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tonycries · 2 months

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Hot To Go!

Synopsis. Getting hit by a séx technique? No problem! Of course, you’re there to help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, séx cursed technique (he’s affected), mating press, they’re REALLY needy, fúck or díe, oraI (fem receiving), jealousy (Nanami’s), bréeding, marathon séx, teary Gojo, creampíe, spítting, cúmplay, thígh ríding, fíngering, VERY pússydrunk boys, true form! Sukuna, dp, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k (woah)

A/N. I needed this outta my mind so bad y’all omg. Have a lovely day babygirls <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Just sit on it, woman!

“Please…” Toji drawls, slow and syrupy around your puffy clit. “Who do you think you are, doll? Just sit.”

Now, the problem wasn’t that strange, low-level curse from Toji’s latest job. No, don’t make him laugh - he barely felt whatever that weak cursed technique was. The problem was the way he’d trudged back home, not even thinking of reaching for that door handle before it hits him.

Suddenly too-sensitive nose getting a whiff of your shampoo - all the way from inside the bedroom.

All the way to that dangerous, ugly little part of himself that says that if he doesn’t get a taste of you right now then neither of you are making out of this alive.

And it’s all you can do to gasp, “T-Toji what happened?”

“You. You happened. N’ I don’t care if I hafta oh-” he cuts himself off, hot lips surging forwards - addicted - to place another slow, wet peck on the sweet sweet juices beading at your cunt. “-if I hafta fuckin’ suffocate, m’gonna die if you don’t just sit, goddammit.”

“Fuck!” you keen when two, calloused hands of Toji’s loop around your shaky thighs. Pulling, dragging you down to press your entire weight down onto his slutty mouth. “You’re being so…”

He barely even hears you - too caught up on the way your pretty cunt was drooling down his waiting tongue.

Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his face up, up, up to let your heady juices slide down his throat. “What? Filthy? Needy? Like a bitch in heat?”

Each hissed out little word has you jolting on top of him - and Toji only tightening his bruising grip with a pained grunt to stop you from disconnecting with his ruthless lips.

“Ohhh fuck stay still, woman. S’the stuff of heaven. You’re so lucky you weren’t anywhere near me after that fight.” he spits at the feeling of you clenching around him, mouth moving a mile a minute even when he slips it past your swollen folds, dragging the muscles along all your hidden sweet spots. “So lucky. So sweet- so perfect thought I was gonna die without a lil’ taste-”

A shiver runs down your spine - all the way down to where Toji was messily making out with your ravaged pussy. Stretching you out, milking himself on your sloppy entrance. Animalistically, even.

You squeal, “Think I’m gonna die.”

“Shit- and you think I care? Just want- ngh-” And that sinful little scar rubs up against your sensitive folds when Toji grins knowingly, so deep now that his nose was pressing against your pelvis, jaw grinding against you. Big arms orchestrating each mean, long drag of your sloppy pussy up and down his pretty face. Up and down up and down up and- “What did I say? This is all because of y-you, y’know?”

And Toji’s tone is so low, strangled - that the answer almost comes out as a whine. It makes you snap your glassy eyes down to look - to gape at how utterly wrecked he already was.

Dark hair curtaining those pussydrunk, half-lidded eyes, your slick glossing prettily over his plump lips - all the way down to his cheeks, his sharp jawline. And only getting sloppier with each movement,

“Me?” you blink tearily - fuck, when did it get so good you started crying? And why was Toji much the same? Dark eyes wet and miles away.

“Mhm.”

“S’your fault for being so- so-” As if the words were failing him, Toji’s only moves to suck harsher on your throbbing clit. Obscene little smacks of his lips following your barely-lucid ah! ah! ah! “-like this.”

Even through the haze of it all, you manage out a huff of laughter, “Like this?”

For this, you get a sharp smack! on the fat of your ass. Thick fingers soothing over the sting almost immediately so that you’re not bowing your body away from Toji’s persistent mouth, “S’it so bad if I wanna taste my sweet girl?.” He moans, sounding so genuinely pained, “But I need you- need to taste this fuuuck pretty cunt so bad. Gonna die if I don’t- if I-”

“Hngh- yes- fuck fuck fuck, Toji-” your fingers threat their way into his soft hair. Tugging and pulling with each harsh lap at your cunt. Your body arching like a slut as if on command when he speeds up, “-feels too good. M’so close fuck-”

“Be messy, be loud- I don’t fucking care.” he hisses, brows furrowing in concentration. And whatever’s left of that practical little part of your hazy mind wonders whether it doesn’t hurt - whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up, mouth aching. “Jus- jus wan’ you to cum on m’tongue. You’ll let me taste you, right, doll? Want it want it want it so fuckin’ bad-”

You didn’t know who wanted you to cum more - you, or your dear boyfriend.

