#Why feet on my dashboard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 17 days ago

Text

TILL DEATH DO US PART.

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Synopsis: You and Minho head to a cabin for a weekend getaway but beneath the seemingly normal relationship, both harbor dark secrets and hidden desires to end the marriage by any means necessary. (13,1k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the poster boy to my spooky Halloween fics, Lee Know 🦇

Content warning: Violence, graphic imagery, blood, toxic romance. Readers discretion is advised!

Minho wants to kill you.

He’s reached the point where he can no longer tolerate you. You've crossed the line of things you shouldn’t do and checked off every item that finally leads him to this decision: he wants to kill you. He carefully crafts a plan, asking himself all the basic questions.

What? A plan to kill you.

Minho has been holding back his rage, but it keeps mounting and mounting. He believes that ending your life will release it all, finally bringing him peace. He thinks of it as a purge, sending you to your demise to purify his soul.

Who? It’s you.

You'll be the victim of his plan. His wife, the one he no longer wants to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. But the ‘till death do us part’—he’ll gladly do that himself, with his own bare hands.

And it’s him who's going to kill you.

Minho considered hiring a contract killer—it would’ve been easy, and he could have kept his hands clean. But the little compassion he has left for you tells him this needs to be done personally, and in private. No one has to know the terrible things you've done to make him want to kill you.

As a husband, the least he can do is protect your dignity as his wife.

And as a killer, he’ll try to make it quick and painless.

When? This weekend.

Last night, before bed, he told you he wanted to spend the weekend together. You didn’t ask why, just agreed right away. You needed time away to memorize and practice your lines for the short film you’ll be starring in at the end of the month.

Minho has barely begun but his plan is already in motion.

Minho sees you lugging a duffel bag in one hand and your purse in the other. Without hesitation, he strides over to help.

“Let me take that,” he offers, snatching the duffel from your hand.

You flash him a smile and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

While you settle into the car, Minho places your duffel in the trunk next to his own bag. He unzips his bag briefly to double-check the contents: all the tools he needs for the weekend—sharp, heavy, and metallic—gleam in the sunlight as it hits them. He zips it up and slams the trunk shut, ready for the three-hour drive ahead.

You, already comfortable in the passenger seat, put on your sunglasses and prop your feet against the dashboard. Flipping through the script in your lap, you chew gum obnoxiously, popping bubbles every few minutes, each burst louder than the last.

“There are snacks in the backseat,” Minho says, hoping to distract you from the gum.

You turn just enough to see the stash of chips, drinks, and bottles of wine. Supplies he bought for the weekend in the cabin. Without much interest, you go back to reading.

“I bought your favorite,” he tries again.

“I concentrate better when I’m chewing gum,” you respond flatly, flipping the page.

Minho grits his teeth but stays silent. You hear the scoff he doesn’t manage to suppress.

Dropping your feet to the floor, you snap the script closed, marking your place with a finger. Turning toward him slightly, you say, “It’s scientifically proven that chewing gum improves concentration in visual memory tasks. Surprised you didn’t know that, being a doctor and all.”

Though you aren’t looking, he knows you're wearing that condescending smile, the one that implies you’re smarter than him. It’s a look he’s grown used to over the years, but today it grates more than ever.

Minho’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. He fights the urge to jerk the wheel into a tree—just one hard turn would wipe that smug grin off your face. But no, that’s too messy and he’s not ready to blow his plan just yet.

He inhales deeply to steady his nerves. “What kind of movie are you working on this time?” he asks, pretending to show interest.

You raise a brow at his sudden curiosity but answer anyway. “It’s a thriller.”

“What’s it about?” Minho presses, not because he cares, but because he needs to keep you talking. Anything to shut you up about the gum.

“A girl gets kidnapped and held in a basement,” you explain briefly, scribbling notes in your script.

Minho forces himself to feign interest. "And what’s the catch?"

You plainly chuckle. "Like I’m going to spoil it for you."

"Because I probably won’t get to see it anyway," he retorts with a laugh, the irony not lost on him—after all, you won’t be around to finish it.

You sigh but eventually give in. "The girl tries to make her captor fall in love with her."

Minho holds back a laugh. He already knows it's going to be another bad movie. Lucky for you, he’ll be saving you from further embarrassment.

"Let me guess. You’re going to get naked again?" he asks, sneering.

Your deep, frustrated sigh is all the confirmation he needs. “So what if I am? It’s my body.”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the road. “Sure, but haven’t you done it enough already? That’s like what… your fifth movie in a row?”

Your pencil scratches violently across the page. “Are you bored of my tits now?”

Minho stays silent, gripping the wheel tighter. Your next comment stings more than you know.

“Remember when you used to be obsessed with them? Oh, wait—when was the last time you even touched me?” You sneer, adding a little “tch” at the end of your sentence that makes his blood boil.

He once again pictures slamming on the brakes, imagining your pencil impaled your eye. But no. He breathes deeply and reminds himself that you’ll be gone soon enough.

“I need to pee,” you grumble, shifting in your seat.

“We’re almost there. Hold it,” he snaps, not caring about your discomfort.

“I'll pee in the car then,” you retort, already unbuttoning your jeans.

With an exasperated sigh, Minho jerks the car into a sudden U-turn, sending your head against the window. He pulls into a gas station, parking roughly by the entrance.

“Go ahead. Do your business.”

You storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you as you head inside. After a few minutes, Minho watches as you return from the restroom, only to stop and flirt with the cashier.

He taps the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he sees you and the cashier sharing a laugh. His patience runs thin, and before long, he exits the car, marching over to you.

"Let’s go," he growls, grabbing your hand.

You pull away, smirking. "Let him guess first."

"Guess what?"

The cashier laughs, clearly amused. "Trying to guess which movie I’ve seen her in," he explains.

You lean against the counter, offering the man a flirty smile. "I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with the color blue."

Minho’s eyes darken, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, he knows exactly that you’re doing this just to annoy him.

The man’s face lights up as he gets the answer, "Blue Daisy!"

You clap softly and smile brightly, "That’s right! What did you think of my tits in that movie?"

The cashier falters, his smile faltering as he glances nervously at Minho. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on. There's a scene where I take off my bathrobe," you tease, toying with the lighters on the counter.

"They’re... nice," the man replies and then looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

You sigh dramatically, glancing at Minho as you say, "Apparently, my husband doesn’t think so."

The cashier looks at Minho in disbelief. "You’re married?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you answer with a fake, sad smile.

Minho takes a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, he grabs you hand tighter and asks, "Are you done?"

You yank your hand away and brush past him, your shoulder grazing his as you head back to the car.

Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Soon, it’ll all be over.

Now that you've known the who, the what and the when. The next question is where?

The cabin looms in the distance, nestled deep within the woods by the lake. As he gets out the car, Minho takes in the familiar sight—the water reflecting the afternoon sun, the towering trees surrounding the cabin, the peace and quiet. It’s secluded, far from the rest of the world.

You get out of the car and head straight for the trunk to collect your things.

"I’ll take the bags inside," Minho says, rushing over before you can lift the trunk lid, "Just grab the groceries from the backseat "

Shrugging, you open the back door and gather the bags of groceries, holding them against your chest. You don’t ask questions, not when you’ve been here so many times before. You punch in the code to retrieve the key from the safety box, opening the cabin door with ease.

Minho stands by the car for a moment, breathing in the last of the summer air before the season shifts. He pauses, scanning the quiet surroundings, appreciating how isolated it all feels.

No neighbors. No signal. Just the lake, the trees, and the silence.

It’s perfect.

Minho drags all of your things and his inside, then drops them in the living room. He’s greeted by the musty air of a cabin that hasn’t been lived in for over a month, and the dusty framed photos on top of the fireplace—his family, his parents, a childhood snapshot, and one of the two of you spending a week here for an extra honeymoon.

He remembers taking the picture with his phone, the two of you looking so happy lying in the hammock together, your heads resting against each other. Your hair was still its natural color back then, before you bleached it for the movie role.

What he doesn’t remember is how in love he was—why he decided to marry you. His eyes, once filled with affection, now only see hatred and resentment, two black orbs filled with void.

The sound of rustling plastic snaps him out of his thoughts, and his gaze shifts to your figure in the kitchen, tossing expired food into a trash bag.

Before you can notice, Minho silently takes the small duffel bag into the basement, placing it next to the cupboard where the hunting rifles are stored.

When he returns, you’re still in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He gathers the remaining bags to take upstairs, but as his foot lands on the first step, you call for him.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you ask, filling a pitcher with tap water.

“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he replies without looking.

Minho drops everything in the corner of the bedroom, noticing your makeup bag already by the sink in the bathroom. He changes his clothes quickly before heading back downstairs to cook, just like he promised. He starts preparing dinner, laying out the ingredients on the counter. While seasoning the tenderloins with salt and pepper, he watches you chop vegetables at the other end.

“You have to cut them thinner,” he says.

“What difference does it make?” you mutter, ignoring him.

Minho carefully lays the tenderloins on the hot pan, the meat sizzling as it hits the metal. “Watch the meat,” he says, swapping tasks with you and taking over the vegetable chopping.

He notices you eye roll as you reluctantly take his place by the stove. After a while, you attempt to flip the steaks and he quickly stops you.

“It’s not ready yet!” he snaps.

You immediately throw your hands up in defeat while still holding the wooden spatula in one, “You know what? I’ll just wait at the table, drinking wine,” you say, this time making no effort to hide your eye roll.

Since the sun hasn’t fully set yet, you suggest dining on the back patio, where the sunset offers its best view, even though the air is getting cooler.

It’s always been like this—sitting far apart, the space between you thick with dead air. You both eat in silence, sipping your wine.

Minho remembers that tonight possibly will be your last so he decides to start a conversation.

“How’s the script going?” he asks, wiping the sauce off his plate with the last piece of meat.

“Going well,” you reply curtly, licking your lips.

Minho leans back in his chair. “Who’s that guy… the one helping with your acting?”

You pull your jacket tighter against the cool wind. “Ryan?”

“Yeah, him,” Minho says, taking a sip of his wine. “You’re not working with him for your next role?”

“He’s busy with other things,” you answer, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Minho stabs a piece of carrot with his fork. “So, you’re not the only one he’s… working with?”

You stop eating abruptly and look at him, “Pardon?”

“He’s working with other actors too, right?”

“Well, yeah, it’s his job,” you reply, more casually this time.

As the last rays of sunlight hit you, casting a golden glow like a halo, Minho feels a pang of something. Sadness, maybe. He’s certain it’ll be the last time he sees you on this light so he takes it all in.

Soon, you catch him staring. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he simply answers with a cryptic smile.

Your eyes meet for a moment and Minho searches for something in your gaze, some lingering emotion, but the gaze doesn't last long enough for him to know for sure as you look away.

After dinner, you both sit in the living room, playing a quiet game of chess. The ticking of the old clock fills the silence as Minho watches you fall into the trap he’s set. It’s ironically fitting, like you’re handing him your life, allowing him to end it with a simple move of the black knight.

“I won,” he says, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

You don’t respond but instead, draining your wine in one gulp. “I’m tired,” you sigh.

As Minho packs away the chess pieces, he throws a smug comment your way. “You always get tired when you lose.”

You ignore him, heading to the kitchen to leave your glass in the sink and head upstairs.

Once you're out of sight, Minho makes another trip to the basement, unlocking the cupboard with the hidden key. Inside, he finds the hunting rifle. It’s been a while, but he still remembers how to use it.

Loading two shells into the chamber, he clicks it shut and for a second, he feels tempted to fire a shot just for the thrill, but that would ruin the surprise so he tucks the rifle back into the cupboard and turns off the lights as he heads upstairs.

When he gets to the bedroom, the bed is empty. He hears the water running—you're probably halfway through your skincare routine. He changes into sleepwear and lies down, charging his phone even though the reception is useless here.

The rustling of leaves outside is the only sound he's hearing until Minho begins to drift off. Just then, he feels a kiss on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open, and he finds you leaning over him, your lips brushing against his. The kiss is long and lingering, your hand gently cradling his face.

When you pull back, you smile softly. “Goodnight, honey.”

For a moment, Minho says nothing, watching as you turn and lie down, your back to him. A strange feeling twists in his chest—a hesitation he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kiss... something about it felt different.

He shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as suspicion creeps in. Was it genuine, or was it part of your own plan? For a second, he wavers, doubt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Could you really be so oblivious to what’s coming? Or are you hiding something, just like him? He clenches his jaw, forcing the thought away.

It’s too late for second-guessing now. Still, as he stares at your back, he can’t shake the lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, you're not as unsuspecting as you seem.

The next day, the cabin is flooded with golden rays as the sun rises high in the sky. Minho stands by the kitchen window, washing the breakfast dishes, his eyes following you as you sway gently in the hammock, engrossed in your script.

He finishes quickly and heads to the back door, pausing in the doorway as he calls your name.

You turn your head slightly. “What?”

“I’m going for a walk around the lake. You coming?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. It’s just for show, a part of the performance, to keep suspicion at bay.

“No, thank you,” you reply, turning your attention back to the script.

Perfect. It’s exactly the answer he wanted. Everything is going according to plan.

As he steps outside, Minho's eyes dart back toward the hammock, checking to see if you’re watching. From a distance, he can still see the top of your head peeking over the edge, unmoving. Satisfied, he walks toward the shed, retrieving a small bag before starting his trek around the lake.

As he jogs along the edge of the water, he scans the ground for the right kind of rock—one heavy enough for what he needs. He finds it near the water’s edge, half-covered in moss. It’s heavier than he expected, and he has to flip it over with his foot before using both hands to hoist it into the bag.

His eyes drift back to the cabin, paranoid that you might somehow be following him. But no, you’re still in the hammock, or at least it seems that way.

He drags the bag back to the shed and hides it behind a stack of old tires. Everything is in place. Just one more thing to prepare—but he realizes he forgot his car keys.

The whole morning slips by as he meticulously works on his plan and by the time he returns to the house, the hammock is empty, swaying lightly in the breeze. Your script book is left behind, pages fluttering in the wind.

Minho’s chest tightens with unease. He steps cautiously toward the front door, his senses heightened. “Honey?” he calls out, but there’s no reply.

He steps inside, the air thick with tension. “Honey?” he repeats, louder this time, his voice echoing in the silence.

In the kitchen, he spots you standing behind the island, your back to him.

“Honey?” he says again, his tone more uncertain now.

You turn slowly, and that’s when he sees it—the gleam of a knife in your hand. The blade catches the light, sending a sharp reflection into his eyes.

A jolt of panic surges through him. His plan was flawless. But somehow, he hadn’t accounted for this—the possibility that you knew. And if you knew, he was already doomed.

He swallows hard, trying to think of something to say. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, you turn back to the counter, your hands moving in a way he can’t fully see. He takes a cautious step back, bracing himself for a sudden attack.

But instead, you turn around holding a head of lettuce. “I’m making sandwiches for lunch,” you say innocently, setting the vegetable down on the chopping board with a loud thud.

Relief floods through him, and he lets out a low breath, clearing his throat to mask his moment of weakness. “Sounds good,” he comments, though his voice lacks conviction.

You calmly slice the lettuce, your knife moving with unsettling precision. “Were you looking for me?”

The question jolts him, reminding him of his real purpose. “Uh… yeah, I was looking for my car keys,” he says quickly, scrambling for an excuse. “I left my charger in the glove box.”

You glance up from the chopping board, still holding the knife in one hand. “You can use mine. It’s upstairs by the bedside table.”

There’s something in your smile—a strange, almost sinister edge that makes his skin crawl. Like you know something he doesn’t.

“No, I’ll use mine. It’s more convenient,” he says, forcing a polite smile, though inside, every instinct tells him to leave. Now.

You hold his gaze for a moment too long before turning to the fridge. “It’s on the hook next to the boat keys,” you reply, slicing open a pack of bacon with a swift flick of the knife.

“Thanks,” he mutters, backing away.

He doesn’t waste another second. Grabbing the car keys, he heads for the door, but then you call his name, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, his heart thudding in his chest. You stand in the middle of the room, a strange smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice tight.

“Lunch will be ready soon,” you say, still smiling that unsettling smile.

Minho nods, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that lingers. He hasn’t seen you smile this much in a long time, and it’s not even noon yet. It’s unnerving, like you’re doing it to make him feel guilty. Like you’re daring him to go through with his plan.

Minho decides to proceed with caution.

The little smile you gave him earlier is enough to put him on edge, so he takes a seat on the stool, eyes fixed on you as you meticulously prepare his sandwich. You slice it in half and place it in front of him. He doesn’t hesitate to eat it, knowing that he hasn’t taken his eyes off the process. This way, he’s sure you haven’t tampered with his lunch.

"Good?" you ask, watching him closely.

He chews, waiting for any signs of something off in his body, but nothing happens.

"It’s good," he replies, nodding.

You smile, then sip your orange juice, making a little gasp of satisfaction. "Orange juice?" you offer, holding up the pitcher.

"Sure," he says.

You get a clean glass from the cabinet, which checks off another one of his worries. He saw you drink from the same juice, and the glass is fresh. No reason to suspect anything, right? Maybe you’re still unaware, and things are still going according to his plan.

"You’re not eating?" he asks, testing the waters.

You finish your glass and shake your head. "I’m still full from the smoothie I had earlier."

You walk over, placing a hand on his shoulder, then gliding it to the back of his neck, massaging gently. "I’m going to take a long bath," you say, smiling down at him.

"Okay," he mutters, looking up.

You lean down, brushing your lips against his in a brief kiss. "Enjoy your lunch."

This is the perfect opportunity.

Minho only manages to finish half of the sandwich before draining his glass of orange juice, feeling a bit parched from all the work he’s been doing since the morning. He heads down to the basement, ripping open a bag full of tools. He picks the hammer, gripping it tightly in his right hand.

As he makes his way upstairs, he marvels at how smoothly everything is going. If he manages to bash your head in the bathroom, he doesn't need to worry about the mess. The only challenge is getting your body downstairs, but that’s a problem for after.

Right now, all he has to do is get in there and deliver the fatal blow.

But as he climbs the final stairs, his vision blurs, and his limbs grow heavy. He tries to shake it off, widening his eyes and slapping his cheek to wake himself up. It must be the adrenaline, right? That’s why he feels so lightheaded.

He reaches the bathroom, hearing the water running and your soft humming. The door is left ajar, steam wafting out. Minho peeks in and sees you sitting on the edge of the tub, still in your bathrobe, one side slipping off your shoulder.

Slowly, he pushes the door open just enough to slip inside. The sink is cluttered with your things—makeup, a toothbrush, and what he assumes is some spilled powder from your makeup routine.

Confident you can’t see him through the fogged mirror, he raises the hammer above his head, ready to strike. Suddenly, his legs give out, and he stumbles backward, the hammer slipping from his grasp, then clatters to the floor.

You whip your head around, startled, and see him crumpling against the bathroom wall. Squatting down in front of him, you say softly, "Honey?"

Minho fights to open his eyes, but his body is shutting down against his will. "I’m—I…" he stammers.

You lean in, your forehead resting gently against his as you sigh. "Shh… it’s okay," you murmur, stroking his hair.

With one hand cupping his face, you look into his eyes, a sinister glint now replacing the warmth. "Just go to sleep," you say softly, your voice almost soothing.

Minho’s vision starts to fade, but he sees it in your eyes. You did this. "You—"

Before he can finish, everything goes black.

The sound of a knife scraping against the surface of a plate jolts Minho awake in the worst possible way.

Disoriented, he squints his eyes and realizes he's downstairs, seated at the dining table. You're sitting across from him, chewing on a piece of meat with a soft groan.

"I think I flipped it too early again," you mumble, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

You look up from your food and gasp when you notice he's awake, "Honey!"

Grabbing the bottle of wine, you pour it into his glass, the intoxicating scent of it filling the room. "I'm sorry I started dinner without you."

Minho tries to move his hands but can't. He glances down to find them tied to the chair.

"Ah! Let me help you with that," you say, standing beside him as you unfold a napkin and spread it over his lap. You kiss him on the cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark with your thumb after.

"How was your nap?" You ask once you're settled back to your seat.

Minho glares, his nostrils flaring with the rage boiling inside him. He curses himself for letting his guard down, for believing things were going his way when they never did. Shaking the fog from his head, he focuses on you.

"Sleeping pills, huh?" His voice drips with disdain, realizing too late that the white powder he'd seen earlier wasn’t makeup—it was the remnants of crushed sleeping pills.

You don't answer, just sip your wine with a satisfied smile.

Minho scoffs, tossing his head back. "How clever!"

Refilling your glass, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"It wasn't the sandwich, not the juice..." He lets out a bitter laugh. "It was the glass."

You clink your wine glass against his with a smirk. "Almost got caught there, didn’t I?"

"So, you know," he mutters.

You set your glass down and rest your hands on the table, an innocent grin spreading across your face. "Know what?"

Minho’s dark eyes remain fixed on you, simmering with fury.

"I'll let you have your dinner later," you say, pushing his untouched plate to the side, clearing the center of the table.

You retrieve something from the chair beside you—a hammer. The same hammer he’d planned to use on you. You place it on the table between you both.

"Are you asking if I knew you were going to use this to smash my head in?"

Minho’s gaze flickers between the hammer and you.

You chuckle mockingly, hand pressed against your chest. "Thank God the pills kicked in just in time!"

Though not surprised, Minho wonders if you’ve uncovered his entire plan. As if reading his mind, you bend down and drag a duffel bag onto the table with a loud thud.

"Or are you asking if I knew about this?" you ask, emptying the contents—rope, duct tape, a blade, a wrench, a saw, and an axe—spreading them across the table like hardware on display.

Sitting back down, you examine the tools with a smile. "You’re thorough, I’ll give you that."

"You know I never do things half-heartedly," he replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

Your laughter echoes around the room. "And look what I found," you say, lifting his hunting rifle, pointing it directly at him with your finger hovers dangerously close to the trigger. "It’s loaded."

Minho’s calm exterior falters. He knows all too well that he loaded that rifle himself. How fitting it would be for him to die by his own hand.

"BANG!" You shout, trying to startle him, but he doesn't flinch.

Your laughter fades as you lower the rifle, setting it aside. You cross your arms, eyes studying him intently and he can sense the curiosity swirling in your mind.

"Go ahead," he taunts, leaning forward as much as he can. "Ask your question."

You trace the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "So, that's the plan? To kill me?"

He tilts his head, eyes burning with intensity. "Yes."

"Let's say you manage to knock me out with the hammer..." You cut a piece of meat and continue eating. "What happens next?"

Minho stays silent, watching as you play this little guessing game.

You raise a hand before he can speak. "Wait, wait, wait, let me guess."

You chew faster, sipping your wine between thoughts and begin guessing his whole plan. "You wouldn’t kill me with the hammer—too messy. Too much work. And definitely not upstairs. It would be a hassle dragging my body down."

You glance at the ropes on the table and continue, "You’d tie me up once I was unconscious. Then, once secured, you’d get to work."

Your hand hovers over the tools spread on the table. "As for the weapon of choice..." You pick up the blade, testing its sharp edge with a playful gasp. "Ouch. This would’ve made it fun for you."

Minho’s lips twitch into a small, sinister smile.

"But no," you continue, setting the blade down and then you point at the rifle. "You’d use this. Quick. Easy."

"Exactly," he admits, slightly impressed by how well you know him.

Your eyes drift toward the saw next as you continue talking. "And the saws... well, those would be for afterward. To dismember me, right? You’d chop me into little pieces and dump me in the lake."

Minho raises an eyebrow, impressed. You got most of it right. The how.

"Did I guess correctly?" you ask, tilting your head.

He nods slowly in approval. "I’d applaud, but..." he glances at his tied hands.

You clink your glass with his. "See? I’ve learned a lot in our marriage."

As you sip your wine, he asks the one question still lingering in the space between. "Aren’t you going to ask why?"

You pause mid-sip, placing your glass down before pulling a handgun from your bag.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat. You want him dead just as much as he wants you gone.

