered you into his arms and hugged you to his broad chest.

"Good job, love," he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. "Did such a good job for me. Such a good girl."

You were about to reply, something along the lines of– probably– begging for his cock even though you were so tired. But your phone buzzed against your desk, a brief vibration. You turned to look down at your screen to see a reminder flashing. Your eyes grew wide, realising you had another appointment in twenty minutes.

You peeled yourself away from Simon.

"Fuck, fuck!" You cursed. "I have another appointment in twenty minutes, Simon!”

"So?"

You looked at him, annoyed, then gestured to your trousers. "So? So? Simon, I've come four times in my fucking trousers and I'm wet."

He smiled.

"Don't fucking smile."

His smile dropped and he cleared his throat. "Right, sorry, love. I'll get you a pair'a my joggers if you want."

"You're taking the piss." You muttered as Simon got up, adjusting the way his hard cock sat in his trousers. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with it, as well as the large wet patch on his thigh. “Your joggers?”

He passed by you, kissing you gently on the forehead.

"Mhm," he hummed, already unlocking the door. "Anything for you, doc."

He disappeared, and you stared after him, shaking his head. Then, you spared a glance at yourself in the small mirror near the medical bed. You looked an absolute mess, with cum and saliva on your face. You groaned, heading towards the washbasin.

Maybe you had time to pop home and freshen up. Surely the captain wouldn't mind if you were a bit late.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #141rugby!au #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x female reader

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