But when you do - you have you answer.

“F-fuck, Toji.” your gummy walls clench around where he was bullying his tongue inside. “M’cumming- M’cumming m’cumming m’- ah!”

“Give it t’me. Give it allll to me that’s it.” Because Toji’s lapping at each and every syrupy drop of your juices, moaning into your cunt as you ride him through your high. Addicted. The vibrations having your hips stuttering and unstable on top of him.

He lets his thumb draw lazy, tight circles on your sensitive clit. Unstopping - even when you’re blinking back your spotty vision, tears crinkling at the corner of your eyes at the overstimulation.

Even when you try to pull away from his ruthless mouth - little, messy strings of spit and slick snapping in the nonexistent distance.

Even when he still darts his tongue out hastily to taste you sloppily, “One more - didn’t get enough of m’fill.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Can’t- won’t wait!

Everyone knows that your husband Nanami was protective - rightfully so. Everyone knows that just a toe out of line could have the stoic man snapping - showing off exactly why he was the one that put that pretty lil’ ring on your finger.

But never like this.

Never so…crazed.

And it’d only taken one too many flirty comments from some new intern in the time it’d taken Nanami to rush over there from his latest jujutsu mission. Just for your husband to drag you away from the party, barely paying attention to anything else.

Though, when you caught a glimpse of his eyes you didn’t think he could - gaze strangely hazy, breath a bit shorter, skin flushed a delicate pink.

“Can’t believe it.” he groans, pressing you up against the wall of the nearest empty room he could find. Fat cock just nudging past that feeble ring of resistance of yours. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it. Fuck-”

You’re jumping slightly with each little profanity spat into your open mouth, bleary eyes blinking up at your Nanami. Managing out, “Is everything hah- alright, Ken?”

“Can’t fucking believe it.”

There it was again.

That low, accusing little mantra - this time panted out into the side of your racing pulse. Breaking ever-so-slightly at the end when Nanami’s bullying his swollen cock deeper past your plushy walls, the curve of his girth having you arch like such a slut against the wall.

Nanami growls, “Can’t fucking believe-” he slides two hands under your weakening thighs easily, picking you up like some little ragdoll to be split apart on his cock. Murmuring against your mouth, “Can’t believe you won’t let me jus’ fuck you right then and there, my love.”

You don’t know what shocks you more - Nanami’s words or the way he’s immediately letting gravity do all the work, sliding your dripping cunt so easily down his cock. Inch by fucking inch.

All up until your pelvis was flush against those neat tufts of blond at his base. God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Nanami so impatient.

“Thought I was gonna die without your sweet cunt.” He was barely even breathing. Eyes glassy - crazed. Voice so deep and ragged when he whispers into your ear. “Should’ve jus’ let me fuck you out there, right in the middle of the ball. Made a scene n’ showed them all please- we could go back-”

And it takes you a few seconds to realize that this is Nanami. Your Nanami.

Seriously, what the fuck happened on that mission?

“But- what?” you squeal, gummy walls swallowing him up so readily despite your confusion. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

And this little comment makes Nanami physically stop, dark eyes glinting with something so dark - dangerous. Brows furrowing as he utters, “Nothing. Did you forget that I’m your husband, darling?” Having you scrambling to hang onto his broad shoulders as he walks over to splay you out so prettily on a nearby desk. “Or do I jus’ hafta remind you?”

It’s all it takes for Nanami to thrust up into your heavenly cunt. One hand holding you still on the cool desk, while the other just ravages your throbbing clit in time with his needy cock.

“F-fuck, Ken— oh- yes yes yes-”

Fat tip pressing up against your g-spot like he had a point to prove, spearing you at each harsh, bullying thrust that has you pushed further and further up the desk. Over and over.

The desk shifts ever-so-slightly with every smack of Nanami’s heavy balls against your ass. Creaking - but not loud enough over your obscene moans.