"Because we hate each other enough to kill," you say, placing the gun next to your plate. But you rummage in your bag again and pull out a letter—divorce papers. Sliding them toward him, you add, "Or, we could avoid the drama. Sign this, and I’m gone. Forever."

Without hesitation, Minho shakes his head. Strongly refuses to do it any other way.

"Why not?" you ask, brows furrowed.

"I need to kill you," he says, voice unwavering.

You burst out laughing. "You hold that many grudges, huh?"

He doesn’t answer. His silence speaks volumes.

Sighing, you try to reason again. "I’ll disappear. You won’t even know I exist."

Minho leans forward, his voice a low growl. "I have to be the one to do it."

You shiver despite yourself. His intensity is chilling, but you remind yourself that he’s tied up, unable to do anything.

"You're a doctor, Minho. You know you're supposed to save life not—"

"I have to kill you," he cuts you off, nostrils flaring, eyes burning with determination.

Realizing there's no convincing him, you slide the gun back into your bag and put it on your lap. "I don't care if you sign the papers or not."

You take your wedding ring off and put it on top of the papers, making a bold statement. You stand, walking to his chair and then leaning close to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Good luck with everything," you whisper, knowing those words will provoke him further.

As you head for the door, bag slung over your shoulder, he calls after you. His voice echoing against the eerie silence.

"I’ll find you... and I’ll kill you," he screams as he fights his way out of the bind. "Do you fucking hear me?"

As you set one foot out of the door, Minho screams one last time, "IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN!"

You break into a run toward the car and with your heart pounding, you shove the key into the ignition and twist it, the car sputtering to life. Relief floods your body for a moment as the engine hums beneath you, and you slam your foot on the gas.

The car lurches forward, gravel crunching under the tires as you speed away from the cabin. But the relief is short-lived.

After just a few yards, the engine sputters and dies. Panic grips you as the car slows to a stop, and your hands tremble as you frantically try to restart it. You twist the key over and over, forcing the ignition, but the engine won’t turn over.

“Come on… come on!” you mutter desperately, glancing into the rearview mirror, afraid that Minho somehow break away and chase after you.

You continue to restart the car engine but it still won't turn on, you slam your hands on the steering wheel out of frustration and reorganize your breath to let your brain able to work.

With your brain is well oxygenated, you start checking the car and that's when you see the gas gauge and the needle points to the E. Fuck! Minho must have drained the tank empty.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You continuously scream in dread now but the real dread is glancing through rearview mirror and see the cabin door is open.

That’s when you see him.

Minho is storming out of the cabin, rifle in hand, his face a mask of cold determination. Your blood turns to ice. He’s coming for you, and you have no time.

"Shit!" you curse under your breath, your breath quickening. Abandoning the car, you fling the door open and bolt into the woods, legs trembling as you stumble over roots and uneven ground.

The sound of the rifle cracks through the air. You gasp, ducking as the bullet strikes a tree near you, splintering bark and sending shrapnel flying. Your heart nearly stops.

You pick up the pace, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the forest floor is unforgiving. Your foot catches on something—a root, a rock, you don't know—and you crash to the ground with a hard thud, pain shooting through your body.

Before you can scramble back to your feet, Minho is already there. His heavy footsteps pound against the earth as he catches up, his presence looming over you. You try to crawl away, your muscles screaming, but his hands grab you from behind, yanking you around with brutal force.

“Got you,” he growls, his voice cold and menacing.

You barely have time to scream before his hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing with a vicious intent. Your hands fly to his wrists, clawing and yanking at them, but he's too strong.

"Don’t worry, honey. I'm not going to kill you just yet."

He tightens his grip, cutting off your air supply. Panic floods your body as your vision begins to blur, your strength draining away with each passing second.

"I'm just going to stop the blood flow to the brain through constriction of the carotid arteries and..."

You kick, aimlessly hitting him, your movements growing weaker as the world around you starts to fade.

Minho’s face is the last thing you see before the darkness consumes you entirely.

A gasp escapes your lips as you regain consciousness, immediately followed by a coughing fit.

Disoriented and lightheaded, you try to sit up, only to realize your hands and feet are bound to the bed. The ropes burn against your skin as you thrash in place, but you’re held fast. Helplessly stuck, you let out a loud scream, frustration boiling over as your cries for help go unanswered.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, to see Minho leering at you from across the room.

He’s rummaging through a duffel bag, calm as ever, his dark eyes glinting with malice. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and only a rough cough escapes your lips.

Minho pulls something from his bag—a small, rectangular box. It looks like a jewelry box, but the careful way he places it beside your body tells you it contains something far from precious.

He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you with a mocking grin. "Comfortable?"

Your fury flares. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work. "You should have told me you were into bondage," you sneer, eyes narrowing.

His laugh is deep, amused by your defiance. Without warning, he climbs onto the bed and sits between your open legs, his gaze locked with yours, making it impossible to escape his predatory stare. "Let’s make you even more comfortable," he says, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

With deliberate slowness, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pair of scissors. He places them on the bed next to the mysterious box, letting you get a good look, as if daring you to figure out his next move.

A slow sigh escapes his lips as his hand reaches for your face, fingers slipping into your hair. For a moment, you think he’s going to cut it, but instead, he brushes your damp hair to the side and he also wipes the sweat from your neck with the back of his hand.

"It’s hot, yeah?" he murmurs.

"Isn’t that why you married me? Because I’m hot," you bite back, glaring at him with all the hatred you can muster.

Minho laughs again, this time brushing more strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. "A part of it, yeah," he shamelessly admits.

"What about the rest of it?" you ask, surprising yourself with your curiosity. You’ve never asked him that before; romance was never a part of your relationship.

Nothing about your marriage was romantic, not even from the start. One day, he asked you to marry him, and you said yes. No questions, no love stories. Just a quiet agreement. But over time, things soured, leading to this moment of bitter hostility.

"Do you really want to know?" Minho asks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, his hand resting beside your head on the mattress.

"You’re going to kill me anyway, so why not?" you reply, a daring smile playing on your lips.

For a long moment, he simply stares at you, his knuckle lightly tracing the curve of your face. His eyes darken, as if he’s about to reveal something, but then he pulls away abruptly.

"You always make me forget what I’m about to do," he says, picking up the scissors again.

Your heart rate slows as he holds the scissors, doing nothing but staring at them, lost in thought. His eyes flicker to you, then to your chest, where he presses the flat edge of the scissors. You can feel the cold metal through your clothes, making the weight of the moment unbearable.

You believe his final weapon of choice is inside the box so the sight of the scissors doesn’t scare you. You suspect he’s just toying with you, testing your fear.

Suddenly, Minho drags the scissors up your chest until they reach the base of your throat. The metal’s coldness makes you instinctively gulp, your breath hitching in your throat. But you refuse to break. Your gaze meets his, unwavering, even though you know exactly what he intends to do.

Unexpectedly, Minho laughs again, pulling the scissors away from your throat. "This is why I married you," he says, placing a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

"You’re so calm," he muses, dragging the scissors lower, stopping at your thigh. He slides the hem of your dress between the blades. "Way too calm."

In one swift motion, he cuts through the fabric of your dress, the blades slicing up to your chest in one clean stroke. You stop breathing for a second, the fear catching up to you, but you don’t let it show.

"And for a while, I was grateful to have you as a wife," he says coldly.

He moves the scissors to the side, cutting through the sleeves of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your damp underwear. You can’t tell if the sweat is from the stifling heat or the tension building inside you.

"But nothing good lasts, right?" he says, tossing the scissors and the torn dress to the floor.

Your heart skips a beat as his fingers ghost over your bare stomach, barely touching, but sending a shiver through your body.

"I’ll give you a chance to admit it yourself," he whispers, squeezing your hip.

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you refuse to give in. You won’t hand him that satisfaction. "I have nothing to say to you."

Minho expected that response. He’s always loved your rebellious streak. With a shrug, he turns to the mysterious box beside you. He picks it up, opens it, and without showing you the contents, he says, "Maybe this will help carve the truth out of you."

Your heart races with anticipation, both curious and terrified. His eyes sparkle as he pulls the object from the box like a prized possession.

It’s a scalpel.

Not just any scalpel—a tool Minho is all too familiar with. He’s been using it for years in his line of work as a doctor, his hand accustomed to it, it's technically a part of his hand.

You let out a dark, low laugh, impressed by his choice of weapon. Not letting the fear take over you and give him the satisfaction.

"You think this is funny?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous, the scalpel gleaming in the dim light. His eyes narrow as he watches you closely, waiting for a reaction.

You suppress another laugh, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "I guess I always knew you'd find a way to cut me out of your life, but this is a little dramatic, don't you think?" You flash a bitter smile, masking the terror rising in your throat.

Minho’s lips curl into a slow, sinister smile. "Oh, this isn’t about cutting you out. Not yet, at least." He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as the scalpel hovers near your collarbone. The cold metal grazes your skin, a teasing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine.

You pull at the ropes again, frustration and helplessness bubbling to the surface. Your skin stings from the friction, but you know it’s useless. He tied the knots too well. Still, you refuse to show fear.

"You really think this will make me tell you what you want to hear?" Your voice is hoarse, but there’s defiance in your tone.

Minho chuckles darkly, sliding the scalpel down the center of your chest, just grazing your skin enough to leave a faint trail without cutting. His eyes follow the path of the blade with eerie calmness.

"You’re tougher than I expected. I like that." His gaze locks onto yours again, and there’s a chilling coldness in his eyes that makes your blood run cold. "But everyone has their breaking point."

He drags the scalpel lower, letting it dance across your stomach, teasing the edge of your hip. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the blade comes dangerously close to cutting through your skin. Every muscle in your body tenses, waiting for the inevitable pain.

"You’re hiding something," he says, his voice a near-whisper now, filled with a quiet intensity. "You’ve always been so calm, so composed. It made me wonder, what are you hiding beneath that exterior? What is it you think I don’t know?"

He pauses, his fingers tracing the path of the scalpel with a feather-light touch, as if he’s savoring this moment. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches your face, waiting for the fear to slip through your mask.

"You don’t scare me," you say, though the waver in your voice betrays you.

Minho’s grin widens, and he brings the scalpel up to your throat, just pressing the flat of the blade against your skin, reminding you of how sharp it is. "Maybe not yet," he replies. "But that will change."

His hand moves slowly, deliberately, the scalpel brushing your skin as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I’m going to carve out every lie you’ve ever told me, every secret you’ve hidden."

The scalpel flicks across your skin, leaving a shallow scratch, just enough to sting. "Let’s start with why you tried to run," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper.

The blade trails down your chest again, teasing but not yet cutting deep enough to cause real pain. "You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Just waiting for the right moment to escape."

Your mind races, trying to stay ahead of him, but his control over the situation is suffocating. "What makes you think I’ve been planning anything?" you manage to ask, though the tremble in your voice betrays the fear creeping into your chest.

Minho smirks, enjoying the game. "Because I know you," he murmurs. "I’ve watched you. You think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been distancing yourself? The way you look at me like you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake."

He presses the scalpel a little harder against your skin, and you wince. "I’m not going to let you slip away so easily," he says, his voice dripping with menace. "So why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you’ve been hiding?"

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. "I have nothing to hide from you," you say, though every instinct in your body is screaming that he’s already too close to the truth.

Minho’s expression darkens. He moves the scalpel down again, this time slicing through the thin fabric of your underwear. You flinch as the cold air hits your bare skin, but you refuse to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

"Last chance," he warns, the scalpel glinting in the dim light. "Why Ryan?"

So this is the why.

Your heart stutters, your body stiffening at the mention of the name. Of course, he knows. He’s always known. But now, it’s out in the open, and there's nowhere to hide. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay composed even as the truth hangs dangerously between you.

Minho shifts, bringing the scalpel up to your throat again, applying just enough pressure for you to feel it, the sharp edge threatening to break skin.

"You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?" His tone is calm, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is palpable. "You thought you could sneak around, play your little games with him, and I’d be none the wiser."

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to breathe through the panic rising in your chest.

He presses the blade down, just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Why him?" Minho asks again, his voice quieter, almost a whisper now. "Why Ryan?"

"I—" you start, but your voice cracks, your throat dry. You don’t even know what to say, how to explain something that’s so tangled in layers of resentment, anger, and escape. Instead, you try to hold on to the composure you’ve managed to keep for this long. "It wasn’t—"

Minho cuts you off with a bitter laugh, pulling the scalpel back but keeping it poised, ready. "Don’t bother lying," he says, his eyes dark with fury. "I already know everything. I just want to hear it from you."

He sits back slightly, still straddling you, his eyes locked on yours with a kind of chilling intensity. The blade dances over your skin, teasing but not yet cutting.

"Why?" he asks again, softer this time. "What did you think Ryan could give you that I couldn’t?"

Your mind races, heart pounding. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your truth, but there’s no way out. His patience is wearing thin, and you can see it in the way his grip tightens on the scalpel, his jaw clenching as he waits for your answer.

"It wasn’t about him," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know if this will calm him or enrage him further, but it’s all you can offer. "It was never about him."

He tilts his head, watching you closely. "Then what was it about, huh?" His voice sharpens, cutting through the air like the blade in his hand.

You flinch at the venom in his words, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand," you say quietly, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes despite your best efforts to stay strong.

Minho’s face hardens, and he slides the scalpel down your body, stopping just above your abdomen, his fingers tracing the line of your skin with a maddening slowness. "Then make me understand." His voice is dangerous, low and threatening.

His grip on your throat tightens, and the blade slides down to your chest again, this time pressing harder, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You gasp, the sting sharp and sudden.

Minho watches the blood bead up, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I said make me understand why you betrayed me."

Before you can utter a word, the door to the cabin bursts open. Ryan stands in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and fury as he takes in the scene—the scalpel pressed dangerously close to your throat, Minho’s body straddling yours, and the faint line of blood on your chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ryan’s voice echoes through the cabin, and in a blur, he charges at Minho.

Minho barely has time to react before Ryan slams into him, knocking him off of you. The scalpel clatters to the floor as Minho is thrown back, struggling to regain his balance. Ryan swings a hard punch, landing square on Minho’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. You scramble up from the floor, gasping for air, as the two men break into a full-on fight.

Ryan manages another punch, harder this time, knocking Minho to the ground. Minho’s body slumps for a moment, and Ryan quickly grabs the scissors lying on the bed, cutting the ropes free from your hands and feet. He helps you get up and grabs your arm, pulling you toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low and frantic. “We have to go—now.”

You follow him downstairs, still in shock, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he grabs his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“I came as fast as I could when I got your message,” he says, his eyes scanning your face, full of concern. “Are you okay? Did he—”

But before he can finish, there’s a sound behind you—a violent thud. You both turn just in time to see Minho launching himself at Ryan from the top of the stairs.

Minho slams into him with terrifying force, sending the two men crashing to the floor in a violent heap. They grapple, fists flying, legs kicking, as they roll across the floor, locked in a brutal fight for dominance.

Ryan struggles beneath Minho’s weight, his eyes locking on the rifle resting against the wall near the sofa. He looks at you, desperation in his gaze, and subtly gestures toward it.

"The gun," he pants between blows. "Shoot him. Now!"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rush to grab the rifle. Your hands shake as you lift it, your finger sliding onto the trigger. The weight of the weapon feels surreal in your hands, the cold steel pressing against your skin as you aim it at Minho, who is now pinning Ryan to the ground. The two men are still wrestling, but you have a clear shot.

“Do it!” Ryan yells, gasping for breath as Minho’s hands tighten around his throat.

Tears blur your vision, your breath coming in ragged sobs as you hold the rifle steady. Minho’s eyes catch yours, wild and unrelenting, and in that split second, everything seems to freeze. Your finger starts to push down on the trigger, your mind spinning with the weight of the decision.

“Why?” you scream at Minho, your voice breaking with emotion. "Why did you ever doubt me? Why couldn’t you trust that I loved you?"

Minho’s gaze softens for a fraction of a second, his grip loosening ever so slightly on Ryan’s throat. “You call this love?” he spits back, his voice hoarse but filled with pain.

Your finger trembles, hovering on the trigger, and you’re on the verge of pulling it—when something inside you snaps. In one swift motion, you shift your aim, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

The gun goes off.

The shot rings out, echoing through the cabin as the bullet rips through the air—and buries itself in Ryan’s skull, right between his eyes. His body goes limp instantly, his hands falling away from Minho as he collapses to the floor, lifeless.

You drop the rifle, your whole body trembling, tears streaming down your face. You can’t stop sobbing, can’t even catch your breath as you take a shaky step toward him and ask, “Is that enough to show how much I love you?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Minho looks at you, his chest heaving, covered in Ryan’s blood, shock registering in his eyes. After a moment, he gets up from the floor, calm and composed, as if the violent act that just transpired hadn't fazed him at all. He walks over to you without a word, his footsteps barely audible in the heavy silence.

From the dining table, he picks up a napkin, its soft fabric starkly contrasting with the blood staining your trembling hands. Gently, he wipes the blood droplets away, his touch careful, almost delicate.

“I cheated on you because—” your voice breaks as the words leave your lips, trembling under the weight of your sobs. “Because I wanted to know if you still care.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. You watch as he moves across the room, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. He replaces Ryan’s jacket—the one draped loosely over your shoulders—with his own. His movements are methodical, yet somehow tender, like he’s dressing you for something far more intimate than this horrific moment. You stand frozen, the tears streaming down your face, helpless in your grief and confusion.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper, the sobs making your chest heave.

Minho zips up the jacket, making sure it fits snugly around you, before pulling you close. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, one that reminds you of the warmth you used to find in him. Even with his blood-streaked face, you can see that familiar, intense gaze—the warmth you had longed for finally returning to his eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his hand cradling your face with a kind of reverence, “and if I can’t have you, no one can.”

His lips crash against yours again, this time harder, deeper, and with a hunger that ignites something dangerous inside you. His voice, dripping with possessiveness, makes your heart pound in a way that both terrifies and excites you.

“You’re mine,” he says, the words claiming you with an unyielding finality.

And it’s that very possessiveness that pulls you deeper into him. It’s why you married him in the first place—because Minho doesn’t just love; he consumes. His love is fierce, intense, teetering on the edge of madness, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You crave it, need it, and right now, it feels like it’s the only thing grounding you in this twisted reality.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, nodding as if you’re sealing your fate with those words.

The two of you kiss again, and this time, it feels like everything is falling back into place, like the chaotic balance of your marriage has been restored. The blood, the violence, the madness—it all shifts back to where it belongs, the perfect equilibrium of your dark, twisted love.

For a moment, the chaos of what you’ve done slips away, and you both stand in eerie stillness, as if nothing happened.

However, the sight of the body lying lifeless on the floor snaps you back to reality.

Minho silently moves to pick up Ryan’s jacket, using it to cover the gaping wound on his head, though the blood has already soaked into the rug. Without a word, he starts dragging the body onto the rug, and you, numb and dazed, help him. Together, you roll the body into it, cocooning Ryan in the bloodstained fabric.

"Go get the body bag from the basement," Minho tells you, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

Your legs feel heavy as you make your way down to the basement, retrieving the thick, black bag. The two of you struggle to maneuver Ryan’s body into it, your hands slipping on the slick fabric as you zip it up.

The weight of what you’ve done sinks in deeper with each passing second, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Together, you drag the body outside into the dark night. The only sounds are the rhythmic scrape of the bag against the ground and the low rustle of wind in the trees.

Minho busies himself with the boat, the mechanical hum of the engine cutting through the stillness. You clamber onto the boat, watching him as he grabs the large rock he collected earlier—the weight that will ensure the body stays submerged beneath the water, lost to the lake’s depths.

Once everything is set, he starts the boat, and it moves silently over the water, cutting through the eerie calm of the night. You sit in the cold air, the distant shore shrinking as he drives far enough from land.

Finally, he stops, and you both work in grim silence to lift the heavy body bag over the edge. The splash echoes in the darkness as it hits the water, and for a brief moment, the sound lingers, unsettling and hollow.

You and Minho stay there, eyes locked on the spot where the bag submerged, waiting, watching. The bubbles rise to the surface, swirling for a few moments before fading away into the night. The water smooths out, becoming calm once more, its surface reflecting the endless stretch of the night sky above.

Nothing comes back up. Only silence, only stillness.

With the body gone, there’s no time to waste.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he moves toward Ryan’s car, his movements swift and calculated. You watch as he wipes the door handles, steering wheel, and gear shift clean of fingerprints before driving it to the edge of the river.

The car slowly inches forward, and as it begins to roll into the water, you stand at a distance, watching the lake swallow it whole, the final glint of metal disappearing beneath the surface. The water ripples for a moment before settling back into silence, leaving no trace of the vehicle behind.

You head back to the cabin to tackle your part. The living room feels eerily quiet, haunted by the chaos that took place just hours ago. You move quickly, gathering the objects that were stained with Ryan’s blood: the napkin, the rug, anything he touched.

With methodical precision, you scrub the floor clean, the sound of the rag scraping against the wood filling the room. You make sure to use bleach, wiping down every surface, making sure no bloodstains or lingering scent remains. The stinging smell of bleach replaces the coppery odor of blood, and you inhale deeply, feeling the chemical burn in your lungs.

When the room looks spotless, you gather the last of the evidence: your clothes, Minho’s bloodstained clothes, and the tools he brought. All of it goes into a large bag—anything that could tie either of you to what happened. Together, you make your way into the woods, where the night feels darker, heavier, as if nature itself is holding its breath.

Minho starts the fire, the flames flickering to life and casting a soft, orange glow over the trees. The bag is heavy as you both throw it onto the growing blaze, the crackling of burning fabric and wood filling the air. You watch as the fire consumes everything, turning it into ash and smoke. The smell of burning evidence—your clothes, Ryan’s blood, every trace of him—rises with the heat, drifting into the night sky.

Minho grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you stand there, side by side, watching as the fire devours the last remnants of the crime. The warmth of his hand grounds you as the flames burn higher, until all that’s left are glowing embers and ash, scattering into the wind.

There’s nothing left now. No evidence. No trace. Just the two of you and the darkened woods.

The sun is slowly rising on the horizon when you walk back to the cabin

The final task is washing away the evidence from your bodies. You and Minho share the shower, alternating turns under the warm water as it washes off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin. At times, you help each other scrub, his hands trailing over the places where bruises and cuts mar your flesh.

There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you tend to each other, rinsing away the aftermath of the night before.

Once you're out of the shower and standing in front of the mirror, you notice the injuries. There’s a bruise blooming around your neck from where Minho had choked you, a thin cut across your chest from his scalpel, rope bruns on both wrists and ankles, and scrapes on your knees from tripping in the woods. The marks are raw, reminders of the violence that had passed between you.

“Come, sit.” Minho’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You turn to see him sitting on the bed, first aid kit in hand, his eyes already fixed on your wounds.

You obey, sitting beside him as he opens the kit. His fingers graze your skin as he pulls the robe open, exposing the cut on your chest. The light touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Minho leans in, studying the wound with careful attention before smoothing ointment onto it. You wince as it stings, and he immediately blows cool air on it to soothe the burn.

He moves to your knees next, his hands gentle as he applies more ointment and covers the scrapes with band-aids. His gaze lingers longer on the bruise around your neck, his fingers softly pressing against the swollen skin.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is softer now, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Not really,” you lie, and then it's your turn to ask about the bruise blooming on his jaw from Ryan’s punch, "How about it?"

He catches your hand and kisses it. "I'm okay."

Satisfied with your answer, he puts the first aid kit aside. His hair is damp, tousled as he pushes it back, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something dangerous and tender in his gaze.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it better?” you ask with a sly smile, teasing him.

His lips curl into a smile, and before you know it, his hands are on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he murmurs, his voice low, his brown eyes fiery as they lock on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands resting on his shoulders, needing his touch.

Minho leans in, placing a slow, deliberate kiss on the bandaged cut on your chest. His lips linger, and you feel the heat of the kiss searing into your skin. He doesn’t stop there, parting the robe further to press fluttering kisses along your collarbone, down to your breasts.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his face between your breasts. He’s kissing, licking, and sucking your skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail in its wake. He takes his time with you, his fingers joining in, rolling and rubbing your nipples between them until they harden under his touch.