“Stop-” he chokes out at the feeling of your pussy being inched away from him. You weren’t running from him that easily. Which is exactly the thought ringing through his mind when Nanami circles his large hands underneath your thighs, dragging you right across to meet his sculpted front. “Stop fuckin’ running away.” Nevermind the fact that you weren’t - voluntarily at least. “Please- need it so badly, s’like m’burning without ya. You’re gonna take my cock like a hah- g-good lil’ wife, okay?”

And Nanami knows maybe he should slow down - maybe ease you into it, first. But either it was that stupid fucking cursed technique talking or maybe the sight of some loser being all starry-eyed at you, he’s fucking you into the desk so mean.

“Should’ve- would’ve.” he’s grunting, and you already know what he’s talking about. “Saw you in this pretty lil’ dress and fuck darling you don’t know how h-hard it was to ngh keep m’self in check.” Teeth nipping and leaving little bite marks down your neck, and shit if you were in any better state of mind you’d have had the rationality to be worried about them - about how people would talk if they saw those. “N’ I would’ve loved to. Don’ know how much I fuck- w-worship this pussy, my love. How much I was dreaming about it all day long.”

The creaking grows louder.

Your head is spinning right now, “All day long?”

“Mhm…” Nanami slurs, a loose little smile playing on his lips. “Always do. But today- fuck, today. Needed to feel you or I thought I was gonna ngh- die. Or worse.”

“Or worse.”

Bang!

In a split-second, you’re back bunched up in Nanami’s arms - his cock still buried deep within you. Moving. Merciless. Even though his eyes flicker downwards at the pile of wood that used to be a desk. “Lose you that promotion.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Use?

“Use me.”

“What?”

“Use me, goddammit.”

Geto sounded almost hysterical now - words ragged, a pitch higher than normal. Staring at you with that drunk, wide-eyed gaze while you perched right on his muscular thigh. Looking as bewildered as you felt at that moment when he lets out a humorless little laugh, “That curse- fuck I should’ve known before ingesting- shit.”

Fingers frantic - almost tearing through the fabric of his boxers as he removes them feverishly.

And his cock didn’t just look rock-hard no- it looked so so angry. So painful. Flushed a pretty red at his weepy tip, leaking down, down, down straight to where you’d unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.

“O-oh.” he gasps in relief when you’re dragging your fist up his cock. Head throwing back to show off that long, beautiful neck - dusted with a blush going all the way down. “Could cum from just this fuuuck.”

And this was nothing like the Geto Suguru you were used to - the sweet talker who’d have you falling apart with just a few words. The one that treated sex like a game - where you were always his pretty lil’ loser.

“Care to elaborate, Sugu?” you flash him a smug smirk - one that makes his swollen cock twitch traitorously in your hand. “Shit, you’re so needy right now you could cum untouched.”

“You little bitch.” he spits out, greedy gaze stuck on the way you were beginning to drag your sloppy cunt up and down his toned thigh. In a way that makes it impossible for Geto to tear his eyes away from the way you were intentionally catching your throbbing clit on each and every dip of muscle, spreading your puffy folds. “You know what I mean.”

You’re batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently, grinding your hips down harder. “I don’t.”

As if to prove your point, you squeeze around his aching dick even harder, pumping your fist all the way from his soaked base up to his sensitive slit.

Immediately, he bucks his hips up wildly, precum smearing a glossy sheen all over your wrist. “F-fuck you.” he spits. “You little-” And oh you should’ve known that Geto was Geto despite whatever he’d been cursed with. That it’d only take him a split second to reach a hand over to smear the mess of sweet sweet juices you were trailing over his thigh. Bullying his dripping wet fingers between your lips, “You talk too fuckin’ much, gorgeous.”

Oh.

Oh, you were fucked.

“You really think I’d let you g-get away with hah that much?” Geto drawls against your ear, fingers dancing down to control your movements riding his thigh. “N’ after ngh- I was so nice.” He was pulling - dragging you at a mean little pace now. “Should’ve just shut up n’ taken it. Should’ve just used me when I asked.”

It’s like he’d forgotten all about his lust-drunk little state.

You’re mewling, muffled around his thick fingers. Something that only makes his lips curl up into a syrupy, smug grin, “Who’s cumming untouched now? Got somethin’ to fuck- say?”

You do - and you’re thumbing teasingly under Geto’s neat slit, reveling in the way that makes his harsh little rant die in his throat. Moving your hand up and down to first his cock needily in hasty, long movements like you were trying to fuck something delicious out.

“You little minx hah-” he’s pressing his fingers right at the back of your tongue, hot mouth kissing away the salty tears welling up behind your eyes. “S-so dirty.”

And it was dirty - your hands coated in Geto’s sheen of precum, his thigh glossy with your slick. But neither of you could bring yourselves to be disgusted - not one bit.

Not when Geto was forcing down your hips harder, bouncing his knee to match your slutty little tempo. Faster. More desperate. Letting you concentrate on driving him fucking insane with your soft hands - palming and running only on the need to making him cum. To have him spill so hotly all over your hands.

“Yeah, oh God that’s right- Use me use me use me-” Geto’s mouth slacks open, eyes heady and cracked only to eye the way you’re clenching and quivering around nothing. Your hips only stuttering - getting sloppier and sloppier with each weighty, hard slide down his thigh. He groans, “Fuck fuck fuck m’close-”

“M-me too-” you whine, voice breaking so pathetically at the end. “So much for coming untouched.”

Close - too close.

Close enough that you’re barely even noticing the way Geto’s stiffening up underneath you. Breath hitching in his throat before-

Slam!

“Wha-” Your back hits the plush mattress - so fast that you almost have half the mind to wonder whether this was some figment of your imagination. But, no, Geto’s hot tip nudging at your puffy folds was real. Dangerous. Waiting for just the right moment to rip you apart. His bated breath against your ear was real - very, very real.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you off that easy, did you, gorgeous?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “S-sex?”

Oh, Choso sounded so fucked out just from uttering that.

And you feel the way your cunt clenches at that broken, almost-whiny little plea coming from your best friend’s mouth. Big, dark eyes blinking up at you dazedly in a way that makes you tighten your legs around his waist, pinned to the floor of- fuck, which curse site was this again?

“Mhm, Cho.” you hum, drinking in the shallow pants he lets out into your mouth when you slide his leaky, angry tip between your swollen folds. Barely teasing him between your slit, “S’the only way to get rid of this technique, right?”

Clothes are torn off, breaths coming out in pants. You don’t know if Choso registers your words - shit, you don’t know if he even hears you right now.

Barely even breathing as he slides two shaky hands of his to rest up at your hips. Giving you a reassuring squeeze once. Twice. Before pulling you down in a split second.

“Yes!” the word bursts out from his lips. Choso drags your body up, up, up his throbbing length like some ragdoll - until his pretty pink tip was just circling around your sloppy hole - only to bring you all the way back down again. Barely even halfway in yet, but the stretch - fuck, the stretch had you arching for more. “Yes yes yes yes yes fuck yes if you feel just like- like heaven-”

You never thought your sweet Choso would be so needy. Would buck his hips so ferally into your syrupy sweet cunt until you were second-guessing why it ever took so long to do something like this.

Until today’s fateful little mishap with another curse, that is - and oh, you’ve never been more grateful for that stray cursed technique.

“Hngh-” you screw your eyes shut when the curve of his dick brushed against your sweet spots - unforgivingly. Spreading the fat of your ass in two big hands, trying to squeeze himself inside deeper. Again. And again and again and- “S-slow down, Cho–”

‘Slow down?” Choso breathes from below you - sounding so genuinely bewildered. Still thrusting up in stubborn, long grinds. “Y-you want me to slow down? After- after this?” He’s giving a mean thrust into your gummy pussy, eyes widening down at the heavenly view of your puffy lips sucking him up. Spread needily, bulging around his girth in a way he’d have felt sorry for if he was in any better state of mind. “Slow down- Yeah, gotta- gotta slow down.”

But he only fucks up into you harder. Stronger. Like it killed him to do anything but take you right now and right there on the floor. Messy - no rhythm or rhyme of his hips, just running on pure need and the feeling of you milking his poor cock.

And the idea of that - of your best friend being drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around his aching cock - has you a little more breathless than you’d like. Plushy walls clamping down tight.

Almost immediately, Choso’s throwing his head back, gasping out a stuttering, “O-oh so ngh- that’s what it feels like. Always- always imagined if…” You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence because two long fingers of his are latching on shyly to your sensitive clit, rolling softly.

And if he were any less of a man, Choso would be cumming on the spot - fuck, he’d be passing out.

“Fuuuuck tighter than I’d dreamt of.” he whimpers, cock twitching wildly inside your dripping cunt. Deft fingers find a lewd little rhythm to toy with your ravaged clit. “Have to slow down- have to- can’t.”