You tug at his hair, watching him, entranced by the way his mouth worships your flesh. His lips part with a soft pop as he releases your nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva.

“I’m obsessed,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your sternum. “I’ll always be obsessed with your body.”

He doesn’t need to say it—you can feel it in every touch, every kiss. His admiration for your body is palpable, his gaze lingering on your skin as though he can’t get enough. Your heart races, your desire growing hotter with each second that passes.

“Want you, Minho,” you moan breathlessly, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “I want you so much.”

Minho needs no further encouragement. He lays you back on the same bed where he tortured you earlier, his body moving over yours with a desperate hunger.

When he enters you, the intensity of his thrusts takes your breath away. His eyes flicker between watching his cock slide in and out of you and studying your face, seeking your reactions with every movement.

He slows down suddenly, leaning down to kiss you deeply, pulling away only when you’re gasping for air. He presses his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

“Are you mine?” His voice is rough, commanding.

You nod quickly, barely able to speak.

His fingers graze your lips. “Words.”

“I am yours,” you say, your voice trembling with need.

A dark grin spreads across his face, and he kisses you again, more urgently this time. “That’s right. You’re mine.”

Minho resumes his thrusts, picking up the pace. One hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing slowly, cutting off just enough air to blur the line between pleasure and pain. His thrusts don’t falter as his grip tightens, his voice a dark whisper in your ear.

“You’re mine. All mine. Only mine.”

Your vision swims, the pressure on your windpipe mixing with the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You look into his eyes, and what you see there—lust, love, madness—sends you over the edge.

Both of you reach your peak together, bodies trembling as the release washes over you in shuddering waves.

When it’s over, Minho collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand rests over your chest, right where your heart beats wildly.

Then, his voice drops, a dark promise in his words. “I want to cut you open and climb inside, so we can become one—forever.”

Anyone else would think it was madness, but to you, it’s just Minho. It’s the way he loves you—raw, obsessive, and unrelenting. And you love him for it, for every twisted piece of him that’s unlike any man you’ve ever known.

“And I would die for you,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with the weight of it. “Kill for you. I love you.”

It has always been your wish to be loved to the point of madness and Minho made that come true for you.

You wake to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains, the warmth coaxing you from the comfort of sleep. The bed feels impossibly soft, but the familiar ache in your muscles reminds you of everything that happened the night before. Slowly, you stretch, your body protesting as you roll onto your side, blinking into the brightness.

The cabin is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside and the occasional chirp of birds. You glance at the clock on the bedside table—it’s already late morning. You sit up, pulling the robe tightly around your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your eyes fall on the small bandages Minho placed on your wounds last night. They’re a stark contrast to the serene morning around you, a reminder of the intensity that’s always lurking beneath the surface. But that’s how it is with Minho—love and danger, pleasure and pain, always intertwined.

The smell of food drifts up from downstairs, making your stomach growl. Minho must be downstairs.

You pad softly down the stairs, your bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. As you step into the kitchen, you find Minho at the stove, the light from the window framing him in a soft glow. He’s already dressed in a white shirt that accentuate his broad shoulders and there’s a calmness in the way he moves as he plates food.

He turns, a warm smile spreading across his face when he sees you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle, as if the events of last night were a distant memory.

“Morning,” you reply, still groggy as you walk toward him.

You wrap your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his chest, breathing him in. His arms immediately encircle you, pulling you close as his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You slept in,” he teases, one hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face.

“I needed it,” you murmur, tilting your head up to look at him.

His gaze is tender, and there’s something disarming about the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, slow and sweet.

The world outside feels far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in each other, the chaos of your love quiet for once.

Minho pulls back, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. “I made lunch. Thought you’d be hungry.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I'm famished.”

He cups your face, kissing you again, this time deeper, more lingering. You melt into him, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently as his lips claim yours. It’s moments like this that make you feel utterly consumed by him.

When you finally break apart, both of you slightly breathless, Minho rests his forehead against yours. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you close.

“How about we go for a ride on the boat today?” he suggests, his voice low. “It’s a beautiful day.”

You look up at him, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “A boat ride?”

He nods, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Yeah. The lake’s calm, the sun’s out. We could use some fresh air.”

The thought of spending the day out on the water with Minho, with nothing but the peacefulness of the lake around you, sounds perfect. You can already imagine the cool breeze against your skin, the way the sunlight will dance across the surface of the water.

“I’d love that,” you say softly, leaning into his touch.

Minho’s eyes glint with satisfaction, and he presses one last kiss to your lips before stepping back to finish preparing lunch. “But first, finish your food.”

As you sit down to the table, Minho places a plate in front of you, the meal simple but delicious. You eat in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging soft smiles and touches, your hands brushing across the table as if neither of you can stand to be apart for long.

For the first time, the two of you are connected in a whole new level that it feels like nothing can tear you and Minho apart anymore.

The boat glides across the tranquil waters, the rhythmic sound of the oars slicing through the lake the only disturbance in the otherwise still air. The sun hangs high above, casting a shimmering path of light across the surface, making it look like a trail of gold leading them deeper into the heart of the lake.

You sit facing Minho, watching the muscles in his arms flex and contract as he rows, his gaze fixed on the water, intense and focused. There’s something serene about this moment, a rare softness between the two of you. It feels almost surreal, considering what happened just last night.

Last night, when this very lake was a silent witness to the horror you both created. Now, it feels like a different place—calm, almost idyllic. But the memory is still there, just beneath the surface, lingering like a dark shadow that no amount of sunlight can chase away.

Minho slows the boat as you reach the middle of the lake, his eyes shifting to meet yours. There’s a glint of something unreadable in them, a darkness that always simmers just beneath his surface. It’s the very same darkness that pulled you in, binding you to him in ways that go beyond love. It’s obsession, need, and something far more dangerous.

He lets go of the oars and shifts closer, his knees brushing against yours as he reaches out, his hand sliding into his pocket. You tilt your head, watching curiously as he pulls out something small and shiny.

Your breath catches when you realize what it is. Your wedding ring.

Minho holds it up between his fingers, the gold band catching the sunlight. You stare at it, your heart pounding as memories of your vows come flooding back. The promises you made to each other, promises that were shattered and reforged into something far more twisted and unbreakable.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and soft.

There’s a tenderness in his gaze that disarms you, makes you feel as if he’s peeling back every layer of yourself and looking straight into your soul.

He takes your left hand, his touch featherlight as he slides the ring back onto your finger. You shiver at the sensation, your eyes locked onto his as he recites the very vow you spoke on your wedding day.

“In sickness and in health…” he begins, his voice barely a whisper but strong, his gaze unwavering. “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer…”

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribcage. There’s an odd sense of finality in his tone, as if he’s sealing not just a promise but something darker—a pact, a blood oath that binds you together not just in love, but in sin.

“...Till death do us part,” he finishes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, where the ring now rests again, a symbol of everything you are to each other.

You draw in a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Till death do us part,” you repeat, your voice just as soft, but the weight of the vow feels heavier now, burdened by all the blood and secrets you share.

Minho’s eyes light up at your response, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the still air.

“We’re bound again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “In life, in death, in everything. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a fierceness in your words, a possessiveness that matches his own. Because you are each other’s, wholly and completely, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

Minho cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you—soft at first, almost reverent. But then it deepens, turning into something desperate and consuming. You can feel the intensity in every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours.

It’s not just love; it’s hunger, an insatiable need to claim and be claimed.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. Minho rests his forehead against yours again, his fingers threading through your hair.

“With you, I’m never alone,” he whispers, his voice raw and honest in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re the only one who understands me, the only one who’ll stay.”

“And I will,” you reply, your fingers tightening around his, “Always.”

Minho’s smile is small but genuine, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish, the hard edges of his face softened by the sunlight filtering through the trees around the lake. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours.

“We’re more than just lovers now,” he murmurs, his voice low.

Your gaze shifts to the water surrounding the boat, to the spot where Ryan’s body lies hidden beneath the surface. A chill runs down your spine, but it’s not fear—it’s the thrill of what you’ve become together. Bound by love, by blood, by the darkness that twists through both of your souls.

You softly nod in agreement as you turn back to him and with that, the two of you are bound once more—not just by the ring now resting on your finger, but by the weight of the secret that lies at the bottom of the lake. It’s your bond, your burden, and in a twisted way, it’s also your triumph.

Because what you have with Minho isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane. It’s dark and consuming and entirely your own. It’s a love that defies all reason, a connection that can’t be broken, no matter how much blood is spilled.

After all, when love is not madness it is not love.

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

529 notes · View notes

munsster · 4 months ago

Text

road trip (trope bingo)

A/N: thought i might try this format out. also introducing a new face to my tumblr repertoire. i’ve written marvel before, just never on this site. enjoy!! (gif creds: @bubbarnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think Bucky is shallow for rejecting a pretty stranger in North Dakota. Little do you know. 1.6k words

Warnings: fluff, dummies not talking about their feelings, pet names (doll), slight angst but resolved, perhaps mutual pinging, a really good hug, playful bullying, cursing

"Ooh, she's cute."

You've been doing this for over an hour. He's downed at least four coffees by now. And the worst part is you call it finding a suitable mate. But he's just not interested in the women you're scouting for him at a rest stop a few miles out from Fargo, North Dakota. He would've just left, gone and sat in the truck, but he'd feel bad leaving you rambling to yourself when you're the one paying for this meal.

"Come on, Buck, you're no fun," you huff, dropping your spoon into the thick mug now emptied of hot cocoa.

"You're right. Can we go now?" He starts to slide out of his seat when you scoff. He goes still like a deer in headlights. This should be fun.

"James Buchanan, you're telling me none of the lovely ladies in this diner tickle your fancy? Not even third barstool? She's tall, Buck, like... model tall," you suggest with your brows raised.

"I'm not... we're in North Dakota, you think that's what I'm lookin' for?"

"Just one date! You wouldn't take her on one, single date? The little bar across the street seems sensible, why not?"

"Um—"

"Tell meee," you whine, leaning over the sticky, vinyl tablecloth with a pout.

He shrugs. "Not my type."

"Bullshit. She's everybody's type. She's my type, Bucky. Are you blind or just plain stupid?"

"I'm not interested."

You pull a face like you're offended on her behalf. Bucky rolls his eyes and wishes you'd drop it.

"Oh, I get it," you say. Leaned back, arms stretched across the length of the seat, you huff and glare at him. "You think you're too good for her, huh? Just 'cause she's a North Dakota ten, and you're a Brooklyn eight, you think that makes you better, don't you?"

"What? An eight?" he mumbles, shaking his head.

"Ugh, you men gross me out sometimes. Massive egos, teensy little brains," you say, slapping a twenty on the table and standing with a vicious squint. "Well, let me learn you something, James"—you loom over him and poke your pointer finger at his chest—"you're shallow, and you're no better than her. You prob'ly couldn't take her out if you wanted to. Goodnight."

You huff and walk away, but he chuckles and calls after you: "It's noon, doll." Flipping him off, you march out into the parking lot. He considers the woman for a moment. You called him a Brooklyn eight. She's pretty, he'll admit, but he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't interested. Bucky's seen the far stretches of the Earth, which means he's seen women of all forms. Accountants and soldiers from all over, all professions, all languages. All beautiful. But nothing intrigues him quite as much as you do.

...

"Did you ask her out, or are you choosing to remain a coward?" You've got your boots propped on the dashboard, the truck bumbling eighty down the highway. An emery board swipes back and forth at your middle fingernail as you snap your bubblegum.

"Come on, doll, play nice. We're leavin' anyway, didn't want to hurt her feelings," he grumbles.

"Tough. Doesn't make you any less of a pussy, Barnes."

You flick the nail file at his cheek and drop your feet heavily on the hot car mat. You called him a Brooklyn eight. You cringe at the remembrance while Bucky revels in it. He even grinned stupid all the way back to the parking lot. To himself, but still. He hates how deep under his skin you are. He hates how he likes the itch.

His tongue twists with all the things he could have said. He should have said. But he grips the steering wheel tight and drives till you cross the border into Minnesota.

"Wanna go anywhere before Wisconsin? They've got... lakes here," he shyly suggests, voice soft, hoping you'll just ignore him and turn up the radio. He doesn't think you'll ever ignore him, even if he did prefer it.

"Only if I could push you into one of them."

"Listen, kid—"

"Kid? That's great, Bucky. It's getting dark, why don't we just find a motel." You cross your arms. The cold is getting to you. Even in a down jacket and two pairs of pants. It gets like that up north.

He does what you tell him because the last thing he needs is for you to hold another grudge against him. This one's quaint, so he gets the last double available, chuckling nervously when the older woman at the front desk mistakes you for a married couple.

"Sure you don't want a single, honey? Not gettin' any kids outta separate beds—"

"Nope—thanks, miss—that's—double is fine, double's perfect, thanks," he huffs. You chuckle.

She gives a rolling, belly laugh, head tossed back as she croaks, "Won't file any noise complaints against youse! Have a fun night."

"Geez, she was great," you sigh, still smiling from the ridiculous interaction. You flop face down onto the bed closest to the window, rattling the ice from the crevices in your boots. It crunches to the floor and you wriggle out of your coat as Bucky locks himself into the pale yellow bathroom.

He starts mumbling from the other side of the door, so you sit up and toe your boots onto the floor with a thud. Digging your fingertips into the edge of the hastily tucked sheets, you stare at a wine stain in the middle of the beige carpet. At least it smells nice in here. Even if half the lights are out, and cable doesn't come through clear enough to watch.

You find yourself, cheek pressed to the door, eyes wide as you listen through the flimsy wood.

"I don't think so, Steve. No, listen, it's like... beyond repair. She wouldn't take an apology even if I knew what i was sorry for—no—she's way too good for me, I can't do that to her."

Still moping over women found in North Dakota's lowest rated diners? That's highly unlike him. But even Bucky's a wildcard six-thousand miles into a roadtrip. You press closer, chewing your lip and closing your eyes.

"No, no, everything—this stuff's easier for you, pal, you don't get it, 'kay? I'm just saying... I mean, even a stranger thought we were married"—What—"has to mean something, right? Even strangers are realizing... there's something... there. I just don't want to accidentally—no, I know, not like that, I mean...well, I like her a lot and I don't want it to scare her—"

You back up slightly, hands held in front of you like surrender. Not out of fear, but realization. That's why he didn't ask her out. Or even fish for her number. Because—

You hit the floor with a thump.

"Steve. I gotta go."

The door whips open and floods the room with warm light. You scramble to your feet.

"Were you... I was just talking to... Did you hear any of that?"

You shake your head. He shoves his hands into the shallow pockets of his jeans.

"Okay," he says with a nod, "good." He blows hot air out of his mouth and runs a swift hand through his hair. But he doesn't meet your eyes. Like a little kid so terrified of fibbing that he'd rather swim deeper into the abyss than float to the surface. Can't catch his damn breath around here.

"So..."

"Goodnight, Bucky!" you chirp, turning on your heel with a whoosh of air. And he stops you in your tracks, hand on your bicep. You don't turn back around, stuck staring at the foot of your bed.

"Doll," he whispers, roped up by fear and a pinch of self-pity. Attending his own funeral with a sick smile on his face. "Just how much did you hear."

You spin on the balls of your feet, going hot in the face, fueled by the electricity at his fingertips. "A lot."

"Oh."

You nod and try your best non-psychotic smile. "Sorry."

"No, no... don't be," he says, trying his own. So you're just a couple of smirking idiots at a stalemate in a stale motel room. A couple of idiots with feelings for each other. Unresolved feelings. Unspoken, too.

"I actually—could I?" You point behind him into the cramped bathroom, and he lets go of you like it's his last move before you put him in check. Before he has to hand you the game. Though, he'd do that in a heartbeat. Every game of his is yours. "Thanks."

"No problem." He shuts his eyes when you close the door with a calculated tenderness. Like you don't want to frazzle his poor heart.

But then why would you open the door again? Why would you wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his back? Why would you make it all so much worse and spread your fingers over his abdomen, taking a deep breath when he runs his hand down your forearm and turns to face you. Then you melt with his strong arms holding you thisclose.

"Like you a lot, too, Barnes. You're just a big dunce a lot of the time. But that's like... half the draw or whatever," you mumble into his shoulder. And you've never been this close, and he thinks he could pass out. Become a chalk outline in a dusty motel in Minnesota. But if it happened like this, he'd be okay with that statistic.

marvel masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel #x reader #fluff #tropes #road trip #bucky barnes x fem!reader #x fem!reader #bucky barnes trope bingo

639 notes · View notes

luv4berry · 1 year ago

Note

earth 42 miles × reader at a dinner with the readers parents + mama rio and uncle Arron?

also when i tell u im in love with your work! that shi has me kicking my feet😭🤦🏾‍♀️

control yourself.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you go out to dinner with your parents, mama rio, uncle aaron and your beloved boyfriend, yet he can’t seem to control himself even in the presence of your parents.

GENRE: fluff <3

WARNINGS: kissing, parents being parents, loverboy miles, clingy miles, suggestive jokes, make outs in the bonus scene.

AUTHORS NOTE: ngl i struggled to write ts like shit, anyways thank you for your request and im deadass cheesing so hard rn thank you for reading!! (p.s, if you left anything in my inbox i HAVE seen it and i will get to it eventually!) hope you like it!

you zero in on miles’ eyes as they dart between your own eyes and your phone. you give him a suspecting look from the other side of the table before bringing your phone out under the table seeing as he’s already filled your notification dashboard.

miles 💓

bathroom? 👀

baby pleaseee

you did ts on purpose

holy shit you’re so fine

yk the sundress is lethal baby please 😩

you glance up giving him a stern look, shaking your head and mouthing a ‘no’ as your eyes flicker towards your parents as well as rio at the front counter of the restaurant. to the right of miles is uncle aaron, his eyes set on his phone as he took occasional glances at the two of you.

you make direct eye contact with miles for just a moment before letting out a sigh of defeat, nodding towards the family bathroom to your left. you don’t miss the hint of a smirk plaguing his lips, rolling your eyes playfully at his smugness.

to avoid raising suspicion, you stagger your way towards the family bathroom first—adjusting your slate colored maxi dress in the process. he watches as you disappear into the bathroom, brown eyes scanning the premises before he also gets up to dismiss himself.

“don’t think ion see you, player.” uncle aaron mumbles, grinning at his nephew.

“honestly don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.”

yeah, they were definitely related.

you soon feel a pair of hands curve around your waist and whisk you around, your lips immediately beginning to twitch upwards. “your moms gonna kill you.” you say as he sways you side to side, his hands resting on your waist.

“us. she’s gonna kill us you mean.”

“the hell did i do? you’re the bad influence here.”

“you been giving me all sorts of eyes ever since we got here, don’t do that.”

“or maybe, just maybe you’re deluded and nasty.”

“mhm.” he hums, his hands slipping below your waistline.

“hands goin’ a little low there bud.”

“oh im bud now? thought i was your husband?” he nuzzles his nose into your neck, recalling you calling him that earlier in the day.

“my what? who said i was gonna marry you?” you tease him.

“stop playin’ with me.” he kisses his teeth at you, his chin going to rest on your shoulder as he continues to sway you side to side. after about 2 minutes of silence, his lips begin to inch towards the skin behind your ear, placing a singular kiss to test the waters. when you don’t react, he goes in for another one. when he’s met with silence yet again he goes in for a third—but before they make contact with your skin you place your palm over his lips.

“miles, no.” you give him a forbidding look, “you forgetting where you at?” you shake your head, the clinginess of this boy was unmatched.

“keep kissing up on me like my parents won’t hang me and then you.” you side eye him, unlocking the bathroom door checking the coast.

“why you keep running from me? you scared or something?” he questions you as he crosses his arms over your abdomen, pulling you back into the bathroom with him. he softly pecks your cheek a few times before he begins to kiss up the nape of your neck, your body noticeably relaxing in his arms. when you feel your senses begin to cloud with a familiar feeling, you catch on to his underlying motive.

“morales, you trying to seduce me?”

“‘course not,” he pauses for a moment, “is it working?”

“no comment.”

he smirks against your skin as your eyes close for a moment, allowing yourself to relish in the moment for some time. you also allow his fingertips to dance along your sides for a bit before you snap back to reality. you bring your hands to your abdomen, clasping them with his and turning around to face him. he gives you an unsatisfied look, aware that his time with you is up and you’d have to return.

“i’ll go first, come back like 5 minutes after me.” you cup his cheek, placing a short but meaningful kiss to his lips. you smooth out the wrinkles of your dress, peaking out the door before waltzing down the hall.

when you arrive at the table, you get a knowing looking from your parents, shaking their heads at the antics of teenagers. before you sit down you go over to rio, flashing her your best smile as she gives you a loving kiss on the cheek. you also give uncle aaron a proper greeting, giving him a side hug. soon enough you sit down quietly as the table makes small talk, occasionally checking for miles around the corner.

you zone out for a bit before you’re nudged in the side, your mom leaning into your ear, “you can tell your lil boyfriend he can come back now, we’re not stupid. i was a teenage girl too you know.”

you noticeably jerk in your seat at your mothers comment, diverting your attention to the empty space beside you where miles was supposed to be.

this type of response wasn’t exactly strange when it pertained to miles, out of all your boyfriends he was definitely your parents favorite. before miles, you’d never had a boyfriend come over unannounced just to talk to your father about whatever basketball game had occurred hours before. nor had you seen your mother continuously pester you to invite her “son in-law” over again.

unbeknownst to you, they both recognized that same spark from when they were teenagers growing up in brooklyn, climbing into each others windows at absurd hours of the night just to see each other, or cruising home together after school hand in hand while listening to 90s r&b. they were beyond joyful you had each other to stay on the right path, to not fold into the cruelty of the streets. it was no different with miles side of the family. rio knew that her son had been through a lot, from the death of his dad, to the stripping of his childhood. she saw you as something to bring him back to life, to provide him with joy that would serve him for a lifetime when she was gone.

though, with that being said—yes, you still had to leave the door a crack open whenever he was over, no he couldn’t sleep over, no you couldn’t sleepover. yes, you had been sat down multiple times. yes, miles had also been sat down countless times. again, your parents were teenagers once too, and they knew exactly what teenagers got up to. but, you still had that benefit of the doubt not to do anything they wouldn’t do… partially.

your tense posture relaxes when you see miles emerge from the corner of your eye, approaching your mother and father with a knee buckling smile. before he greets your parents, he approaches his mother. rio stretches out his cheeks, mumbling a “adónde fuiste?”

he greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek paired with a side hug and your father with a dab up. as he takes his place next to you he nudges your thigh, a slick grin still plastered on his face from earlier. you lightly slap his hand, muttering a “behave,” under your breath.

“i gotta ask,” uncle aaron speaks, “how’s the guy doing?”

“oh, him?” you point to him using your thumb, “he’s a pain in my—” miles sends you a side eye, waiting for you to finish your sentence as uncle aaron lets out a boisterous laugh.

“you’re asking y/n? she’s just as difficult.” your father teases from the other end of the table. miles pokes his tongue against his cheek in an effort to prevent a laugh from spilling from his lips due to the truthfulness of your dads statement. you glare at the both of them, your eyes narrowing at their teasing.

“but seriously, how are you guys?” your mother pitches in, genuinely curious.

“he’s alright, i guess.” you playfully state while smiling to yourself.

“she cool, i guess.” miles fires back at you while also smiling.

you lightly punch him in the shoulder, staring at him while fighting the ache in your cheekbones due to how much you had been smiling.

your parents nudge each other in the side as their eyes rapidly bounce between the two of you, silently thinking the same thing, ‘they’re literally us.’ rio and uncle aaron also look at eachother, smiling amongst themselves at the interaction.

it was nice to see miles drop his stoic persona for once, after the death of his dad it was nearly impossible to catch him smiling even slightly. if rio was able to see her son smile like this all the time, then she would gladly welcome you into her home anytime.

“glad to hear,” she smiles, “listen, you have my full permission to slap some sense back into him the moment he starts acting a fool, you hear me?” her eyes bounce between the two of you.

“don’t gotta tell me twice, mrs. morales.” you laugh.

your parents call over a waiter to check on the status of their order, the tables attention redirected for a bit. you soon feel miles lips graze your ear, softly saying “who you gon slap? you know i’d fold you in half, stop playin’.”

after knowing miles for as long as you have, you’ve come to learn that his words tend to have a double meaning. in the rare cases that they didn’t, it would be pretty obvious due to either the tone of his voice, or by his body language. in this case, your suspicion was confirmed by the tone of his voice.

“why does your mind work like that?” you turn to face him.

“ma, you know why.”

“i really don’t.”

“it’s the y/n effect.”

“i know you not over there making moves on my daughter!” your father calls out, miles backing up from you immediately.

“never, sir.” he leans back while laughing.

— BONUS SCENE

“been waiting to do this all night.” miles says as he drags you outside the restaurant while your parents cover the tab.

you quietly laugh when he backs you up against the wall as he shamelessly attaches his lips to yours, his excitement piqued when you return the kiss. his hands trail up and down your body as they fiddle with the straps of your dress, your hands moving up to sensually caress his neck. you fondle the end of his braids, wrapping your arms around his neck.

caught up in the moment, you both fail to realize the chime of the restaurants bell till you hear the clearing of a throat and the shout of your government name. your eyes widen as you quickly shove miles as far away as possible, returning to your respectful places on the stone pavement.

“damn, in the middle of the street? have some decorum at least.” uncle aaron tuts in the midst of your parents wide eyes.

yeah, you were definitely getting the talk tonight.

love, berry.

#miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv miles #atsv x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales

6K notes · View notes

luvyeni · 11 months ago

Text

❛SMOKE YOU OUT❜ ( n. jaemin )

authors note: this was a request

p. bsf!jaemin x fem!reader w. 2.2k+

— 𖦹 warnings. plug!jaemin, car sex, dirty talk, drug use

— 𖦹 ( car sex with jaemin after smoking ) !

‘Come out , im outside.’

You threw a sweater over your pajamas , slipping on your teddy bear slippers as you made your way out the car — it was just jaemin , he’d never judge you.

“Look at you , all pretty.” He sat leaned back in the drivers seat. You rolled your eyes as you slipped into the passenger seat. “My little passenger princess.” That’s how you guys were , your relationship had always been like this since you first met.

You both remember it was like it was yesterday — granted neither of you were sober. But it was during a party , jeno’s monthly party , jaemin went because it was good for business , he didn’t expect to meet his best friend that night — or his number one customer.

“You got it?” you asked , jaemin clutched his heart. “is that all you care about , my weed.” You pouted , whining. “you know I love you nana.” He smiled. “of course I have it.” He pulled out three packs of his finest strand. “for my best customer.” You smiled taking the bag. “here.” You handed him the money , he shooed you off. “not this time.”

“Why not , you need to make money too.” You said. “because we’re gonna smoke it together.” He said. “you letting me smoke you out na jaemin?” he laughed as you put on your seat belt. “sure princess if that’s what you want to call it.” He said driving off.

You turned on the radio , resting your feet on the dashboard as he drove to your favorite smoking spot — it was secluded so no one could bother you, and the cops couldn’t catch you. “nice slippers.” He teased eyes on the rode. “well im sorry I didn’t get all dressed up and pretty to smoke with you.”

Jaemin didn’t care what you were wearing though , you still looked just as pretty as any girl jaemin knew — even more beautiful if you asked him. “don’t worry about princess , you’re face makes up for it.” You laughed , “thanks.”

He pulled into the spot , keeping the heat on to keep the cold outside , and the music running. “you ready?” He handed you everything you needed — you prepared a few blunts , knowing how jaemin was. “really" he said. “you know how you are.” He shrugged. “you right.”

He handed you a lighter — putting the blunt to your lips , lighting it up. Taking a long drag , passing it back to jaemin , letting the air fill up your lungs before exhaling. “Good?” Jaemin asked , taking a drag. “good.”

You guys passed it back and forth ,slowly letting the drug take over as you talked about your day. “I can’t wait until exam season is over and I can just sleep.” Jaemins head was thrown back , eyes low as he listened to you talk , something he could do whether he was sober or not. “and get high.”

After a blunt and a half , jaemin was taking it out of your hand. “that’s enough princess.” He put it out , the windows were all fogged up , the car filled with smoke. “Why?” you whined , your plump lips in a pout. “don’t pout princess , you know you don’t need all that.” He pulled at your bottom lip , you had to stop yourself from letting out a noise. “cute.”

You looked at your friend , your eyes trailing up his body , his muscular arms bulging out of his black t-shirt , his thighs looking delicious in his grey sweatpants — fuck he looked good. “jesus princess , you’re not even trying to hide it.”

He was smirking at you — you were so unaware that you were squeezing your thighs together , his cock growing in his sweats. “if you want to kiss me , then just say it.” He said. “wh-what i- do—” you gasped as he grabbed your jaw, looking at your lips. “don’t lie.” He ran his thumb across your bottom lip. “ja-jaemin.”

He pulled you into a kiss , his hand that was holding your jaw , trailing down to your neck , slightly squeezing. He smiled as you moaned against his lips , pulling away. “look at you all horny and I barely did anything.”

Your panties were sticking uncomfortably to your core , you started whining. “jaemin ,please.” He laughed at how fast you got so needy. “backseat princess.” He kissed your lips again. “now.”

You climbed into the backseat , he followed behind slapping your ass. “jaemin stop.” He smiled cheekily. “been waiting forever to do that baby , take those pajamas off.” He said , pulling his pants to his ankles , pulling out his semi hard cock out , stroking it , throwing his head back. “fuck.”

You watched him jerk off , as you took off your pants and your underwear , leaving your sweatshirt off. “get in my lap baby , want you to ride my cock.” You straddled his hip , grabbing his cock. “fuck sit on it princess.”

Both of you let out a moan as his cock filled your cunt. “jaemin.” You moaned as he stretched you out. “fu-fuck princess , perfect fucking cunt.” You rocked your hips back and forth , both your heads thrown back. “s-so big.”

Jaemin slapped your ass , telling you to go faster. “fuck princess , taking my cock like a champ , go faster.” You bounced on his cock , moaning louder and louder. “ja-jaemin , fuck!”

He grabbed your waist , leaning forward to grab the blunt he put out and a lighter. “fu-fuck princess , keep riding my dick -shit- just like that.” He lit the blunt , taking a drag. He grabbed your jaw like before , bring his lips to yours , the smoking filling up your lungs. “sh-shit princess you like huh?” he grunted. “pussy just clenched so tightly.”

“jaemin -fuck- jaemin im not gonna last.” He chuckled , even though he wasn’t that far behind either and you could tell the way his cock twitched inside you. “Sh-shit baby , go ahead , make a mess on my cock for me.”

You held on the window , throwing your head back , as you came. “fuck!" you screamed. He grabbed your waist , fucking up into your cunt. “gonna cum in this pussy.” He groaned. “gonna let me breed you pretty girl?”

“Yes please.” You moaned out , the car filled with smoke , the stench of sex in the air as he fucked up into your cunt. “sh-shit im cumming — fuck!” he groaned , you felt him shooting his load into your cunt. “shit.” He took another drag of the blunt , shot gunning you again.

“Jesus princess , if you fuck like that when you’re high , I gotta keep getting you high.” You laughed , heavily breathing. “you plan to keep doing this with me , you’re gonna go broke giving me free weed then.” He shrugged his shoulders handing you the blunt.

“Fuck i don’t care about going broke if I get to smoke you out and fuck this pretty pussy whenever.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct fic #nct dream ff #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct x female reader #nct x reader #nct dream fanfic #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin smut #na jaemin fic #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin hard thoughts #jaemin hard hours

1K notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 6 months ago

Text

dbf!rafe thought he was doing a pretty good job at pretending he didn’t care too much about you. but it was coming to the late afternoon, and he’d driven past you wandering around town on your own wearing one of those stupid little mini skirts you’re crazy about and he had to do his duty and command you come with him. for your safety of course. he’d hate if some sick older guy got his hands on you.

“get in. c’mon.” he’s already acting irritable with you and it only spurs you on to act mischievous.

“why so glum, hm?” you pout, letting a small giggle slip through as you fasten your belt — the friend of your fathers glancing around the area briefly to see if anyone had seen his bosses daughter climb into his car before zipping off.

“what’d i tell you last time i saw you just— just walking around asking for trouble?” he berates and he’s not even sure why he’s so wound up. you just got him so pent up and touchy that he always found himself being this way with you.

“asking for trouble? mr cameron i was just hanging out.” you laugh, stretching your legs and going to rest your feet on his dashboard. he shoves your legs off, sending you a scalding glare.

“in that little skirt? yeah i wasn’t born yesterday, alright— you were probably off meeting guys.” he grumbles and you turn your head to him, heart fluttering at the jealous tone he had failed to conceal.

“oh no, not hanging out with guys my own age… that would be the most awful thing in the world, right?” you sark, and he resents the way he can hear the pretty smile in your voice without even turning his attention away from the road. he huffs out a scoff, shaking his head as he pulls up to the traffic light.

“told your old man i’d look out for you, right so — so i am just telling you that you shouldn’t be wandering around meeting guys dressed like a hooker. i know how guys brains work, okay — i am a guy. s’why i’m taking your ass home where you can’t get into any of that shit.” he rants, and before you can complain about him calling you a hooker your attention is caught by his promise to bring you home and you shoot up in your seat.

“no, please. just— anywhere else. not home.” you suddenly sound serious, and he nearly misses the stoplight turning green to glance at you in confusion.

“and why the hell not?” he drawls and suddenly you’re a lot more quiet. he raises his eyebrows waiting for a response.

“i’m fighting with my parents. i just… i don’t want to see them yet.” you sigh, staring at your manicure in your lap. as much as he wanted to teach you a lesson and drag you back into the house to your father, he knew what it was like to have a rocky relationship with his parents. because of this he sighs after his slight hesitation and turns in the direction away from your house.

“ah… shit, alright fine. the fuck do you wanna go then? gotta drop you somewhere, alright?” he relents and you beam.

“really? thanks mr cameron.” your elated expression calms itself into a pur as you lean across the gear stick and press a kiss to his cheek. he clenches his jaw.

“watch it.”

to this you respond with a giggle and he relaxes a little, knowing he had a little more time with you.

“where do you wanna go then? haven’t got all day, kid m’not a fuckin’ taxi.”

“hmm, your place?” you’re quick with your answer, almost like you had it planned. he’d given in a few times, let you have your way with him even though he knew it put his career on the line — and he told himself and you that this could go on no longer.

he huffs out a laugh, scratching at his cheek and shaking his head, choosing to ignore the suggestion. your bottom lip curls over at this, frowning a little.

“raaafe.” you whine and he resists an eye roll.

“what you’re — you’re serious about that shit?”

“mhm… i missed you…” you coo, and he feels your warm body lean across the centre console again, a clawed hand finding his thigh as you speak into his ear. “c’mon dad.” you groan and he feels a hot rush of blood fly through him at the nickname. god you were sick.

“don’t fuckin’ call me that.” he turns into his driveway at tannyhill, parking up infront of the house haphazardly before turning off the car and not making any move to get out.

“just wanna play a little bit.” you complain, kissing down his white shirt leaving lipgloss prints that he’d soon complain about down the expensive material as he watches you with parted lips, feeling your hot breath fan over his hardening crotch.

“well if you’re gonna suck me off just fuckin’ do it alright. don’t wanna hear that shrill ass little voice unless you’re tellin’ me how good that shit tastes. c’mon.”

you couldn’t help but obey.

#rafe cameron prompt #dbf!rafe #spoiledkook!reader

851 notes · View notes

thirdsaltyhunter · 5 months ago

Text

Lost With You

Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

Summary: getting caught in a storm with your sweet boyfriend

Warning: FLUFF, kissing, swearing probably, gn but use of 'sweetheart'

700ish words

A/N: little gif drabble, not proofread all mistakes are my own

You had set out for a hunt in Minnesota earlier in the morning. Sam was out of commission due to hurting his leg on the last hunt, so that left you and Dean to deal with the latest pop up of werewolves alone. Even though you hated seeing Sam hurt, you'd be lying if you said you minded the alone time you were getting with your boyfriend. You loved the long drives with Dean; it felt freeing being with him, windows rolled down blasting music.

At this point the sun had long since set and you had been driving most of the day, aside from the occasional food or gas stop. You had hoped to make it to the motel and get some shut eye before scoping out the town in the morning. Driving down a stretch of backroads, everything was going as planned until the sky suddenly decided to unleash the most intense rainstorm you had ever seen. The sky darkend even more and the droplets pelted the windshield so hard you couldn't hear the radio anymore.

"Son of a bitch, the bottom really dropped out didn't it," Dean said clicking on the brights, not that it helped.

After a few minutes of struggling to see the road and losing the reception on the GPS, Dean pulled over onto the side of the road. As good of a driver as he was, he knew when to throw in the towel. Right now he couldn't see more that two feet in front of the car, had no idea where he was going, and he was not willing to put you or his car in danger for the sake of making it to the motel.

"Guess we're stuck here for a while" he turned to you.

"Where even are we?", you asked pulling out you phone to see if you had any reception. To no avail.

"Honestly I have no idea" he said with a humorless laugh "But get comfy, I don't think it's clearing up anytime soon". He turned and reached over the seat, digging into one of the duffel bags and pulling out a few lore books.

Turning back, he tossed one to you before resting his back against the door and started flipping through his book.

After about a half and hour of reading, you started to lose focus. You were tired physically and tired of researching. Your eyes drifted up to your boyfriend, you couldn't help but admire how he looked right now. It was pitch black outside, but the glow of the dashboard lights illuminated the side of his face, bringing out all of the contours of his face, the curve of his lips, the soft freckles on the bridge of his nose. You loved him so much and it was moments like this that made you realize that all the more. Moments like this where you were able to make the best out of the worst situations; together.

You're definitely staring and now he's looking at you. "What?", he asks wondering why you're staring at him with a peaceful smile on your lips.

"What?" you echo softly, sounding dazed and tried.

"You're staring" a teasing smirk graces his face but he can tell you're still lost in thought.

For another moment you look into his eyes, losing all sense of reality and you can't help but reach over and cup his cheek. There's a brief look of confusion the crosses his face before he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

"You ok?" he asks eyes still closed before opening them to gauge your reaction.

"Sometimes I love you so much it overwhelms me."

You said it so genuinely that Dean was taken aback. He didn't really know how to respond to that and if he thought about the weight of your words it would probably make him cry. Before he could think about it, he was reaching for you.

"C'mer," he said tossing his book into the floorboard and pulling you to lay between his legs with your head over his heart.

You sighed contentedly, nuzzling you face into the warm flannel lining of his jacket.

"I love you too, sweetheart", he said pulling his spare jacket over you and rubbing his hand up and down your back.

He looked down at you and could see that you were teetering on the edge of falling asleep. "Let's just stay here for tonight", the rain was still coming down heavy and he was pretty sure he was too tired to find his way to the motel.

"Ok," your voice was muffled by how your face was hidden in his shirt.

Dean smiled down at you and felt sleep tugging at him too. He settled back against the door, feet propped up on the bench seat with you laying on him, and thought that, in the grand scheme of it all, there was nowhere else he'd rather be than right here. Lost with you.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x gn!reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #supernatural drabble #dean x reader fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader fluff #supernatural fluff #supernatural

625 notes · View notes

xxblairexxss · 1 year ago

Text

Duty (part 2)

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x pregnant!reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

Word count : 3.7k (The last time I checked before proofread!)

Thank you so much for the amount of loves on the first part! I wasn’t expecting that at all. Oh, and since I got a lot of expectations for the second part, it might comes out as a disappointment if you were expecting a lot. I had to end it in two parts. 😔

Warnings, mentions of throwing up, slight description of childbirth and inaccurate infos on childbirth (I tried)

Requested!

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

flash

“I hate this!”

“Woah, princess.” He moved his head away, hands high up as you threw your snickers as it hit the dashboard and made a thud sound. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to wear them but tying the shoelaces is so hard. I can’t even reach my legs.”

Charles didn’t say anything when he left the car and walked to the shotgun side. You looked at him in question as he opened the door and kneeled down, his arm extended as he was expecting something from you while you kept on looking at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping my wife to tie her shoelaces? Give me that.”

You turned towards him and was going to bend to get the sneakers when he grabbed it instead after seeing how difficult it was for you. “You know you can always ask me to do these things for you, right?” He placed your feet on his knee and brushed off the dirt on your sole before he put the socks on.

“I know, but my feet are swollen and ugly. I don’t want you to see them. Charles, that tickles!” You shrieked with giggles when he tickled on your other foot.

“That’s what you get if you say anything silly.” He giggled along seeing how you still couldn’t stop laughing.

“I nearly kick you in the the face! Don’t do that again!” You leaned closer to hold his face and pecked on his lips. “But my feet are so ugly, honey. Look.” Charles tickled on your foot again and you tried to retract your feet away which caused it to bump against his face.

“Ow! Did you just kick me?” He fell on his bottom and covered his face with his hand.

“I told you to never do that again!”

“I told you to never say anything silly, didn’t I? He pulled his hand away and you bursted out laughing. “What?” You didn’t reply and chortled again when you looked at him. “Y/N, what?” He asked, confused yet still finding himself slowly laughing along with you.

“Your cheek is red. I’m sorry.” You moved your upper body closer to stroke on his now, blushed cheek.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m just gonna go around and tell everyone that my pregnant wife kicked me in the face.” He went back to put the sneaker on your other foot. “It kinda hurts though. Since when did you get so strong.”

“You asked for it! Are you saying I’m fat?”

“There you go twisting my words again. I never say that.” He gave one last twist and pull on your shoelaces. “All done. Easier to ask for help from your husband than to throw the sneakers around, right?” He stood straight then helped you to get off the car.

“I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t going to throw it towards the dashboard.”

He then tilted your chin up and planted a kiss on your forehead. “No one’s talking about the dashboard, honey. I’m saying that you should let me know if you needed my help. It’s my duty, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, and I’m sorry about the kick.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m used to it. Let’s go and get the things you are craving for.” He grabbed your hand and started walking away from the car.

“What do you mean you are used to it? The help or the kick? I have never kicked you before!”

“You did!”

“Did I?”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“What is going on?” Joris strode to the engineer that he had asked to pass the message forcefully pulled him by his shoulder. “Did you actually tell them?”

“I did! I told them exactly what you told me.”

“Then why isn’t he coming back to the garage?”

“Maybe he just wanted to finish the race first. He’s leading it.”

“No,” Joris shook his head the second he heard what the engineer said. Ever since Charles got married to you, his career had fallen into second place in his priority list. He saw how his friend went from never missed a tennis day to only join the casual tennis match twice a month as he had to accompany you to your hair or facial appointment so he could be the first one to compliment you on your new hair or nails. He saw how Charles used to stay and got drunk at any parties to the point he couldn’t stand up to having to call it an early night because he didn’t want you to go to sleep alone. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. That man is willing to retire for his wife. They are not telling him!” Joris cried in frustration and was about to take control of the matter himself by walking to the pit lane but he was stopped by the engineer again.

“You can’t go there.”

“I need to tell him!” He tried to walk away but was held by even more people this time.

“We can’t risk any penalty point.“

“How can you be so heartless. His pregnant wife is in the emergency room!” He stared at the men in front of him in disbelief.

“I told you I’ve told them to pass the message and he’s still not coming back into the pit lane. He just wants to finish the race. Which part of it don’t you understand?” Joris saw the look the engineers were looking at him as if he was mad for being this way.

“You don’t get it. They are not telling him because if they did, he would have been here by now. Please, just let me pass the message.”

“We did what we can, you need to wait here until the end of the race or leave the garage.”

There’s still 51 laps to go.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Her water has broken and we suspect it might have been more than 24 hours since then.”

“That’s impossible. She would have known if her water was broken.” Your mom shook her head in denial as the OBGYN informed her about your condition.

“She might not have realised about it. We had to induce her labor as she was showing symptoms of infection and we can’t risk it. Can you ask for her husband come as we might need to proceed with the delivery soon.” The OBGYN dismissed herself and left the two mothers alone.

Fishing her phone out, Pascale clicked on a contact number that was right at the very top of her recents.

“Hel– “

“Bring my son here right now.”

“I’m trying! I can’t do anything else or they’ll kick me out of the garage.”

Pascale was so close to scream. She should have known something was wrong that stopped her son from coming to the hospital when she knew Charles barely left you alone during your whole pregnancy, there was no way he would leave you alone when you were in labor. “How much longer will the race be?”

“It should end in an hour. I’ll get him as soon as he get off the car.”

“Please bring him here as soon as you can.”

Joris felt like all of his blood was drawn out of his body when he heard the tone of Pascale’s voice and knew you weren’t doing well. Not only he had to tell Charles about you being taken to the emergency room, he had to tell him about your condition too and he didn’t think there would be any husbands in this world who could take the news well.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

It was around 20 laps after when he finally entered the pit lane but it wasn’t him alone. The rest of the grid were asked to do so as there was a red flag that had been put out. Joris was walking past the engineers so he could maybe, got Charles’s attention when they held him again before he could take any steps.

“You can’t go there.”

“The red flag is 25 minutes long. I can’t wait any longer.” He pushed away the engineer but felt another grip on his arms from the back, forcing him back. “Are you guys seriously doing this?”

“He is in the car right now as our driver and we are treating him as one. Please leave the garage.”

“He won’t be your driver anymore if he knew what you did to him. Don’t touch me. I can walk myself out.” He heaved a sigh and stormed out of the garage.

“What’s happening in the garage?” Charles spoke, he was lining up on the pit lane behind every other cars, waiting for the red flag to end but his car happened to be near his own garage where he saw the whole commotion and a group of people formed up together.

“Nothing, Charles. It’s none of your concern.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“And there goes the checkered flag! Thrice in a row! Charles Leclerc is the winner for the Monaco Grand Prix!”

“That’s P1. Well done, mate. Thank you for giving the race victory for us today.”

“Well done, Charles. You did a good job.”

“Well done, guys! It was tough race but great job for the race and for the weekend. Let’s hope we can keep the consistency.”

He was screaming into the radio team to the point he could barely hear what his engineers were saying. He had been dreaming to get the podium in his country even since he joined Formula 1. It felt like he had finally accomplished the last final tick in his wish list. Soon as he crossed the finish line, he saw a glimpse of your smiling face, jumping around as you congratulated him and he was so eager to see you, and to stood on the podium, making his country proud.

“Charles, we have an interview and a press conference in 5 minutes– “ His assistant’s steps went faster when he realised that the driver was heading to the other way after the whole podium moment.

“Can I see my wife first?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s better for you to get these done first.”

Charles still continued his way to meet you while bumping into a few people in the paddock lane who congratulated him with the assistant still chasing after.

“Charles, we really need to– “

“Let me see my wife first. Just one minute. I’ll make it quick.” He gave his assistant a smile before leaving to get to you.

“Charles,”

Still ignoring the assistant, he went inside the hospitality with the assistant trailing behind him to keep his schedule in check. “Where is she?” He looked back at the assistant when you were not in the lounge area. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Your interview–“

“Answer the damn question! Where’s my wife?” He wasn’t looking for you in the paddock at all as he knew you would be in the hospitality so he was expecting to see you in the lounge area where he left you but you weren’t there. Not even Joris.

“She was taken to the hospital earlier.” The assistant’s voice trailed off when Charles’s gaze on him went darker.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I don’t know. I heard the guys said they already informe– “

“How long has it been since she was taken to the hospital?” He had rolled down the zipper on his race suit, and get his arms out from the sleeves, leaving him in his fireproof suit though it still made him hard to breath. He didn’t even know how to act or what to say. It was too much to take at one time.

“More than an hour ago.”

“What? You should– “ He breathed in. “You should have told me about that. How could you do this to me.” He was going to head out but he was pushed back on the shoulder.

“You still have things to do. We are still not done for the day.”