He was out of control now. Sloppy. Teary praises leaving those pretty pink lips with each bullying piston of his hips.

“Ch-Choso!” you whine, dragging your hips down to meet his sloppy cadence.

Choso’s eyes flutter to the back of his head, grunting “Yes, yes that’s it, my baby. Say my name.” Using his inhuman strength to put pressure on your hips. “Take it- take it please. Wan’ see you full of m’cock.” All the way until the heady bedroom echoes with a loud smack! his fat head kissing your cervix, heavy balls imprinting against your ass.

And then it’s like something snapped.

Choso’s sanity - his restraint. Possibly you by the end of this.

Because in all of two seconds, he’s flipping the two of you over. Your back pressed against the cool floor, legs thrown over his shoulders until your knees were folded all the way up into your tits, Choso groans into your ear at the all new angle.

Not wasting a second longer before fucking you in this mean little mating press, abs rippling with each heavy, calculated movement.

“Baby…” Choso drags his lips up your neck, sharp canines biting down on your earlobe. Gentle - the complete opposite of his rock-hard cock. “Think if I cum inside s’gonna solve the curse?”

Oh.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - True kinda love

You thought you’d seen everything there is about the king of curses. Anything from those smug kisses he’d give you after taking care of “scum curses” for fun to the times he’d begrudgingly watch sappy movies with you - only to fuck away your tears at the end.

You thought.

But oh you’d never seen him like this - yukata torn apart, no longer fitting how much bigger was, how much stronger his form was. His true form.

Muscles just bulging on all four arms, eyes half-lidded, dark nails leaving neat little indents where he held your squirming hips sat prettily on two matching, painfully hard cocks.

Well, “sat prettily” was an understatement - right now you felt so full you could’ve just died.

“Heh, better not die on me just yet because I feel like m’gonna kill fucking everyone..” Sukuna’s large pecs rumble with laughter- shit, had you said that out loud? “Everything.” Long tongue coming up to lick a hot trail up the big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Whispering raggedly, “God- fuck! How’d you want it? Like I’m me or like hah- this?”

It’s all you can do to crane your head up deliriously, batting your teary lashes in a way that makes Sukuna twitch so wildly.

His veins thump! thump! thumping into your gummy walls, fat heads nudging right at your bruised cervix - your lungs it felt like. Hips grinding up into yours when he’s shoving himself impossibly deeper, “Answer me.”

“Fuck!” you’re gasping, stupidly. Glassy gaze flitting down to the two angry cocks bullied inside your poor pussy. And still going. “N-no, your true ngh- form- fuck-”

“Oh yeah?”

Your words are coming out a garbled mess, making such a sly, dangerous leer spread across Sukuna’s lips. Fucking up faster. Sloppier.

Oh, the feeling had him lightheaded. Had him thankful he lost control of his powers to maintain that pathetic human image of his. Had him ramming past those rings of muscle again. And again. And again and again- oh he was fucked.

“Fuuuck, feel like m’burning. M’so lucky.” Sukuna slurs out, a free hand of his busying itself toying with your throbbing clit. Pulling, rolling in a way he knows will have you whining so prettily. “Sooo fuckin’ lucky I didn’t kill that fuckin’ trash curse.” Glossing his wrists with your sweet sweet juices, lips kissing at your heated ears. “Because now I get to see how much of a slut my girl is f’me, hm?”

The only answer he’s getting is a wet string of profanities that even Ryomen Sukuna himself is proud of.

Because suddenly Sukuna’s crashing his achy tips against your g-spot, throwing his head back at how fucking sinful it felt to be rubbing up against himself.

“Shit- yer only getting tighter.” he spits, strained. Sculpted thighs rippling underneath you where he was fucking up into you in jagged, methodical half-thrusts to mold your sweet cunt to him. “Ngh- fuuuck gonna be the death of me, pretty girl.”

“Please-” you’re clawing at the sheets, the headboard, Sukuna’s shoulders - anything and everything to keep your sanity. Begging for- what? Mercy? More? “Please please- m’so close. Kuna ngh-”

He cranes his head down to kiss at your slack lips, breaths feverish. “Damn. Open that m-mouth now, brat. Jus’ a bit- jus’ a bit more.”

Your mouth is sagging open, tongue lolling out before you know it - positioned perfectly for the bigger man to purse his lips and spit. Once. Twice.