“I have to get to my wife. If something happened to her, it’s on you.” He glared back and pushed the grip of the hand on his shoulder rather too rough and headed out, bumping into Joris who was sweating and out of breath.

“Charles! Oh, thank God. I was looking for you after the podium like crazy. Hospital. Now. Y/N is not doing well.”

He knew something was wrong with you. If only he had listened to his gut feeling. The fact that he was kept in the dark for more than an hour when God knows what could and might have happened to you during the period of his absence.

Charles had left with Joris as his hands were too shaky he could barely held the steering wheel so Joris had to be the driver. He tried to call his parent but none of the calls were picked up. “What happened to her?”

“She fainted. They refused to tell you what happened and I got kicked out of the garage for causing a ruckus, they said.”

“That was what actually happened in the garage..how did I miss that.” Charles’s voice trailed off as he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t say anything else after. The rest of the whole ride to the hospital, he was quite. He just needed to see you right now before he lost himself to every negative thoughts that had been filling his head.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

flash

“Honey, are you okay?”

You had woken up to the sound of your husband throwing up and groaning in pain and you knew where to find him when he wasn’t in bed. He had been feeling sick these past few weeks and it happened every morning or when both of you were cuddled up together. You had forced him to see a doctor so you thought he would feel better by now. When you peeked inside the bathroom, you saw him leaning against the wall and face scrunched up in pain.

“Oh my god, are you still sick? Didn’t you go to the doctor yesterday?”

“Yeah, I did and they said it might have something to do with your pregnancy because they checked everything and I’m supposed to be fine. Apparently none of the medications are gonna work until we have our baby.” He washed his face and you walked to his side to rub on his back.

“Are you having morning sickness?” You giggled while he was still leaning against the counter, completely didn’t find the situation funny.

“Not too close, baby. I don’t think I can stand the smell of your perfume.” He moved away and out of the bathroom and you giggled again as you chased after him.

“But it’s the perfume you bought for me! I just want to hug my husband.” You whined.

“I love you so much, Y/N, like so, so much but please step back. I feel it coming again.” He moved away and groaned. “Stop it, honey. I’m serious.“ He made a gagging noise and turned away.

You chuckled and decided to stop teasing him by standing on the other side of the bed. “Why is it so bad though?”

“I really don’t need those questions now, Y/N.” He heaved a sigh of defeat and your eyes trailed on him as he scurried back to the toilet.

The morning sickness went on for a couple of months to the point he had to take some painkillers during race weekends while you didn’t feel anything at all. Thankfully it stopped after your second trimester.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Soon as Charles barged inside the room, he saw you were laying on your back with a few medical staffs inside the room prepping things up. Your face contorted in pain and you were sobbing. “Y/N,” He called out as he made his way to you. His heart pounded when he saw you had an oxygen mask on, the back of your palm was hooked to IV. You were squirming on the bed, unable to sit still on the bed.

“Charles!” You pulled the oxygen mask away and stretched out your arms, waiting to feel the warmth of his body against yours. You felt your tears gushing down even more when he engulfed you in the tightest, most comforting hug as you cling on him. “I’m scared…I can’t do this.”

He left a few lingering kisses on your crown while your arms still wrapped around his neck, refused to let go as you felt him pulling away. “No– no, please don’t leave me. Please, I can’t–“

“I’m not, baby. I’m not. See? I’m right here. I promise I’m not gonna go anywhere else.” He pulled your arms away and held it tightly in his as he stared at you reassuringly. He knew you weren’t listening to the midwife when they repetitively asked you to breathe so he had to break the hug even when you refused to. “Baby, I need you to breathe, okay. I’m right here. Just follow along my breathing. That’s it, that’s it, baby.” He saw you slowly went back to control your emotions and brushed his lips on your damp forehead. “You are so, so strong.”

The whole pushing process was a nightmare. You had been pushing for hours and though you knew your body was moving on the motherly instinct alone, the endless pushing made you started feeling nauseous and light headed. “I can’t do this. Charles, it hurts so bad.” You bawled and whimpered in pain as you pulled Charles closer to bury your face on his neck.

“You are doing so great, love. Just a few more pushes, alright? I can see her head already.”

“It hurts! I can’t do this. Ow! It hurts so bad!” You collapsed back and grunted with the end of the contraction as the head felt like it was tearing you apart.

Charles rubbed on your inner thigh and kissed your shaking knee. “I know, baby. I know. You are almost there. I promise.” He wiped your tears with his thumb and left his lips lingering on your forehead. “You are so, so close. Just a little bit more.”

You pushed again once your midwife had checked for the cord. It was Charles’s first time to see you in this so much pain. Your face was red and your legs were shaking with all the pushing.

“That’s it, that’s it! One more push and she’ll be here. You are doing amazing, baby.”

“I can’t do it…please… I can’t. Charles, I can’t.” You shook your head with tears streaming down your face and you wanted to close your legs shut when the midwife quickly tried to hold it as Charles immediately squeezed on your thigh.

“You can. Y/N, listen. Hey–“ He cupped on your cheek so you would look at him. He had to be strong so that you knew you could rely on him but seeing your broken facade was something that he wasn’t prepared for. “Baby, listen to me. You can. She’s nearly here. One more push, honey, I promise.”

You gave one massive push and gasped loudly when you heard your little girl wailed. “You did it, Y/N. She’s here.” Charles exclaimed as the midwife lifted your newborn and placed it on your chest. You were still out of breathe when you gently wrapped your arms around the newborn with Charles’s hand under her for a support.

“She’s finally here, Charles. Oh my god, our baby girl is here.” You leaned in and kissed your daughter’s forehead.

“You were amazing, honey. She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? I love you so much, Y/N.” Charles planted a kiss on your crown and stroked on your hair, feeling himself blessed with the little moments.

After the whole labor process ended, he was offered to cut the cord and gave his little one the first bath while you were given some time to rest where you could fall asleep almost instantly, still feeling drained and sore but you did get a glance of your husband’s back giving his newborn a bath, seeing his arms slightly shaking with the help of the nurses. He had hold a newborn baby from one of his close friend’s before but definitely wasn’t prepared to hold his own daughter and it was very obvious to everyone in the room, including you. It was a heartwarming moment for you though.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You woke up feeling something warm on your cheek and opened your eyes to see your husband’s head on the little space on your bed, his forehead against his arm while his other hand on your cheek. He looked like he had fallen asleep and you found yourself beaming at the sight. When you placed your hand on top of his, you felt him stirred a little as you stroke on his knuckles. He was no longer in his Ferrari’s shirt, his hair looking a little unkempt when he lifted his head, face got a little sullen when the bright light hit on his face.

“Morning.” You poked on his cheek.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep, baby. Do you need anything?” He rubbed on his eyes and sat up straight to stretch out his arms.

“Can you get me some water?”

“Of course, love.” He then stood up to pour you a glass of water, slowly pulled on your stretched arms so you could sit up a little as he inclined the bed.

Charles was looking, more like staring at you the whole time, as if he had something to ask or to say so you scooted aside and held out your arm, leadinh him to sit by your side when he took your hand in yours. “What is it?”

You the saw the way he got confused with your question so you had to ask again, this time more elaborated. “You look like you have something to ask me?”

He was quite for a few moment before finally he gave you a reply you was waiting for. “Why didn’t you tell me you had been feeling pain, Y/N?”

“I didn’t want you to do anything silly before the– oh, did you win the race?”

“I did, honey. I think I did? There were so much things happened after my podium I think part of the memories were deleted.” He chuckled and carefully wrapped his arms around waist to pull you close so you could lean against him.

“Well, congratulations, baby! I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

He only hummed in response, his cheek tilted to rest it on your head. “They didn’t tell me.” His voice is full of disappointment.

“Didn’t tell you what, love?”

“I asked them to let me know if anything happened to you but they didn’t.” He left a lingering kisses on your hair. “I could have been here with you more early.”

“Don’t beat yourself too hard, Charles. It’s fine. You excelled both your duty as a husband and as a F1 driver today. You were a great help. I would have given up if you weren’t there.” You leaned in to peck on his cheek and heard your newborn started wheezing. “Oh, is she awake?”

“Can’t have my moment with you even for a short time now, can I?” He left your side to slowly pick his little girl from the bassinet and claimed his seat back by your side.

“Aw, she looks like her daddy! She’s so adorable.” You slightly pulled the the garments that swaddled her and leaned against his arm. “She’s my little gift to you since you won the first podium in Monaco today, honey.”

“Will I get the same gift every year?” He squirmed a little when you pinched on his arm, making him winced in pain. “Ow, that hurts! I’m gonna start having bruises on my arm if you don’t stop doing that, honey– oh, bless you!” His attention shifted to the little one when she sneezed, melting his heart with the cuteness. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for making me a father.”

“I love you.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj

✧.* tag list for p.2! @lunamelona @allywthsr @1655-1485 @boiohboii @viiduxjcivovoccy @boherahpsody @blueflorals @leclerc16s @lilians17 @roseseraj @sltwins @freetimemachinequeen

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! 😭 Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff

2K notes · View notes

sugoi-and-spice · 19 days ago

Text

perfect, just perfect...

Serial Killer!Dabi x Reader x Serial Killer!Shigaraki

Summary: In which Dabi and Tomura Shigaraki are women-targeting serial killers and do what serial killers do. That’s it. That’s the fic.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Serial Killers/Slashers!AU, Explicit Smut, Non-Con/Rape, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, Asphyxiation, Mysoginy, Dead Dove: Do Not FUCKING Eat

A/N: Hey,, remember when I was gonna do a Halloween AU series? Neither do I!! Anyway, here's my first entry in my own event - out of order!! Enjoyyyy. (or not, this one's pretty gnarly ngl lol)

Cross-Posted on AO3

“P-Please… Stop, please…”

A smack. A loud one. Sounded like it was right across the face, and Dabi wouldn’t doubt if it was. Shigaraki really liked to mess up the face.

“Oh come on, you can beg better than that.”

“N-No, I— I…”

“No no — I know you can. You just were begging— begging fucking amazing too. Come on. Do it, you worthless slut.”

Dabi rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette as he stood watch outside the reconstructed Toyota Hiace they made their base of operations. One they’d gutted the seats out of to make room for a full-size mattress and some metal grating dividing the front seats from the back.

A killing machine.

They parked it outside the city, in an endless valley of nature only ever occupied by a few off the grid campers. Ones that wouldn’t be suspicious of a lone van and two men in the middle of nowhere. They were also ones who typically had very few connections back home.

Who nobody would miss if they saw too much.

“Oi— I’m talking to you, slut! Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Jesus, this must’ve been the thirtieth time that Shigaraki called her a slut this session. How uncreative could one demented incel be? He’d kind of expected more from the bastard…

Truth be told, he didn’t particularly like his partner in crime. They weren’t friends, they were barely even acquaintances. But they were kindred spirits. Two particularly violent young men who’d met on a particularly violent darknet forum about women.

And the inhumane positions they’d love to put them in.

Of course, just because they both lived for the end result, didn’t mean that they agreed on the journey there.

Shigaraki was a raging misogynist and by-the-book incel. He despised women, wanted to take revenge on them for everything he felt they did wrong to him. He wanted to make them bleed because he wanted to make them hurt. Because he was full of anger and disgust and hate.

Dabi was the opposite. He loved women. The unique beauty of every single one, the range of emotions they showed in their darkest, most desperate moments. Emotions he himself was never allowed to show. Ugh, the euphoria of it all. He loved women so much he wanted to see every part of them.

Including their insides.

“Come on you ugly fuck!” Shigaraki snapped from inside the van, “Scream! It’s all you’re fucking good for!”

…Truth be told, Dabi wasn’t sure why exactly he’d partnered up with Shigaraki of all people. He’d been looking for a co-pilot for this sick and twisted little endeavor of his for a while, and there had been many others in the forums who probably would’ve been better fits personality-wise, who seemed more agreeable. Guys who weren’t so picky about the girls they picked, who didn’t grumble and gripe when it came time to finally cleaning up their mess, who didn’t use the “standing watch” excuse when it came to carrying the bodies to the disposal spots.

Who didn’t put their disgusting fucking feet on his dashboard…

That being said, while they both lived almost exclusively on the other’s last nerve, they also had a strange, almost psychic symbiosis. They balanced each other out. Dabi was emotional and passionate, often getting over-excited by the next prospective victim, moved so intensely by his passion upon seeing a new girl walking down the street or sitting at the bar that he wanted to grab them right there and then. Shigaraki on the other hand was meticulous and paranoid, holding him back until he was absolutely sure that they wouldn’t get caught.

He kept them careful at the beginning of the kill.

Whereas Dabi, who truly believed that he held a lot of deep respect for the women they abducted, wanted to be careful with their bodies after the fact. Shigaraki grew bored easily and completely. He often wanted to just dump the bodies down a valley or in a back alley and move onto the next one. A broken toy wasn’t worth another second in his mind. But Dabi wanted better for the girls. He wanted them to have a proper burial. Deep, deep in the ground where nobody else could ever find them.

He kept them careful at the end of the kill.

Dabi exhaled a long stream of smoke as he considered where their latest little sylph would be buried. They had passed a grove of what looked like magnificent spider lilies on the way out of town.

Maybe he was thinking too much into all this, he kind of had to whenever it was Shigaraki’s turn. The brutish way in which he handled and defiled these girls, it always made Dabi contemplate just what redeeming factor he had ever seen in the guy.

And then he’d hear them, the screams Shigaraki managed to rip out of their victims. Screams that only came from a level of brutality Dabi would never be able to inflict himself. They were so unique, so beautiful, so perfect . And they were sounds that he’d never be able to hear if it weren’t for Shigaraki.

Truthfully, that alone was worth the endless collection of crushed Monster cans that littered the floor of his van.

It had gotten pretty quiet in there now. The screams, the pleading, even the choked little sobs of self-pity, all muted to nothing. There was only the creaking of tired mattress springs, Shigaraki’s heavy breathing and grunting, and the occasional sound of a slap followed by irritated mumbling. Yeah, she was losing all will to fight. Which meant it was just about time for—

“Oi,” Shigaraki snapped as if on cue, throwing the van door open, “She’s no fun anymore. You take her.”

Dabi took a long last drag of his cigarette, watching as Shigaraki climbed out and readjusted himself in his pants. His partner-in-crime gave him a weirded, disgusted look at the way he took his time.

“What’re you fucking staring at me for? You want me to off her or something?”

Dabi waved him off, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stepping it out, “Nah, nah. I’m on it.”

“Hop to it then,” Shigaraki barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the passenger door of the van, “We’ve been here long enough already.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Dabi retorted as he stepped into the van.

Shigaraki whipped around, “Get bent!”

“I’m trying to,” Dabi threw right back, slamming the van door closed behind him.

He quickly pulled back his cool once he was inside. It really was amazing how quickly and effectively Shigaraki pissed him off. But he knew he needed to simmer it. He didn’t want to let his own anger and hate slip out too much in front of his newest precious angel. He’d hate to scare her off.

Dabi turned back to her with a small, but reassuring smile, “Hello.”

Of course, she didn’t respond, didn’t even bother to look at him.

She laid in more or less the same position he’d left her to Shigaraki in. Arms and legs pulled wide, cuffed to the rods mounted on each side of the van. Her once smooth and spotless skin was now swollen and purple, black and yellow in some places even, where Shigaraki had managed to break a rib and an ankle. Dry blood caked her nose and the corner of her mouth while fresh blood seeped onto the mattress out of recent scratches and cuts Shigaraki had inflicted in a last ditch effort to make her wail again.

None of that bothered him though, quite the opposite actually. He loved a roughed up woman, one at her most natural and vulnerable. It was the beauty that got him into this in the first place. No, what Dabi turned his nose up at was Shigaraki’s loads spilling out of her abused pussy, all onto her raw, reddened thighs and the crumpled tear-stained sheets.

Ugh, see this is why he’d said no when Shigaraki asked if they should get an apartment together. The motherfucker never cleaned up after himself.

“P-Please…”

Dabi turned his attention back to her face, to her eyes, dull and lifeless, staring right through the back wall of the van.

“Just kill me already…”

Oh, this sweet thing, he thought, tilting his head at her sympathetically.

He climbed onto the mattress next to her then, resting a hand gently on her hip, careful not to put any pressure on the bruises littered there. She didn’t even flinch when he did it. She was that far gone.

“Kill you?” he asked, curiosity far from feigned.

“Aren’t you those serial killers that have been on the news lately? The ones that—” she couldn’t even finish. The fate that she knew of being too much to leave her throat.

“Huh. Are we now?” he said, mostly to himself as he had a real epiphany from those words. So they were serial killers, were they?

Yeah, he could work with that…

She buried her head into the mattress, trying to muffle the dry sobs from ducts that had long gone barren.

“Please, if you’re gonna do it then just do it already! I can’t go on anymore! I can’t take it…”

He ran the back of his hand slowly, whisperingly down her cheek, “Talk to me beautiful. Tell me how I can make this better.”

This finally got something out of her. A snort of sick, stupid amusement, weak and wheezy.

“God, what fucking game are you two playing? Some sick good killer, bad killer shtick?”

Dabi smiled. She sure was spunky. Even now. What a lovely quality.

“No,” he breathed, dusting feather light kisses down her neck, her chest, that sweet, soft tummy… “No games.”

He buried his nose into the crux her thigh, reveling in the heat and tremble of her raw, abused thighs.

“W-What are you doing?!” she gasped, a whole new flavor of fear coating her voice.

“Just relax,” he purred, kissing a path all the way to her center, “I’m not gonna hurt you…”

She cried out as he licked up the length of her cunt, flicking the stud in his tongue against her clit playfully when he got there. She tried to move her hips away from him, still completely baffled and terrified by not knowing what he was going to do to her, but thanks to her restraints, the struggle only ended up pushing her hips closer to Dabi’s lips in a grind motion. A wanting motion.

It spurred him on to pleasure her further as the delusion of her reciprocation had him falling utterly in love.

Shigarai’s spunk was still slipping out of her, heavy and salty on his tongue as he buried it deeper inside her, but that didn’t matter. Her own sweetness overpowered it, those resistant sobs overpowering all of his senses, sending him into a delirium of pleasure.

Fuck, how much he wanted to throw her legs up over his shoulders, coil his arms tight around her and devour her, but he resisted. He knew how raw and wounded she was, and all he wanted from her now was a fraction of the bliss that she was giving him.

“P-Please! I don’t— nngh! ”

Her sounds were brand new now — constant choked sobs of despair and self-hatred over the way her body reacted against her will. She was so raw and oversensitive from Shigaraki’s brutal treatment, Dabi’s own gentle, devoted ministrations had her ankles straining up painfully against her restraints as she came in mere minutes.

Dabi pulled away, a crooked, love-drunk smile on his face as he watched her trembling chest rise and fall, listened to the sweet serenade of her wheezing breaths.

He hummed happily as he pulled himself back up to her level. He cupped his hand gently along her cheek.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

She snapped back to him, anger tearing violently through her “afterglow”.

“ Fuck you .” she quite literally spat, a newfound fire within her that set his own body ablaze.

Dabi brought a thumb to his cheek, stroking the spit she’d hurled at him to the corner of his own mouth. His tongue reached to meet it, and he shuddered as both of her tastes mingled on his palate.

Fuck, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He quickly back onto his haunches, trying to not let his desperation to be inside her rush or roughen his movements. He still wanted her to enjoy this, but it was taking every bit of self-control he could muster not to blow his load over the sound of her voice alone.

“W-Wait!” she yelped out, as she felt him line himself up at her entrance, “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

“I won’t sweetheart,” he breathed, easing his cockhead in slowly, “I promise this won’t hurt.”

“But it does! You doing this now— you’re hurting me!”

He groaned as her heat completely engulfed him. Between the mix of her own arousal and Shigaraki’s, and the desperate pulsing of her insides, post-orgasm, he barely even had to push his hips.

“There’s no need to lie now, your body’s completely giving you away,” he grinned, dropping his forehead to rest against hers, “Your pussy is sucking me right in.”

She choked out a sob as he rocked out of her just barely, then buried himself again, somehow deeper than before.

“ Fuck —” he groaned, “I couldn’t pull out if I tried. Your body just wants me that bad. Doesn’t it baby?”

She tried to stifle a moan as his soft yet sturdy thrusts hit that perfect angle inside of her. She managed to keep the pleasure of the sound locked in the base of her throat, allowing out only a stilted and very unladylike grunt in its place.

The horrid little sound didn’t put Dabi off in the slightest though. If anything, it endeared him. He smiled, almost giddily, as he watched that strain and struggle coarse through her. She really was perfect no matter what she did, wasn’t she?

They all were, after all.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” he urged her again between thrusts, “Do you like it like this? Does it feel good?”

“N-No, it doesn’t…” she whimpered out hoarsely, that momentary fire from before quickly extinguishing as she felt her dignity once again slipping away “Just stop…”

Dabi’s brows pinched disappointedly, hips slowing to a near-stop.

“You don’t like it like this? Soft and sweet?”

She looked back up at him, confusion creasing her own cute little face.

His hand on her hip started to tighten, nails digging deliberately into the meat of her hip, “Maybe then you liked Shigaraki’s way better…”

Her eyes widened.

“Well I can certainly do that too,” he breathed, hip suddenly snapping painfully into her.

“N-No!” she yelped, “No, please I—!” she squeezed her eyes closed tight, trying to hold back her tears, as a particularly rough thrust jostled her broken rib painfully, “I want it soft! It felt so good what you were doing before! Please! ”

“Are you sure?” Dabi tilted his head, pounding hips having yet to slow, “Don’t just say that because you think it’s what I want. This is supposed to be good for the both of us.”

“I-I’m not! Really, I mean it! I want it soft, please!” she cried out, “Please! Fuck me soft, g-gentle! Just—!”

His hips finally eased to a soft roll.

“...yeah?”

She opened her eyes then, and instantly her blood ran cold. His voice was soft and romantic, he’d gotten that part of his act down to a science, but clearly he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep that sadistic fervor from his face.

His eyes were wide, pupils blown. He was clearly trying to keep his smile even and comforting, but he couldn’t fight the way those corners twitched higher and higher, teeth grinding and showing through harder and clearer.

Just a horrible face.

This man was clearly no more a voice of reason than his more blatantly violent partner outside. He too was clearly deranged, a powder keg. Completely unpredictable.

And that made him a thousand times scarier.

Dabi leaned in closer to her, fighting to keep the manic tremble from his voice, “You want me to make love to you?”

She gulped hard, desperate to keep the absolute terror from her voice, “Y-Yes. Please… M-Make love to me…”

He stared down at her for a long moment, utterly reveling in those words long enough for her to start panicking that maybe she’d said the wrong thing.

But thankfully — god, she couldn’t believe she was thinking that — they were exactly the words he wanted to hear. He dropped his head down into her chest, groaning unabashedly as he began to hump into her again, slower for sure, but also deeper. With his entire body and being.

“Fuck, yeah… Yeah baby. Anything you want. I’ll do anything you fucking want…”

She choked out a joyless laugh at that. Anything she wanted, huh? What a fucking joke.

“You’re so good, fuck— perfect . And you too— it’s good for you? Come on tell me baby. I wanna hear how good I make you feel—”

“Uh-huh, it’s good…” she said flatly as she slipped into dissociation.

She stared up at the same tear in the headliner she’d tried to focus on by the end of Shigaraki’s torture, thinking about how oddly shaped it was. Those kinds of tears were usually outright holes, maybe with a flap of fabric hanging off of it. Or maybe it’d be just a little tear, a small line practically unnoticeable in the dim light of this van. But this one was different. Long and unnatural, it almost looked like a big Frankenstein surgical stitch. Or like the dermal piercings running up her captor’s cheeks—

Fuck. Her eyes fell back on her captors flushed, blissed out face. The electric blue of his eyes, the babbling growls spilling from his lips. She was having a much harder time tuning the pleasure out with this man than she’d had tuning out the pain with the previous one, and she didn’t know why.

Maybe it was because he was kind of her type. That’s exactly what she’d thought when he leaned out of the car window to ask her for directions after all. Watching him move over her like this, leaning down to catch her lips passionately with his own more frequently as time went on she couldn’t help but picture an alternate universe.

One where he really had been asking for directions to the beach. Where he’d been alone in his car rather than having a freak friend in the back, lying in wait. And where she’d been standing on the well-trafficked main street just a couple blocks down instead of in front of the empty alleyway she’d been smoking a blunt in when he’d stopped.

A universe where they’d flirted and hit it off and exchanged phone numbers and eventually he’d taken her on a date rather than just taken her. Where these sweet nothings and pleasurable rolls of his hips were accompanied with champagne and room service rather than rope and broken bones.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pictured it all, what a wonderful life this could’ve been.

“Shhh, shh, shhh,” he cooed, “It’s okay. You’re so perfect, it’s okay…”

But that only caused her to sob harder, face reddening voice straining as she wailed uncontrollably. She didn’t even notice Dabi’s hand slipping up along her body and up to the base of her neck.

His thumb settled snug into that soft, sensitive dip of her throat.

God, she was crying so hard now, she couldn’t breathe.

And then he started to squeeze.

Wait, no, really. She couldn’t fucking breathe —!

She gasped out suddenly, arms instinctually shooting forward to try and force his hand off, but she was once again denied by her restraints. She quickly shifted gears, thrashing her body up and down wildly. And for a moment, she did loosen his grip.

But then he brought his second hand to her throat, pushing her deeper into the mattress.

“Perfect,” he growled through the steady snapping of his hips, “So fucking perfect…”

Her throat bobbed and begged as he constricted his hands tighter, getting lost in the song of her voice getting steadily higher, weaker, until she couldn’t form a word at all, could only gurgle and croak desperately.

“Oh yeah, just like that. Be good for me baby,” he groaned, “Be good…”

He couldn’t say that this was the best part of these excursions, he savored every moment of it after all.

…But there was something particularly special about these last few moments.

It was so rare that anybody actually got to witness them, let alone experience them with their own hands — this perfect feeling of her body both tightening and going pliant around him, stiff and spasming, not to mention the view of it all that sent him barrelling frantically towards his release.

Fuck, she was so pretty! The way her drool spilled out her mouth, all gurgled and frothy. That lovely shade of blue she was starting to turn. The rabid fear that filled those eyes before they started to roll back — fuck even the pink undersides of her eyes were cute. He wondered what the backs of them, the optic nerves, looked like. He was sure they’d be adorable.

He couldn’t wait to see.

310 notes · View notes

lovifie · 8 months ago

Text

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 9: Soap’s Date

Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

W: Soap x Reader (+ Ghost), sex on the exterior, lots of butt stuff, oral sex, anal sex, phone sex, Soap being an absolute mutt as usual, voyeurism. I think that's it.

“Tell me again, Johnny.” You say yawning, looking back at Johnny as he finishes getting everything in the car. “Why are we leaving so early? The sun is not even out.”

“Because, mo ghraidh, I only have a day with you for myself alone.” He says once he has secured everything, he closes the boot and opens the driver's side door to sit down behind the steering wheel before he keeps talking. “And we have already wasted 4 hours.”

“I wouldn't call it waste, you know? Taking into consideration humans are supposed to sleep 8 of them.” You say chuckling when you see him pout and you move your arm over his seat to rest your forearm on his shoulder and caress the back of his head.

“Do you no longer love me, bonnie?” He asks, dramatically sighing and covering his eyes with a hand.

You playfully slap his shoulder. “If the military ever fails you should pursue a career in acting, Johnny.”

“Will you be my date when I get my second Oscar?” He asks, completely dropping the act of being sad to look at you smiling.

“Your second?” You ask chuckling.

“Yeah, sorry, I already promised my first to Gaz.” He admits, making you laugh out loud.

“Fine, fine. Second Oscar for me then, got it.” You say smiling, taking your arm back to fasten your seatbelt when Soap does the same.

The sun is just starting to rise by the time he turns off the engine at the top of the cliff.

“What you think?” He asks, smiling when you lean down resting on the dashboard to see more clearly.

“Almost as pretty as you, Johnny.” You say cheeky winking at him.

“Hey, you stole my line!” He complains, a little pink blush on the top of his cheeks. He opens his door to get out making you chuckle at his escape attempt.

You try to open your door, setting a foot outside just to be pushed back inside by a hand on your face. Once you are back inside he closes the door, waits a second and opens it back again holding a hand for you

“Oh, my. Such a gentleman, Johnny.” You say sarcastically making him chuckle.

“I know, right?” He says with a boyish smile that makes you want to squish his face.

You finally step out, letting him close the door behind you. He goes to the back, opens the boot and hands you the bag with food so he can take the tent out.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to sleep in the car?” You ask, seeing him pick up everything else.

“To sleep maybe, but to do to you what I'm planning to do… the tent is better.” He says, winking at you and making you blush this time.

“Oh, wait, what you said yesterday…” you trail off.

“I meant it.” He says chuckling. “As long as you want, of course.”

“Yeah, no, that's not it…” you say, a nervous feeling bubbling up in your stomach. He quickly catches it, dropping everything on the floor and walking up to you, cupping your face with his hands and kissing you softly. “Don't worry your pretty head about the bureaucracy, love. I'll make sure to eat you out long, and sweet, and nicely.” He says between kisses making you melt in his hands. “And I'll make you cum again, and again, and again. I'll get all soft and needy, by the time I get my dick in your tight little ass you'll be such a mess the only thing you'll be able to think it's about how good it feels.” He says, looking at your eyes. “Sounds good?” He asks, and you quickly nod as if you couldn't feel your panties starting to get moist. “Perfect, let's get everything set.”

He pats your head with a kiss to your forehead and picks everything back up, turning around the car to where he wants to set the tent and you are left stunned for a moment before you pick yourself up and walk after him.

He sets up the tent with ease, giving you orders to help him when a second person is needed (not that he couldn't set it on his own, he could easily. But he uses it as an excuse to walk behind you, grinding against you as he does; his hand travelling up and down your body) and by the time the tent is ready and everything is tidy; you are already an absolute mess. Grumpy with need and bothered by his apparent lack of effect.

“What has your knickers on a twist, bonnie lass?” He asks, chuckling when he sees your arms crossed.

“You!” You say simply, sitting down on the mattress.

“Me?” He asks smiling, laying down next to you propping his head on his flexed arm. “Or the thought of me fucking you silly, mo ghraidh?”

“Johnny!” You exclaim, trying to slap his chest but he catches your hand pulling you on top of him. “Don't be nasty…”

“Oh, love. Don't play coy on me now, I know you love it when I speak pure filth to you.” He says, his hand pulling your leg up so you are resting closer to his face. “Am I wrong?”

You advert his gaze, looking at his hand on your thigh. “I don't know what you are talking about…”

He laughs, shaking you with him. “You are a smart girl to try that with me, if you tried that with Price he would have you crying already for spanking you like a brat, you know?”

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Johnny boy.” You joke smiling looking at him, thinking he is just bluffing.

“Oh, I do.” He answers right away, smiling at the memory. You look at him with an eyebrow raised, the mental image of Soap lying on Price's lap getting his ass beat is interesting if anything. “Ha… you wanna see it, don’t cha, nasty girl?”

“You know what? I may get you in trouble just to see it.” You joke, saying it only to get a raise out of him.

“Keep being naughty, and I'll be the lucky one seeing it.” He says, grabbing a handful of your asscheek and gripping it hard until you whine about it. Feeling as if you just got slapped on the ass without the kinkiness of it. “Take off your clothes, love.”

It takes you by surprise the sudden change in action. “Like that? Just… straight at it?” You ask, a bit dumbfounded.

“Well, we can go on a hike if you prefer it.” He says chuckling when you put a disgusted expression on your face. “Then get naked.”

You oblige, trying to keep the facade of mild annoyance, while he takes his clothes to sit down and you can't help but stare at his jet to get hard dick.

“You are not even turned on, Johnny.” You say, looking at him with a smirk. “Need a hand?”

“Oh, no, don't even worry about it, love. It's just a matter of time, and the earliest I get my mouth on you the earlier it'll get hard.” He says smiling, his hands pulling you closer and down on your stomach on the mattress.

“Wait.” You say, propping yourself on your elbow to look back at him. He raises his eyes that were looking at your naked ass to look at your face with a worried expression. “If I don't…”

“If you don't like it.” He cuts you off, leaning forward close to your face. “I stop. If you don't like the ass attention but want to keep going I'll humbly go apeshit crazy on your godly cunt and if you simply are not in the mood for action, I'll go behind a tree and fuck my fist like a monkey.” He says, exaggerating his choice of words to make you smile; you cup his face when he gives you a peck looking into your eyes for reassurance. “Alright, love? Talk to me, alright? I'll have my mouth busy, not my ears.” He jokes, taking away the little nervousness left on your body. “Get your ass up, on your knees. I want to taste that delightful cunt of yours, love.”

You smile, softly slapping his face with playfulness and get on your hands and knees, bending down and crossing your arms to rest your head on them; arching your back leaving Soap the full view of your cunt and ass when you slightly spread your legs.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, birdie. What kind of ring do you want? I'll buy it for you tomorrow, you just gotta ask.” He mumbles, feeling his breath getting closer and closer to your wetness. A sigh escapes your mouth when you feel his tongue go flat from your mount up to your ass leaving a kiss on the small of your back at the end. “Fucking delicious, bonnie.”

He does again, and again, and again; you look between your legs and you see a glob of your arousal mixed with his spit stretching down from your cunt right onto the tip of his hardening tip making him grunt at the same time you moan because of the filth of the image.

He plants both his hands on your ass, spreading it to have better access to your crying cunt; shoving his face against it but still delightfully slow. It catches you by surprise the calmness with which he is doing it, it is still by no way methodical, but it is not as chaotic as you expected. It's slow, tongue hard against your fold making you feel every twitch of the muscle and groans that leave his throat which accompanied by the way he’s thrusting the air unconsciously makes you wonder who is enjoying more. You feel your orgasm approach, surprising you again, there has not been an increase in the speed or a change of focus from him. Just lazy swipes of his tongue on your cunt up to your asshole, but you shudder when you come; ecstasy flooding your nerves and making you moan his name. But it's not the kind of orgasm that leaves you shaking and silly-minded, is the type that makes you move your hips back looking for more, angry at the betrayal of your body for coming so fast.

“That's a good fucking girl.” Soap groans against your pussy and you hear the smile on his voice. “Thank you for coming so fast, dear. I couldn't wait to get my tongue inside your ass.” He says, biting down on your asscheek making you whine.

He moves back, sitting down between your legs and he moves his hands under your body pulling you back against his face before he licks right on your hole. You moan at the feeling, the nastiness of it all only fueling the pleasure. “Ghost is going to be so fucking jealous I get your arse all for myself, birdie. You have no idea.”

“Fuck, Johnny…” you moan, pussy throbbing at the lack of attention. You try to reach it with your hand, needing to feel something inside.

“Now, what in the hell do you think you are doing?” He asks, annoyance in his voice when he slaps your hand, your pussy getting slapped in the process as well making you hiss. “Are you so greedy you can't even let me get my fair share of your ass? You just came, birdie. You just can't simply wait to get stuffed, right?”

You whine, too embarrassed to admit it but horny enough to push your ass back against him. He lands a hard smack on your ass making you cry, grabs both of your hands making you rest your body weight on your face when he moves them both behind your back and dives back on your ass making you moan.

He has you bent almost in half, your thigh pressed against your chest squishing your tits which Soap takes to his advantage when he starts to thrust forward rubbing his tip between them almost edging himself with the light touch.

He groans against your asshole, the tip on his tongue probing again and again, slowly but surely getting deeper until you feel his teeth on your skin, tongue as deep as possible making your eyes roll back when he moves it in and out, thrusting his tongue onto your ass.

His tip pouring a droplet of precum down between your tits up to your neck like a delicate necklace and you twist your wrist needing to grab his hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, and if the situation was different you would laugh at how it feels more intimate to feel his hand on yours than to feel his tongue inside of you.

You are a babbling mess by the time he decides he has had enough, mind so blurry you can't even tell if you came again. He ate your pussy as if he was kissing it, soft, gentle and calm. But at some point after that, when your ass got into the mix, it changed into a Soap with almost a primal need to get as deep as possible inside of you.

He lays you on your stomach, still not letting go of your hands. You hear him look for something in the bags, and he drops it beside your head a second later. You turn your head to the side and you see what he found; a bottle of lube and his phone currently on a call.

“Who-” You question get cut off by a gasp when you feel Soap's tip rub your clit.

“Pickup, c’mon, pickup, pickup, pickup.” You hear Soap mumble over you, the ringing of the call still going.

“What, Johnny?” The unmistakable sound of Ghost's voice erupts from the phone and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Fucking finally, Lt. Look out the window, now.” The scotsman orders, which makes the mancunian chuckle at the desperation.

“Johnny, what are you-” Your question gets cut off by a moan that could easily classify as a scream when Soap bottoms out inside of your cunt in one swift thrust. The stretch making little white dots appear on your vision and you damn well if you were not dripping with arousal he would have broken you in two.

“Oh, hi, birdie. I see you are having fun.” Ghost says chuckling. “Go easy on her, Johnny.”

“I can't…” Soap mumbles, his head resting on top of yours. “So fucking tight, I just know her ass is going to choke my dick so nice.”

The two men talk about you as if you were not even there, the stinging sensation quickly dissipates when he starts to thrust; slowly as if asking for forgiveness for his lack of control just a moment ago.

Soap bends down, moving a hand under your jaw to pick your head up. “Look at the window, birdie.” He says. You are completely confused for a second, barely able to see the building in the distance, let alone a window. “Do it, Ghost.”

In that second, an almost missable flint of lights appears on one of the windows catching your attention. “Do you see me, birdie?” Ghost asks through the phone. “Because I can see you.”

Soap groans over you. “Oh, she sees you, Lt.” He chuckles. “And by the way she's clenching. She likes it.”

“Aww, does our little bird like to be watched?” Ghost coos, amusement in his voice.

“Hmm, ‘s you.” You mumble between moans, struggling to articulate the words.

“What is it, love?” Soap asks, bending down to kiss your shoulder as his hips slowly stop to let you talk.

“I like it… cause is you…” You half whine, embarrassed to say it more clearly. But it is more than enough for Ghost, who feels his heart and dick throb at the declaration.

“Johnny.” He groans.

“Yes, Lt?” Soap answers, same struggle as you.

“Do me a favour… fuck her nice… and turn on the camera.”

“Gladly, sir” He says straightening himself, picking up the phone and the lube on his way. He turns the camera on, pointing it to where the two of you are connected; opens up the lube bottle before dropping a blob over your asshole.

“I bet you wish this was you, ah?” Johnny smiles as he teases Ghost, his thumb pressing down on your hole slowly before entering with ease thanks to the lube and the fact you are already fucked out of your mind.

You moan softly when he does, pressing his finger down against the thin wall between his finger and his dick that is still inside of you. He grabs your asscheek, thumb still inside, spreading you for Ghost to see.

“You are a bloody lucky bastard, Johnny.” You hear Ghost groan, sounds of clothes being moved around can be heard from the phone. “But don't test it.”

He removes the thumb, getting his index in instead; moving it in when he moves his dick back, and the finger out when he moves his dick in. It's such an alien feeling, the stinging from the stretch long gone and replaced with the arousal of his finger and dick moving in and out.

“Hold the phone for me, love.” Soap says before changing the camera to front view, you hold it over your shoulder letting Ghost see the way Soap is working you open on his fingers.

Soap grabs the lube again, spurring it over his finger generously before adding a second one; the phone shaking on your phone when you moan at the stretch. He scissors his fingers opening you up, his dick still moving slowly inside of your drenched cunt; more to keep your mind busy with pleasure than for his own.

There is something so filthy about the whole ordeal, doing something “prohibited”, the sound of Soap shaking the lube bottle, the sound of the lube being squished onto your body, the sound of his fingers fucking it inside of you, the sound of your pussy sucking his dick in.

He takes his time, making sure you are stretched nicely and loose, wanting to make you feel nothing but pleasure when he finally fucks you. It takes him four fingers inside of you to feel like you are ready for him. By that time, you are an absolute mess; using every bit of strength left to hold the phone.

And your mind can't help but wonder about how it would be if Ghost was also in the tent, if Soap was not opening you up for himself but for his lieutenant. How it would be to be in between the two men.

“Johnny…” you moan, desperate for more. “Please…”

“Sshhh, birdie.” He shushes you when you cry for him. “I know, baby, I know.” He bends down, kissing your back and slowly taking his fingers out. “I'm gonna do it slowly, alright? Don't hold your breath, just relax.”

You nod eagerly, needy of the feeling of his hips hitting yours. Johnny moves your hand with the phone, holding it down so he can see your face on the screen when he fucks you.

And when his tip catches your puffy hole, your eyes close and your jaw falls open leaving your mouth in an o shape. But you do just as he said, relaxed taking deep breaths as you feel the man split you open.

“C’mon, bonnie lass. Let me in.” Soap grunts in your ear when you clench down out of pleasure. He kisses your neck, under your ear, making your eyes roll as you bite your lips; relaxing and allowing him to keep pushing his hips.

Mumbles can be heard from the phone, the man struggling to stay quiet at the sight of his lovers getting their brains fuck out together. He has had his dick out for a while now in the solitude of his office, not wanting to touch it leaving it red and angry. But the sounds of your and Soap's moan in harmony is enough to have him fisting his dick, squeezing his tip, milking the firsts bead of precum out of it.

Soap thrust shallowly, wanting to move but hating the thought of leaving your warm body. You can feel him drool on your shoulder blade and you would make fun of him if you weren't on the same train.

“Let me see it, Johnny.” Ghost grunts, the sound of spitting in the background of the call.

Soap whines, hating his devotion to the british man that makes his body move before he can acknowledge it. He holds your thigh raising it and turning you to lay on your side with a leg in the air and Soap lying behind you. He picks the phone from your hand, resting it on the lube bottle so Ghost can see the way he fucks you and both their faces at the same time.

Ghost groans at the sight, his fist moving faster; the image on the phone shaky with the speed at which he fucks his hand. But the way you moan when Soap begins to thrust inside and out of you is enough to have Ghost pull his head back with a groan.

Soap sees the way you furrow your eyebrows, such an exquisite feeling but still needing the extra stimulation of a hand on your clit. And you have been such a good girl? How can he not obey your needs when you have been so good?

So he uses his lubed hand, trapped under your body, and moves it down to rest on your puffy clit, rubbing circles on it. Slowly at first, just as his thrusts; rising up the speed of both at the same time.

It has you curling your toes, moaning his name to the cliff just outside the tent. He locks his arm under your knee, pulling it closer leaving you even more exposed and he starts to kiss your body. On your knee, your thigh, your temple, your cheek. He can barely do it, just smearing his spit-covered lips over your body leaving a sticky trail of saliva over you; whining when he can’t manage to kiss you on your lips fast enough.

Ghost is edging himself, he knows it, he's slouched on the chair; having slipped down on it when thrusting up to his fist. His feet hurt with the way they are arched to keep him seated and his elbow is in an awkward position under the armrest. Still, his hand is moving so fast is just a blurry image and he knows that the moment either of you comes he'll follow.

So when he finally hears you moan, loudly enough that if he wasn't on a phone call he would have heard it from the window, making Soap grunt as he bites down on your shoulder as he comes as well deep inside of you. Ghost can't help it but to moan, throwing his head back, phone falling on his chest as he needs the extra hand not to fall from the chair as he cums over his hand and onto his abdomen. Phone rising with his breath, finally seeing the way your legs shake after you cum; Soap letting your leg down to rest and hugging you tightly against him as he kisses your face. Smiling when he sees you melt into his arms, and the two of you look like cats grooming each other.

“Thank you for calling, Johnny. Enjoy your date, birdie.” He says, still breathing hard before hanging up, struggling to find the energy to clean up and get back to work.

“You did so good, birdie.” Soap says, kissing your cheek. “Did you like it, lovie?”

You nod, unable to speak with your eyes unfocused on the ceiling of the tent. “Yeah… yeah I did…”

He chuckles behind you, kissing you again and again, his softening cock still inside of you and with no plan of leaving.

It turns into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other warmth. You look up to him, smiling when you see him look down at you with a stupid smile on his face. You cup his face, smiling fondly when he leans into the touch. “Johnny…” you call, only getting a “hm?” as an answer. “Is it weird if I think I'm starting to fall in love with you guys?” You say, before realising you have just declared your feeling to most likely the worst of them to do so. Especially when you see his face shine in mischievousness, he laughs loudly before crushing you in a bear hug that has you ready to hear a bone pop.

“AW, BIRDIE, I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL EVERYONE YOU LOVE ME THE MOST!”

“JOHNNY, THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAI-”

Your attempt to defend yourself gets crushed when Soap kisses you harshly, making you whine and letting his tongue inside of your mouth. It is not much longer before you feel his dick get back ready into action, and let's just say you were really glad that Soap packed isotonic drinks for when you are finished that day.

Hi, my lovelies!! 💗💗💗

How have you been?

I already have the next one written, hehe. My plan is to write the rest and post it as I go, maybe work on some requests. Those of you waiting for Spidey and the new series, please just be as patient as you have been for this one it really means a lot to me ❤️

TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @cassiecasluciluce @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tired-writer04 @evolutionarry @prettykinkysoul @pagesfalling @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @sodavrr @anirok2 @lilliumrorum @ladyxtiger @multy-fandom-lover @thriving-n-jiving @lotionlamp @spicyspicyliving @xxeiraxx @vampirekilmerfic @keiraslayz @risingofjupiter @witchthewriter @soupinasock @phantomly27 @arbesa-mind @multifandomheathenannie @spadekip @cmbghost @herefor-tojis-tits @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @mothsdrabbles @cod-z @l0velifehatey0u @bunnysdaydreams @contractedcriteria

751 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 9 months ago

Text

The Rite of Movement | part four

“so move me, baby”

A/N: so like the little slut that I am…I was kicking my feet and giggling at my desk yesterday while writing this 🤭 I surprise myself with just how filthy I can get, woo doggy! Please read the warnings and if this isn’t your cup of tea, just scroll on by baby love! No harm 💗 thank you to my bug @strang3lov3 for the moodboard!! I love u so much & a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing 🥺

~word count: 6.4k~

Summary: you meet Tommy Miller for the first time, and he takes you for a spin ;)

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!tommy x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, established relationship, Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in her 30’s, mentions of alcohol and smoking, consent, unprotected piv, fingering, pussy play, f!masturbation, semi-public sex, reader and Tommy fuck and Joel’s into it, amateur porn video in the back of Tommy’s truck, language, filthy talk, praise kink, daddy kink, over stimulation/fucked out, light degradation (by Tommy but in a sexy non-offensive way), dumbification kink (endearing), readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions, reader, Joel, and Tommy, are sexually liberated individuals, NSFW, +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed anything!

playlist🎧 series masterlist

“Joel…” you trailed off, picking at a loose thread on your denim skirt absentmindedly. “What if your brother doesn’t like me?” You questioned in an unsure tone.

He turned to face you, leaning over the dashboard while he rested his elbow along the steering wheel, “baby love, you ain’t got nothin’ to be worried about with my brother, okay? Think y’all are gonna get on like a house fire.” He winked in an attempt to soothe your budding nerves. “What about meetin’ him is gettin’ ya all worked up? Talk to me, darlin.’”

He gently grasped your bare knee in his big, warm, palm.

“This is going to sound so fucking stupid, Joel. But what if he finds me annoying—repulsive? I always get nervous when I’m meeting new people. I’m surprised I didn’t completely shit a brick when I first met you for instance.” You stifled a nervous laugh as you looked over at him.

He gave you that warm reassuring smile of his, dimples peeking through as he gently squeezed your knee. “Y’all are gonna get on just fine, ‘Kay? And listen, between you and me, Tommy and I—we uh—we discussed the possibility of the three of us filmin’ somethin’ together at some point. Now, there ain’t no rush for any of that, okay? Last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or pressured to get along with him.”

Your pupils dialated, thighs clenching inwards at the prospect of fucking…Tommy? Holy fuck—was this real life?

“You, and Tommy—fucking me?” You spluttered out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. There was no denying that Tommy Miller was a real hunk, with the personality of a horny golden retriever. He was the complete opposite of Joel, but that intrigued you nonetheless.

“Only if you’d be interested in that, baby love. You don’t gotta decide right now, okay? Tonight’s all about you. If you’re feelin’ my brother, I want you to act on it only if you’re comfortable. He’s a real looker, but I’ve made sure that he’s a good Texas gentleman.” Joel reassured you as he was silently trying to gauge how you were feeling thus far based off your body language.

“And you’d be okay with him and I…?” You trailed off, meeting his gaze as you reached for his hand on your knee, interlocking your fingers through his.

“Of course I would be. I’m not gonna get weirdly jealous or possessive if you want to fuck my brother, baby love. That’s why I wanted to have this conversation with you ahead of tonight, because Tommy? He’s interested, but I told him to let you feel it out, and to not spring it on ya right away.”

He watched the subtle clench of your inner thighs, your pupils blown wide and your lips parting. He knew you were turned on by the prospect of fucking his brother, and your arousal inherently turned him on as well.

He dropped his forearm from its resting spot along the steering wheel and brought his hand to your other knee where he proceeded to coax your thighs open just a tad. You didn’t need much coaxing at all as your thighs naturally parted open, thoughts running wild.

“Look at me, baby love.” He rasped, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Is the thought of fucking my brother turnin’ you on, darlin?’ Ya drippin’ all pretty for him already?”

“Fuck.” You breathed out, eyes rolling back into your skull. Joel had barely even touched you yet, and you were leaking like a damn faucet through the gusset of your thin panties. You could feel a droplet of your arousal drip down and create a wet patch through the fabric. Your eyes met his, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth, pupils darkened like an oncoming storm, blown wide like a doe’s.

“I never thought the possibility of fucking your brother would arise, Joel. It’s like—a fantasy coming true.” You breathed out, head lolling to the side, “I think he has such a nice fucking cock.”

Joel preened, leaning the upper half of his body further over the center console as his fingers trailed closer to your covered core. He could feel you pulsing already, the anticipation of being touched igniting a fire in your veins the closer his fingers drew nearer.

“A fantasy come true, huh? You think about my brother a lot, baby love? S’okay if you do. Got yourself all worked up now…almost creating a mess on the seat with how fuckin’ wet your pussy is gettin’, baby.”

You whined out his name, letting yourself fully succumb to your depraved thoughts of fucking Tommy. Your brain felt fried, imploded to complete mush, and yet your Joel didn’t show a lick of judgment towards your arousal. In fact, he encouraged it and therefore you had no reason to feel shameful.

“Why don’t you get me all ready for him, Joel. C’mon baby, please. Play with me a little. Play with my pussy while I think about fucking your brother’s cock, Joel.” You shamelessly shifted your hips towards his hand, chasing his touch with unabashed desire.

He checked the time on his watch, a coy smirk playing on his sinful lips as he looked over at you, “Think we can afford to be fashionably late, baby love.”

Joel and Tommy’s local watering hole was exactly how you expected it to be: not the classiest, and certainly not your first pick, but if Joel were any other man, you would have hightailed out of there. But this was your Joel, and his warm palm guiding you to a booth that was tucked away in the corner. You were grateful for the outfit that you chose to wear for the evening could grant easy access. And with the residue of your release still coated between your thighs, you felt the trepidation and anticipation of what was to happen when Tommy would inevitably show up.

The thought had you buzzing all over again as you found yourself tucked into the wall seat of the booth, Joel’s hand finding purchase around your bare thigh as he leaned in, the tip of his aquiline nose brushing against your pulse point.

“Want anythin’ to drink, baby love? Or just water for now?” He rasped low and deep, sending goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Tequila, on the rocks.” You purred out your request, gripping on the edge of the booths worn leather for dear life.

“‘Kay, baby love. One tequila on the rocks comin’ right up.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your face, leaving a whiff of his cologne and musk on your skin.

You watched as he slipped out of the booth and made his way over to the bartop, sleeves rolled up revealing broad, tan, forearms. His fingers that had only just been plunged deep into your pulsing cunt twenty minutes ago, were now casually flipping through a stack of twenties.

“S’cuse me, ma’am. This seat ain’t taken, is it?”

You peered up from your phone at the sound of the stranger's all-too familiar voice. A deep Texas drawl straight out of a western film, paired with two dark espresso colored eyes, a broad nose, and a head of dark, luscious curls that fell in ringlets.

Tommy fucking Miller, and that shit eating smirk of his that sent your thighs clenching together in tandem.

Holy—I need a glass of water.

“Oh, no. It’s not taken. Please, sit down.” You gestured to the empty seat across the booth with a nervous smile.

Tommy slipped into the booth with ease and reached behind his ear and pulled out a single cigarette, twirling it between his fingers before he placed it between his lips. He reached across the booth's table, hand outstretched in your direction. “Y’must be my big brother’s baby love. M’Tommy, the hotter Miller brother. It’s a pleasure to finally meet ya.”

You blinked, registering in your brain that Tommy Miller was in fact sitting across from you and looking like a goddamn snack nonetheless.

You reached for his hand, shaking it firmly, “charmed.” You grinned.

“Damn. And she’s polite too? My brother got the whole package with ya huh, sweetheart?” He chuckled smoothly, shaking your hand a moment longer before he retracted his. “Y’don’t mind if I smoke do ya?”

“Oh, no. Of course! I don’t mind.”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, lighting the cigarette with ease before he leaned back against the worn leather cushion, stretching his arm to rest along the backside of the booth, long fingers stretched out—flexing.

“Where’s the son of a bitch anyway?” Tommy asked casually, the lit end of the cigarette dipping downwards between his lips.

“He’s right here.” Joel had returned with your tequila on the rocks, and two glasses of neat whiskey. He slid one over to his brother with a small nod. “And you can’t smoke in here, Tommy.” Joel reminded him as he slid into the seat next to you.

“Says who? Doreen don’t give a damn.” Tommy quipped back as he reached for his glass, tipping it in yours and Joel’s direction.

“That’s cause Doreen’s got the fattest fuckin’ crush on you and that big head of yours.” Joel scoffed against the rim of his glass taking a sip before he turned his attention towards you. “Gotcha a water as well, baby love.”

“Who the hell you callin’ a big head, huh?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully and grasped the cigarette between his two fingers, replacing it with the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “How’s y’all’s evenin’ goin’ so far? Gettin’ into any trouble?”

“Believe I called you a big head, Tommy.” Joel chuckled, letting his free arm gently drape across your shoulders, squeezing them gently as you took a sip of your tequila on the rocks, letting the liquor burn down your throat and warm your stomach. “S’goin’ pretty good. First time baby loves been here, ain’t that right?”

You didn’t register that Joel was talking to you, his voice sounding fuzzy in your ears as you took a bigger sip of your drink. “What?” You questioned softly, being brought back down to earth when you felt his warm palm gently squeeze your shoulder. The heat rose to your cheeks fast and you cleared your throat, turning your face to the side to hide how flustered you were.

“Whatcha ya gettin’ all shy on us for, sweetheart? You don’t gotta do that with us. I swear, I don’t bite, unless ya want me to.” Tommy said with a coy wink.

“She’s just a lil’ bashful is all, cause on the way here she was—”

You cut Joel off, squeezing his bicep firmly in your palm. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick, okay?” You kissed his cheek sweetly, and before he could even get up from the booth, you were slipping past him when you saw an opening.

Joel and Tommy both watched as you quickly walked to the nearest bathroom before they looked back at one another. Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette when Joel spoke again,

“She’s got the hots for you, little brother. She made a goddamn mess all over my fingers on the way here cus’ she was thinkin’ about your cock.” Joel said in a hushed, low tone.

Tommy’s brows raised as he leaned over the table, resting his cigarette off to the side. “Fuck. Y’serious? Goddamn. She make a mess all over the seat too? Bet she fuckin’ did.”

“Mhmmm.” Joel hummed, leaning back against the seat. “She told me that you have a nice fuckin’ cock.” He chuckled, shaking his head to the side before he leaned forward, “Now, when she gets back here after composing herself, I want you to flirt with her a bit. Let her come to you, okay? Y’gotta play nice with her, Tommy. She’s a sweet thing, and I know y’all are gonna get along jus’ fine.”

“Good god.” Tommy said lowly, holding back a groan. “You hit the fuckin’ jackpot with that one, Joel. I’ll play nice with her, scouts honor. Y’know I’ll take extra good care of her.”

“I know you will. She jus’ couldn’t believe it when I said that you and I discussed the possibility of filmin’ a video with her. Absolutely blew her fuckin’ mind with that one. But god, she looked so pretty all flustered and turned on thinkin’ about the two of us fuckin’ her.” Joel reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid around and took another slow sip.

“Fuck, I bet she did look goddamn gorgeous like that. You got yourself a real filthy and nice girl, Joel. A man’s fuckin’ dream, you lucky son of a bitch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen your grumpy ass smile that much in my whole life. It’s refreshin’ seein’ you grinnin’ like a sinner in church.” Tommy chuckled warmly.

Joel preened as he thought about you. “She’s really amazing, Tommy. She’s been so supportive and brave, and we’re having so much fun with it. It’s been so long since work has felt fun, you know? Who’d’ve thought fucking would get old.” He chuckled with a small grin playing on his lips and a flush rising on his cheeks. “Never really met anyone quite like her, honestly.”

“Goddamn. Who’s in here choppin’ up the fuckin’ onions, huh? Fuck. You’re in love with her, ain’t ya? That’s amazing. I’m seriously so fuckin’ happy for you, Joel.”

“Fuck.” Joel said suddenly, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. “Shit. Yeah—I think, I think I am in love with her. It’s not too soon, is it? I mean—we jus’ we get eachother. I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person before. She gets me, Tommy. The real me. She sees my heart before she sees my job, and no other woman in my life has ever seen me in that light.” He sniffles, feeling tears prick the corner of his eyes at his emotional confession.

“Yeah, you got the love bug bad, brother. Really, really, bad. But y’know what? I know you ain’t bluffin’ about this one either. You’re speakin’ from your goddamn heart. I hear it in your voice, and that’s a beautiful fuckin’ thing, Joel. Cus’ if anyone deserves love in this world, it’s you. So you keep holdin’ onto that, ‘Kay?” Tommy said earnestly and reached across the table to gently squeeze Joel’s shoulder

“Shuddup, Tommy. Or you’re really gonna make me cry.” Joel chuckled through his tears, quickly wiping at his eyes. “I’m gonna keep holdin’ onto her for as long as she’ll have me. I’m hopin’ she’s endgame for me.”

“I reckon she will be.”

After you splashed a bit of water on your face and gave yourself a detailed pep talk in the women’s bathroom, you finally mustered up the courage to face Joel and Tommy again. Joel had reassured you in the car that nothing had to happen right away. He always wanted you to be comfortable and this was something that you were still getting used to. The idea of someone caring about you that much? It used to be unfathomable .

You never realized just how good it could get until you met Joel Miller. You were hoping that he would be your endgame too.

After taking one last glance into the mirror you left the bathroom with a new confident stride as you approached the booth. Joel greeted you with a warm and reassuring smile, and when he went to get up, you gently placed your hand against his chest, easing him back down onto the leather seat before you slid in beside him.

Tommy gently nudged your ankle with the toe of his boot, testing the waters with you and heeding Joel’s words to let you come to him.

“Y’feelin’ alright, sweetheart? Can we getcha anythin?” Tommy asked softly, brown eyes looking warm and inviting across the way.

“I’m okay.” You reassured him with a small smile. “It was just—getting really hot in here.” You said with a light laugh to ease the tension.

“Tends to happen when you’re feelin’ flustered.” Tommy added as he leaned in over the table. “Y’know, sweetheart,” he started, “S’okay if I call ya that?”

You nodded, reaching for your glass and took a quick sip.

“I watched one of your films the other day, and I gotta tell ya, you have some real talent. Not jus’ sayin’ that either. I mean it. You’re gorgeous, and I jus’ wanna let you know that there’s no pressure or anythin’ alright? We don’t even gotta do anythin’ tonight if you ain’t feelin’ up for it.”

Joel leaned in close to you then, warm whiskey coated breath kissing your skin as his arm gently wrapped around you, giving you a squeeze.

“Wouldn’t believe how good that pussy is, brother. Like nothin’ else you’ve ever had. Never wanna have another, truly.” He preened, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Your thighs clamped together immediately and you could feel the corners of Joel’s lips upturn into a small grin.

“Don’t doubt that for a second, Joel.” Tommy nodded and ashed his cigarette along the rim of his empty glass. “Sweetheart, you’re such a natural, babygirl. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’re gonna become a star.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks from both Joel and Tommy’s words and if you were already on your way to hell, well—you just bought yourself a first class ticket!

“You really think I’m gonna be a star, Tommy?” You leaned forward against the table to match his energy, feeling yourself gravitating in his direction.

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “Now, Joel here wants me to take care of ya for a little. Y’okay with that, sweetheart? He’s gonna sit here nice n’comfy if you wanna—”

You were already up from the booth, reaching for Tommy’s hand in a haste and pulling him down the aisle and towards the door of the bar.

Tommy stumbled after you, his palm warm in your grasp as he followed you to the door. But being the gentleman that he was, he held the door open for you, letting you walk past first before he followed suit. “Where do you wanna go, babygirl?” He rasped against your ear, broad arm swooping around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“Your truck.” you said confidently, slipping your hand into the back pocket of his dark washed jeans.

“Fuck. You wanna make a mess all over my seats too, babygirl?” He reached for his keys, twirling them around his fingers.

Goddammit, Joel. You thought.

“Did he tell you that?” You squeaked out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“He sure as fuck did, sweetheart. He also told me that you think I have a nice fuckin’ cock.” he chuckled, guiding you towards the direction of his parked pickup truck.

“Well, you do have a nice fucking cock, Tommy. And while your brother was playing with me earlier, all I could think about was you and your cock fucking me.” You lowered your voice when an unsuspecting couple walked past the two of you.

“Mmm. I knew that you were a little freak under all those nerves, babygirl. Gonna take real good care of you, okay?” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, letting his hand curve around your hip. He was thankfully parked in a secluded spot in the lot where people would really have to pay attention to even see the debauchery that would soon be taking place.

He unlocked the back door for you, but before you could climb in, he gently pressed you back against it. “Before I fuck your brains out, I jus’ wanted to let you know that even though you’re consentin’ now, you can change your mind, okay? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone with blue balls, babygirl. I want you to enjoy yourself and if you end up not wantin’ to continue, jus’ let me know, ‘Kay?” His words were genuine like Joel’s, and as much as you appreciated them, you were going to lose your mind any second now.

“Tommy, respectfully, thank you. Disrespectfully, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last without your cock stuffed inside of me.” You breathed out, letting your hand drop from the side of his truck and palm him through the tight confines of his jeans. “Please, fuck me.”

That’s all it took for Tommy to surge forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head as his lips met yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth, very different from Joel’s style but you fucking loved it already and wasted no time to wind your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his thick curls, giving them a good firm tug as he reached around you to pull the door latch open.

He bit down teasingly on your lower lip, tugging it out before chasing the kiss once more. “Get that sweet ass of yours in the backseat, babygirl” he mumbled against your lips and quickly pulled the door open.

Your lips detached from his for a moment only for you to climb into the backseat, falling onto your back as you blindly reached for the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head.

Tommy was between your legs in seconds after the door slammed shut behind him. His hands grasped at your thighs, spreading them open and positioning your calves to rest over his shoulders. He had a direct view of your covered cunt, a fresh new wet patch blooming through the fabric that sent him grinning like a devil.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. You that wet already? Those little panties of yours are practically ruined, babygirl.” He tsked under his breath as he situated himself as best as he could on his elbows. “Can you show her to me, baby? Show me that pretty pussy.” He nipped at your exposed inner thigh, dragging the stubble along his jaw against your skin while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I almost thought about touching myself in the bathroom when I was in there.” You let out a soft sigh as you dragged your hand down over your bare stomach and underneath the hem of your skirt. You looped your thumb around the outside of your panties, pulling them to the side revealing your puffy, soaked cunt to Tommy’s lustful gaze.

“You shoulda, babygirl. Little slut like you probably needs it all the time, huh? Fingers, a cock stuffed in you, a mouth on that pussy?” He chuckled with a grin. “Spread her open for me, sweetheart. Wanna see all of her before I fuckin’ ruin you.”

You let out a soft whimper from his words just as a droplet of arousal dripped down from your opening and slid down between your cheeks. You used your middle and forefinger to delicately spread yourself open, playing with your arousal that began to coat your fingers, and you couldn’t help but slip one finger in before slowly pulling it back out.

“Is she wet enough for you, Tommy? Maybe you need to give her a taste. See how wet she is for yourself.” You encouraged him with a subtle grin.

“Mmm. Try daddy, babygirl. Think you can call me that? You’ve got such a pretty pussy. My god. She’s already making a goddamn mess all over the seat. Go on and play with yourself for me, sweetheart. I wanna watch.”

“Oh, fuck. How did I already know that you were into the daddy kink?” You giggled softly while your fingers began to play with yourself in a teasing motion. You lightly played with your clit, letting out a soft moan as you dragged your fingers lower, teasing your entrance before slipping two fingers in. “Oh, fuck, daddy.” You moaned, watching him with hooded eyes as he began to palm himself through his jeans.

“That’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good little slut playin’ with her pussy for daddy. Gettin’ her all nice and ready for daddy’s cock.” He preened and reached for his belt buckle, undoing it so he would have a bit of relief. “You okay if daddy takes a video of this? That way you can watch it later and remember just how good I took care of you, babygirl.”

You nodded enthusiastically as you began to shallowly pump your fingers, curling them inwards before slipping them back out. “Of course you can take a video, daddy. It’ll be your souvenir.” You shot him a playful wink.

“Fuck. You’re really a naughty little slut, babygirl. Touching yourself in daddy’s truck. Gonna have to get it detailed after I’m done with you.” He snickered and reached for his phone and pulled it out of his pocket. He typed in his password quickly before opening the camera app. “Smile for the camera, babygirl.” He angled his phone towards your face and you responded with a cheesy grin, fingers working over your clit to keep yourself stimulated.

“Daddy’s here with his newest slut and her pretty pussy that’s going to be stuffed to the fuckin’ brim with daddy’s cock soon.” He brought his phone down between your thighs getting a good view of your fingers playing with yourself. “Drippin’ all over daddy’s fuckin’ seats like the naughty little slut that she is.”

“So fuckin’ wet for you, daddy.” You moaned, holding steady eye contact between Tommy’s phone and his face. “Show me your cock, please. I want to see it.”

“Ask and you shall receive, babygirl.” He shot you a wink and popped open the button of his jeans followed by his zipper. He pushed his jeans down over his hips along with his boxers. Your eyes went wide for a moment when his cock sprang free and slapped up against his taut stomach.

Tommy’s cock may have not been as thick as Joel’s, but it was longer, and curved at just the right angle.

“Get on all fours for me, baby girl.” He requested while he wrapped his fist around his cock, giving it a few languid strokes from base to tip. You couldn’t help but watch as he spit over the bulbous head, rubbing in his saliva for extra lubricant as you worked your skirt and panties off, tossing them into the front seat before you flipped over onto your stomach, situating yourself on your hands and knees.

“Well, if that ain’t a sight made in fuckin’ heaven.” He whistled and grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers before he gave it a good smack, watching it recoil back as you lurched forward, looking over your shoulder at him. Your pupils were blown wide, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth as you rocked your hips back towards him.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You arched your back, wiggling your ass in a tantalizing motion just as he brought his hand down over your right cheek in a swift motion eliciting a surprised yelp to slip past your lips.

“You want daddy’s cock that bad, huh? Such a desperate little slut wantin’ to be stuffed full of daddy’s cock.” He slapped your left cheek then before he let his hand drift upwards against your spine, and to your shoulder blades. He gently pressed you further against the seat so that your back was arched even more.

"gonna stretch you out, gonna be ruined for anyone else." He growled against the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna be daddy’s favorite fuckin’ slut when he’s finished with you, babygirl.”

And then you felt the head of his cock press against the seam of your dripping cunt, teasing your folds and bumping against your neglected clit. “Look at you already creamin’ all over daddy’s cock. Barely even inside of you yet, sweetheart.”

You lurched forward when you felt him begin to press you open inch by inch till he was bottomed out with his hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ shape as he set an immediate punching rhythm that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Oh—oh fuck!” You moaned, listening to the lewd sounds of skin on skin slapping together. The squelch of your pussy and his heavy, guttural grunts as he pounded his hips into your ass over and over again.

“God, you're such a slut, babygirl. Daddy’s perfect little slut. You give it this good to all the boys, huh? God, your pussy is huggin’ me so goddamn tight.” He groaned out, almost forgetting that he had his phone in his hand still as his forehead came to rest upon your upper back. He slowed his thrusts down momentarily so you could catch your breath and he could check in on you.

“You good, babygirl?”

“Mhmm. Never better.”

He ground his hips against your ass, rolling them forward so you could feel all of him inside of you. Just when you had a moment to catch your breath, he picked the pace up once more and tossed his phone to the side so he could wrap both arms around you, yanking you back against his chest.

"such a whore, babygirl. Workin’ your way through our whole family, aren't you?" He whispered against the shell of your ear, biting down on it with his teeth as he fucked up into you at a new angle.

One hand groped one of your breasts while the other rested along the base of your neck. He was careful to not apply any pressure and get too caught up in the moment. He could feel your pussy fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice with each pull and drag of his cock. Your eyes were shut in bliss, unabashed moans slipping past your lips as the coil in your belly was pulled tight.

The windows in Tommy’s truck had significantly begun to fog up from the steam that your activities were producing. And despite the discreet location that Tommy was parked in, you couldn’t help the rush you felt when you thought of the possibility of someone—or even Joel catching you and Tommy in this position.

Would he join right in? Fuck—

“Daddy—don’t stop, please!” You cried out, feeling that coil being pulled even tighter as your thighs began to tremble, and tears flooded your eyes: tears of overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it, babygirl. Such a good fuckin’ cockslut for daddy. Good fuckin’ girl. You gonna come all over daddy’s cock? C’mon! Wanna see you fuckin’ coat me, sweetheart. Come all over my fuckin’ cock.” He snapped his hips forwards then, feeling his own release begin to catch up to him, but you always came first. Tommy would never let you, or any of his girls, not come before him.

He dropped one of his hands from your breasts to thum at your already sensitive clit to push you right on over the edge as you cried out his name, pulsing around his cock and seeing stars dancing behind your closed eyelids.

“There you go, babygirl. There you fuckin’ go.” His tone was much softer now as he slowly slipped out of you, his cock gleaming in your release. He gently flipped you over onto your back, cradling your face delicately in his big hands.

You had a cockdumb look on your face. Completely blissed out and in a whole other world. Your thighs fell open, as your own release drooled down the the seam of your fucked out hole and onto the interior leather seats. In this relaxed position, your pussy let out a squelching sound of air being released, causing you and Tommy to both laugh.

“Fucked her pretty good, didn’t I?” He chuckled to himself and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “You okay if I take a little look at her, babygirl? I wanna see the mess you made.”

“Mhmmm.” You hummed, lashes fluttering shut as you stretched your arms behind your head in a languid, relaxed movement.

Tommy reached for his discarded phone bringing it back down right over your still pulsing cunt as his fingers gently spread you open, sliding through the milky residue of your release.

“Fuck. So pretty, babygirl. You have such a pretty pussy.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to your clit, getting just a little taste before he pulled himself back up. “Definitely gonna have to get my truck detailed after this, sweetheart.” He ended the video, falling back against the seat beside you to catch his own breath.

You let out another soft, cock dumb giggle, peeking one eye open to look over at him. “You really think my pussy is that pretty, Tommy?” You dropped one of your hands to lazily rest along your stomach before dipping it between your thighs, missing that stimulated post-orgasm feeling already.

“Baby, she’s so fucking pretty. Like seriously I could happily watch you play with her for hours and easily get off to it.” He tilted his head to the side to look over at you, grin playing on his lips. “How are you feelin’?”

“Mmm. Joel loves to watch me play with myself too. Guess it’s just a Miller brother thing, huh?” You winked with a giggle. “I feel fucking amazing, Tommy.” Cock dumb and satisfied, you thought.

He preened at your response, resting his arms along the backseats as he let out a relaxed sigh. “Good, baby. I’m real happy to hear that. Means that I did my job right. And what can I say? Joel and I are big pussy lovers.” He chuckled and reached for his phone, texting Joel that they would be back shortly, and attached the video as well.

“Yeah, you guys sure are.”

After about twenty minutes, Tommy had to physically help you to sit up and redress. Your entire body felt like jello and you were still positively fucked out. He helped you out of the backseat, keeping his arm wrapped around you for support as he guided you back inside to the booth.

“Easy now, babygirl. Back into my brother’s lap you go. You just cuddle up with him now, ‘kay? Pussy took a real poundin’, let her rest.” Tommy cooed softly against your ear as Joel gently eased you into his lap, letting you bury your face into his neck and lazily wrap your arms around him.

“Mhmmm.” You mumbled against his neck, face scrunching up as you breathed in his natural aroma while he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your back underneath your shirt.

"Did such a good job, baby love. Tommy showed me how sweet you were to him, let him feel how soft and warm you are, hmm? My good girl. Here, baby, I got you water. Need you to take a sip, you worked hard out there." Joel murmured softly to you.

“It was so much fun. Tommy was so good to me, baby. He thinks I have such a pretty pussy.” You softly giggled and blindly reached for the glass of water, pulling your face out from where it was pressed against his neck to guzzle the liquid down before cuddling right back up against him.

“I’m happy to hear that, baby love. I knew y’all were gonna hit it off. M’so proud of my girl. And yes, baby. You do have a pretty pussy. Rest now, ‘kay?”

You were out like a light then all curled up in his lap like a koala without a care in the world.

“Whatcha do to her, huh? Got my baby all cock drunk, Tommy.” Joel asked softly, reaching for his fresh glass of whiskey and took a small sip, careful to not disturb you.

Tommy was back across the booth, a new cigarette between his lips and his arms crossed behind his head in a relaxed position.

“Took ‘er for a real good spin.” He grinned, tapping his fingers along the worn, frayed leather. “Gonna have to get the truck fuckin’ detailed though.”

“That so? She make it all messy?” Joel asked.

“Fuck. Yeah, she made it real messy alright. Had her drippin’ all down the seats.”

Joel grinned at this, glancing down at your sleeping form in pure adoration and pride. “Mmm. I believe it. She’s always fuckin’ drippin.’ Doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, my baby love is always soakin.’”

“That right? Pretty slutty cunt like hers always ready to have a big cock in her, huh?” Tommy stifled a chuckle as he sank further against the seat.

You thought you were just having a wet dream, until your hand found Joel’s and discreetly tucked it between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against your ruined cunt that was pulsing once more. Little needy breaths slipped past your parted lips when he gently began to play with you, understanding that you were silently asking him to make you come one more time. You kissed along his neck, open mouthed with little nibbles here and there as you came in his lap, falling back into a relaxed state.

“Okay, think I gotta get my baby love home and in bed. She’s gonna sleep so good tonight.” Joel softly announced as he nudged you gently.

“Oh, I reckon she will be. You take good care of her, Joel. And text me when y’all are home safe, ‘kay?” Tommy nodded in Joel’s direction.

“You know I will, Tommy. I’ll text ya when we’re home.” He gave his brother a little nod and helped you out of the booth and towards the door. Once you were outside, the fresh air seemed to help you wake up a little more as you leaned all your weight into his side.

“You’re so beautiful, baby love. I’m so thankful for you, y’know that? You did so fuckin’ good. I’m so proud of you, so fuckin’ proud of my girl. Let’s get you home, okay? You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.”

“I love you, Joel Miller.” You murmured into his shoulder, one arm draped around his middle for support. You may have been cock dumb, and completely fucked out, but you words were true. You loved Joel, and he deserved to hear it.

“I love you too, baby love. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💗

Please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

596 notes · View notes

bluesidez · 3 months ago

Text

Gym Rat Miguel Part 12

content warning: Miguel is very dramatic in this one, mentions of food

word count: 4k (SHOUTOUT TO MY BETA!! @slushycoookie 🩵)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

DISCLAIMER: This story is not canonical. 😒 Most, if not all, of the characters used are OOC. I literally can not stress this enough.

GymRat!Miguel who tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s been just about a month since he’s seen you. It’s the middle of the week and if he thinks about it too much, he’s going to go crazy.

It feels odd because you’re on the same campus as him. You’re not across the country. You’re not out of the country. You’re literally a short walk or drive away and neither of you have time to see each other.

He’s considering printing your pictures out and walking around with them like a forlorn lover looking for his lost soulmate. It feels like he’s back in his bedroom staring at your pictures for hours like a man at war aching for home.

He’s exhausted all of his options.

The couple-lunches have all been rain-checked, the weight of your workload trapping you in the Art building.

Your sleep schedule was terrible, if the late night TikToks and reels were anything to go by. He knew you had morning classes too so he could only assume you’ve had a few hours of sleep during the weeknights.

The weekends were for rest and he didn’t want to disrupt yours.

Your dorm tracked visitors which means he’d only have a few hours with you before curfew if you were even there.

GymRat!Miguel who misses you so bad he’s temporarily replaced his gym playlist for the one you gifted him.

His face is set hard, feet heavy as he sprints over a curved treadmill. After a few minutes he stops, takes a small break, and runs again.

Even the melodic and somber voice playing over a groovy piano couldn’t soothe his thoughts.

His heart rammed in his chest as sweat trickled down his face, his tank drenched and clinging to his chest.

Just a few more sprints to go.

GymRat!Miguel who slides the ear of his headphone off because Xina is standing in front of him, blocking his path.

“Anymore sprints and you’re going to pass out,” she hands him a towel.

“Maybe I want to,” Miguel grumbles, nabbing the towel and rubbing his face like someone spit on it.

Xina grabbed her ponytail and pinned it up, loose hair sticking to her neck. “Don’t say that. It’s not funny. I can only manage pulling your body to the entrance to the gym.”

Miguel snorted.

GymRat!Miguel who fills up the time that he used to spend with you to get to know his friends and meet others.

This meant having game nights with Peter and Ben. They were so close, not really, to convincing him to join their DND parties.

If he wasn’t with them, he was occasionally calling The Geek Squad and catching up. A Friendsgiving date was now tentatively on his calendar because of it.

Of course, his robotics team was still going steady. Aaron was interesting, if nothing else, and Margo was like the little sister he never had.

Then, there was checking up on Gabriel like a Tamagotchi. Was he eating ok? Did he need some money? Is he trapped in the subway? Did a rat eat him?

Gabriel had sent him a screenshot of his contact with his name being changed to “Mom #2.”

Miguel only scoffed and told Gabriel his name was going to get changed to “pain in my ass.”

The newest development, however, was Xina. Her transferring here felt like middle school when they used to be attached at the hip.

They had their programming class together two days out of the week, biweekly study sessions, and the occasional late night excursion.

It also explains why she’s eyeing him from the stairmaster while he heaves over the handles of the treadmill.

GymRat!Miguel who thanked Xina as she handed him his jug of water. He sat up from the bench to let her take a seat.

“So,” she started.

“I’m not helping you hack your professor’s dashboard. While you could do it, it’s not a good idea and quantum physics isn’t that-“

“It’s not that, you dick,” Xina pinched his side. “It’s you. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing is up with me.”

“Miguel.”

“Xina.”

“Now, you’re being a brat. Something is definitely wrong.”

Miguel picked at the peeling Game Over sticker on his bottle. He needed to tape it down or he’d lose it.

“I miss her.”

“Miss who? Your mom?”

“What? No. I miss my girlfriend.”

It was quiet between them, the sound of chatter and the clanking of equipment filled the white noise.

Xina tilted her head, “That bad?”

Miguel nods.

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

He takes a dramatic breath, “Our anniversary date. Last month. I feel…”

“Like you can’t function? Like it’s hard to think?”

“Is that pathetic?” Miguel winces. “I have a feeling you’re going to say that it is.”

“No, I don’t think that.”

Miguel pouts as he looks up. Xina shrugs and slides her hands on down her leggings.

“Remember the times I went boy crazy? All the times I came crying to you after they screwed me over, even when you already warned me they weren’t good guys? I think you deserve to be crazy about your girlfriend.”

“Thanks,” Miguel blinked. “You were way too nice to those first guys.”

“I learned though, didn’t I? I know a good guy when I see him, now,” Xina pushed at Miguel’s shoulders with hers.

“And now those self-defense lessons won’t go to waste, right?”

Xina snorted as she recalled the time she managed to flip Winston on his back at Miguel’s instruction.

GymRat!Miguel who watches Xina’s eyes grow in shock when he tells her how long he’s been dating you.

“Dang,” Xina stops in her tracks. “A year?”

Miguel puffs up his chest and stands a little straighter, a confident stride in his step, “One year and counting.”

“That’s,” Xina turns and waits for a car to go by. She readjusts her gym bag. “That’s awesome, Hare-Hare.”

GymRat!Miguel who feels the mood shift by the time he drops Xina back off. He’s not sure what’s brought it up, but now he’s nervous about upsetting her more.

He taps on the wheel, after he pulls into a park.

“You sure you don’t want me to get you anything? You don’t need to go anywhere?”

Xina unbuckles her seatbelt, “Nope. All good. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he watches her close the door before he can even finish. “See you.”

GymRat!Miguel who obliges when Xina texts him the next day to switch up their study session location.

Miguel wanted to keep the busy calm of the 1st floor of the library but Xina insisted on giving him a change of scenery.

“It’s good for you! You stare at the screen all day when you’re coding,” Xina slams Miguel’s car door to which he sneer at her for. “You need to look up and smell the coffee sometimes.”

“You just want a reason to not do your work.”

Xina turns around and walks backwards in front of Miguel, “And that’s completely fine. We should live a little.”

She trips over the edge of the sidewalk with a yelp and Miguel is quick to catch her, the panic on his face evident.

“See,” she grins as she pulls herself up by Miguel’s shoulders. “Living!”

GymRat!Miguel who lets Xina order for him while he finds a table.

The cafe was bright, white wood accenting the walls with vines and plants adorning the area. Salmon pink brought a pop of color to the sandy-looking tables and fairy lights hung in the corners of the room.

Miguel’s eyes grew as he saw the variety of desserts on display, his mouth itching to take a bite.

“No, no, no. Go away. I’ll pick something you’ll like,” Xina blocks Miguel’s lingering eyes.

Miguel clicks his teeth, “If it’s not good, I’m going to be really upset.”

“I doubt it.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks deeper into the cafe. He’s dodging ceiling plants left and right, but he’s sure that the best seats are in the furthest of the building.

He shuffles around a corner, eyes adjusting to the sun coming through window.

He blinks a few times and takes in the spacious area.

That’s when he sees you.

He walks fast, the strides of his steps wide.

The closer he gets, the stronger the smell of peaches builds. The sun was shining down like it granted Miguel one the greatest gifts of his life. Its rays danced across the spot that you're in.

He gets to your chair and pulled it out with ease, the sound disrupting the hushed corner.

A pen falls to the floor, voices are cut short, and arms are flailing but Miguel’s nose is buried deep into your neck.

Your arms tighten around his neck and your voice skips across his ears.

“I-” a kiss across your face, “missed you so much.” Miguel looks at you like you hold the stars in the sky within your palm.

“You scared the shit out of me, Miguel,” you say with no really malice in your voice. Your thumbs run across his cheeks, watching as he beams at you. You kiss him once or twice, heart fluttering as your feet dangle in the air.

“I hope there aren’t many people picking you up in the middle of establishments,” Miguel mumbled across your lips.

“Guys, there’s people staring at us,” a voice creeps in from the side of Miguel.

Miguel’s eyes follow it to see a deer-looking kid with hoodie pulled up over his ears.

“Who is this?”

GymRat!Miguel who is introduced to Miles, your freshman classmate that you’ve taken in.

He’s sitting across the table nodding along to you as you rave about Miles’ work. The entire time, his right hand didn’t leave your left one.

“So,” Miguel chimes in when there’s a pause. “Have you both been coming here a while?”

“Nah, I just dragged her out here recently. She never leaves the art building when a deadline is near. It’s kind of depressing-“

“You know, Miles.” You're holding back an eye roll. “There are times when you could just not talk.”

“No, actually tell me more,” Miguel insisted, attentive.

GymRat!Miguel who hurries to help a struggling Xina when she rounds the corner with a tray full of goodies.

A cinnamon roll, a lemon tart, a tall purple drink, and some warm tea is placed on the table while you and Miles clear the area.

You sit up straighter to watch Miguel pick up the tea cup and blow over it. “Tea? No milk with a pinch of coffee?”

“Amor…”

Xina looks over to his cup, “Did you want something else?”

“No, this is good, I haven’t had this in a while,” he takes a sip and hums while explaining to you. “I’ve been on this sweet drink kick since she let me try her frappe last year.”

“That’s rich because you always hated it when I got those.”

“To be fair, you downed like four of those in one day. I’m surprised your body didn’t go into shock.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Four in one day must have meant you were going through it.”

Xina smiles and nods her head, “Exactly. And I told him-”

“We’re not doing this,” Miguel grumbled and stabbed his fork into his roll. “Four was way too much and she was bouncing off the walls all day just to crash and throw up on my shoes.”

“I said I was sorry about that!”

GymRat!Miguel who cuts pieces of his dessert to feed to you. You look at him incredulously as he insists on giving you bite after bite.

“Is it good?” Miguel asks chewing his own piece. You nod and he grins, happy in the bubble he’s created.

When Xina reaches for his plate for a piece he slides it away with ease, a move he knows too well.

“Why can’t I have some? I bought it.”

“You didn’t even ask!”

“Neither did she!”

Miles leans over to you, “I feel like I’m watching a fight between me and my baby sister.”

Miguel is pushing Xina’s hands away from his plate while she laughs up a storm. You think that it does mirror something like Gabriel and Miguel’s relationship, but something about Miguel isn’t the same.

GymRat!Miguel who continues his Tom and Jerry act with Xina even when the food is gone.

They were bickering over some formula that you couldn’t begin to figure out by yourself. To Miguel, it’s easy. To Xina, the setup makes no sense.

“How did you survive Ivy League without me?” Miguel asks as he reaches over and erases an error on her page.

“Like I do anything else, with peace.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Miguel points his pencil at Xina, “you hate me and I am not needed for problems 4 through 10.”

“No!” she panics, pushing his pen back to the paper. “I need you to start this one. I don’t understand it.”

“We just did one like this, though. It’s just the imaginary number all over again.”

Xina groaned and slumped in her chair while Miguel just turned back to his on work.

GymRat!Miguel who peers up from his computer to watch you work. You eyebrows pinch as your wrist moves across the large sketchpad in front of you. Your hand is moving fast and you’re so focused. Miguel hasn’t seen you like this before. In your element.

He leans his head on his hand, cheek squished and staring at you like he’s never seen you, like you were something to be admired.

You were pretty today, a sweater with some cartoon on it and some jeans that flared out at the bottom. Your bunny necklace was dangling around your neck and your glasses were falling down your nose.

You push them back and a smudge of charcoal from moving Miles’ artwork gets on your cheek.

“Stare at her any harder and she might grow something freaky,” Miles whispers.

Miguel falters and grabs a napkin, leaning to wipe your cheek, “She has something on her face.”

GymRat!Miguel who tries to be even more discreet as he watches you fill up the page. It’s mesmerizing seeing what you come up with.

He’ll type a little bit then look at your sketches, he’ll click a few links then look at your face. Sometimes, you would catch him looking and smile at resulting in his heart picking up.

Occasionally, Miles would ask your opinion on something and you would give him pointers, the two of you discussing something about focal points and rule of threes.

Miguel just wanted to put his stuff up and listen to you all day.

“What are you working on?” Xina asks, her voice breaking the silence. She’s staring directly at your drawings, fingers tapping against her notebook.

You perk up and flip your pad around, “It’s some ideas for one of our bigger projects! The theme is reinventing a classic, so I’m thinking something like a spin on Lady Godiva with a haunted theme and darker palette. Or The Fallen Angel with a bird’s eye perspective of him on the ground.”

You took a breath and flipped the page, “And then there’s The Kiss which I wanted to actually do a glaze to really give it that ‘mosaic’ look.”

Miguel leaned in with Xina to take a closer look.

The sketch was exceptional to say the least. Miguel wasn’t too sure how the original painting looked, but your drawing detailed a woman wrapped in these angular, moving shapes. Her face was angled up and a far-off look adorned her features. To her right sat a man whose lips were on her neck and his attention solely on her.

It was soft, yet strong. How you managed to put so much intimacy onto a single page was beyond him.

The feeling of it was familiar and when he looked up at you, he knew.

Miguel opens his mouth, “It’s..”

“Boring.”

“Beautiful.”

He turns to Xina with a frown on his face as she flips back to the front page.

“I mean, I think one of the other two is better, you know? More of a twist on the originals. The last one feels safe.”

The table is quiet as Xina’s comment marinates. She’s flipping further into your book and Miguel promptly snatches it from her and closes it a bit harder than he needs to. Miles shifts in his seat, chewing on the straw of his drink.

“Can you explain why it feels safe to you?” your fingers pick at a nail.

She looks up, “Well, don’t you want to stand out? Out of the others, I don’t think this one is that unique.”

“The point isn’t to stand out,” Miles chimes in. “The assignment is about remixing a classic and all three of these do that pretty well.”

Your smile is small, “Thanks, Miles.”

“So which one do you think is better?” Xina asks.

“The last one,” both Miles and Miguel say.

“It carries the emotion of the original while also bringing more focus to couple rather than the abstracted cloth. You can see the love between them in a way that the original doesn’t have and it’s not even painted yet,” Miles talks with ease. “But! That’s just my opinion.”

“I think it’s powerful,” Miguel hums. “You should go with that one.”

You nod, thumbing over the corner of the pages.

GymRat!Miguel who watches Miles nearly fly out of the cafe.

Something about catching the bus to go see a friend perform.

“Poor thing,” you mumble. “He didn’t even buy the tickets yet.”

GymRat!Miguel who can almost see the stress coming off of you in waves the later it gets in the evening.

“Are you alright?” Miguel places his hand over yours.

“Yeah, I think I need a nap.”

“Need me to drive you back?”

“No, it’s fine. You need to drive Xina back.” You start to pack up. “I brought my car anyways.”

Miguel follows your movements, hands putting his laptop up as well.

He hurries to pull your chair out and you thank him with a quiet voice. He follows you from the table to the door to your car. The scene is almost comical the way he’s in your peripheral.

“Will I see you again soon?” Miguel leans on the hood of your car, body practically falling onto you in the driver’s seat. “We gotta set up a date.”

“I’ll see what I can do, baby,” you rub his face and kiss the kicked-puppy look off of his face. “I’ll text you once I get back.”

“Please.”

GymRat!Miguel who throws his backpack in the backseat and slumps over the wheel once he’s certain your car was down the road.

“What now?” Xina patted Miguel’s back. “You miss her again?”

Miguel just dug his head onto the horn, the effect alerting anyone within 50ft radius.

“Ok, ok,” Xina yanked him up by his shoulders only for him to drop back down again. She sighs and grabs the back of his head with a slight yank to his hair.

Miguel swats her hand away with a grit to his teeth and a pinch to his brows.

Xina only holds her hands up with a grin lining her lips, “Calm down.”

“You’re really annoying me today.”

Xina drops her hands and her smile falters. Miguel straightens up with an apology on the roof of his mouth before Xina picks back up with joy.

“What I think you need is an awesome rager for your birthday.”

“No.”

“Why not? It could be fun!”

“I’m all partied out until next year.”

“Not even with your friends? People from your department? A couple of classmates? The robo nerds?”

“That’s robo rockstars to you.”

Xina laughed and buckled her seatbelt.

“I think it could be great, seriously. We’re doing it.”

Miguel only groaned and turned on the ignition.

GymRat!Miguel who wanted to use his Sunday for relaxation, a cheat day, maybe a game or two with Gabriel, Peter, and Winston.

Instead, he’s lying on his bed listening to Xina rant about one of her roommates using the sink as a trash can.

“Like we have a ridiculously expensive trash can that’s less than a foot away from the sink. It’s a simple spin and drop.”

“Ok, I get this is really gross, but don’t you have other friends you could bother?”

Xina pauses, and points her finger at him, “Hey, I’m here to help you out. If I wasn’t here, who knows how down in the dumps you’d be.”

“This isn’t helping me.”

GymRat!Miguel who answers his phone while Xina has managed to pull Peter into a game of Overcooked on his Switch.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Miguel! How do I connect your father’s computer to the TV? He found a movie that we could watch but the screen is so small.”

“He found a movie but can’t connect cords?”

“Just answer the question, mijo.”

Miguel sits up, prepared to spend at least forty minutes trying to explain what an HDMI cord is.

“Yeah.”

Xina gasps, pauses the game leaving a displeased Peter, and hops into the corner of Miguel’s phone.

“Hi, Mrs. O’Hara!”

“Hola, mi dulce niña! Hace mucho que no te veo. ¿Que tal te ha ido?“ (Hello, my sweet girl! I haven’t seen you in a long time. How have you been?)

“Más o menos, pero me alegro de verte.” (So-so, but I’m happy to see you.)

“No, Xina! ¿Qué tienes?” (What’s wrong?)

Miguel just plopped the device in Xina’s hand, “I like how you both started a conversation on my phone.”

“We’ve got important things to discuss,” Xina waved him off while she and his mother continued to fawn over each other.

Miguel just slid off the bed and joined Peter.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t get his phone back until curfew hours are around the corner.

Xina and his mom discussed everything from reality TV to recipes to her time up north. Xina left happier than when she came in which Miguel didn’t mind. He just wished he could have had the room to himself.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t see your message until he’s about to go to sleep.

“Baby”

“Let’s do something together on your bday”

Miguel unpeeled his eyes and typed swiftly.

“YES”

“YEESSSS”

“Best birthday ever already”

“Someone’s excited”

“I haven’t even said what we’re doing yet”

“What are we doing”

“Tell me please”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease”

“Mmm”

“No”

“It’s a secret 🙂‍↔️”

“I can wait”

“That you are”

“Sometimes”

“😗”

“But mi luz I think Xina is trying to plan something too”

“Oh”

“Should we raincheck then?”

“NOOOOOO!”

“I can do both”

“I’ll literally split myself in two”

“You don’t have to choose”

“My gift is small”

“I want you to have fun on your special day”

“Can you come to the party?”

“I don’t want to miss it but I’ll have to see”

“If anything it’ll be much later”

“As long as I get to see you I’ll be happy”

“Good night bebé”

“Night!”

"Love you"

“Love you more"

divider by: @plutism 🩵

a/n: I have no notes other than school is starting back up so my posting schedule will be even more irregular. 🤠 Please bear with me.

The taglist has reached the max number! If you want updates, check my blog, turn on post notifs, or subscribe to it on AO3!

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

256 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

History says no.

So, maybe you’d just carry everything.

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”

The bastard winks at you.

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did.

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.

“Mhmm hmm.”

“When are you going to have some of your own?”

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie.

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.

This, this Dieter, feels wrong.

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger.

Shame. Guilt.

Hot embarrassment.

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.”

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”

And out of nowhere, he smiles.

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.

Oh.

Maybe he did mean it like that.

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.

“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.

“Face down, baby,” he says.

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do.

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.

“Dieter, please –,”

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.”

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.

“Harder again, please.”

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.

“Say it again.”

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –

And you’re laughing.

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.”

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?

Your heart says yes.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

608 notes · View notes