And Sukuna knew he had perfect aim, he knew he could’ve made this easy for you - but, no, the steady stream of saliva is splattering against the side of your mouth. A large thumb of his coming up to swipe the mess across your wobbly lower lips.

“My girl deserves to be treated like the slut she is, right?”

His true form has those inhumanly large fingers moving so unfairly fast on your clit, rolling and pinching in an obscene little blur.

“Oh- oh my god-” you sob, ass stinging where his heavy balls were smacking you - sure to leave a few embarrassing marks. And fuck he’s not even all the way in yet. “Y-you’re so deep- so much. Close Hngh-”

Sukuna’s grinning, two hands helping just drag you down his sloppy length, until your sopping folds were kissing at his toned pelvis. Another dancing up to knead and grope your sloppy hole open wider, “Say it. Say who you’re acting like such a slut for.”

“It’s- fuck!”

“Say it properly, my cockdrunk girl. Say it if you wanna cum.”

“You!” your words fail you pathetically, and the only think you’re moaning next is Sukuna’s name - like a prayer. “S’you Kuna oh-”

And then you’re cumming - white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, and Sukuna’s name in your mouth. Arching into his body. His tongue slipping past your puffy lips to muffle his own moans because God this was the hardest he’d cum in his life and he wasn’t about to drown out any of your pretty moans with it.

“Oh-” Sukuna shudders, fucking you over and over through your high. Two hands carrying your weight and- shit, when did he stand up? “Yeahh, milk me like that, just it mm knew you were so good f’me-”

You’re realizing with a jolt that he’d gotten up, using gravity to his advantage and sliding you up and down his swollen cocks like some glorified sextoy. So easily. So sinfully while he filled your poor overfilled over and over.

Thick, hot globs of cum that drool down your messy cunt, so fucking much from both his throbbing cocks. Like he couldn’t - wouldn’t stop.

Enough to form a pool at Sukuna’s feet. One he doesn’t even give a second glance before muttering, “Ya better hope you’re on the pill because the curse and I are far from over, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - STRONGEST

You thought it would bate by his second orgasm.

And when it didn’t, well, surely the third time was the charm…

Or, well on the slight chance that that didn’t work - the fourth would be the last, right? Right?

“Sweetheart…” Gojo mutters, teary, red-rimmed eyes peering so unfairly into your hazy ones. Folding your trembling, limp legs back into such a tight mating press. “Jus’ one more time. Please? I promise this fifth time’s gonna be the last.”

Wrong. And here you were, folded up in half underneath the great Gojo Satoru - the strongest, the same sorcerer that can take down a special grade and let himself be hit by its cursed technique (“out of curiosity!”) in the same breath.

“A-another?” you mutter, but it comes out much more breathless than you intended. Thighs tightening involuntarily where they were thrown over Gojo’s broad shoulders. “Toru, are you sure-”

Your dear boyfriend’s only giving you a slow, lazy nod. A dopey smile spreading over his face when he spots the trail of gooey white dribbling down your poor, overfilled pussy, gushing out of you with each languid thrust. Oh- shit, when had he started moving again? You bet even he didn’t know that answer.

And before you can react, Gojo’s taking the time to pool the sinful mess on two of his fingers - promptly bullying them back into your already stuffed cunt.

Fuck, you’re not making it out of this alive.

“Shit, taking me so e-easily, huh?” Gojo’s raw, pink lips fall open when your sloppy hole stretches just enough to accommodate his long fingers. “Y-yeah tha’s it. Take it like m’good girl.” Tears of sensitivity pricking behind his eyes when you clench around him so fucking tight, your plushy walls just milking his ravaged cock. “F-fuck s’too sensitive. Too much!”

And despite his own little whines at the back of his throat, Gojo makes no move to stop.

Did he say he’d stop? Ah, his fried brain couldn’t remember anymore.

None at all, instead, he’s raising his glossy finger pads right up to his mouth. Blue eyes falling shut when he presses them inside momentarily, sucking, savoring the taste of you and him and you-

“You’re t-too much, Toru.” you squeal in embarrassment.

And that’s all it takes the strongest to let out a barely-lucid hum of agreement - pulling out his fingers with a lewd pop!

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” he leans down to hum, breath hot against your face. “But what can I- ngh- do-” Each word was punctuated by a harsh, sloppy smack of his hips against your own. Not even bothering pulling all the way out - Gojo doesn’t have to, because he’s nudging all your sweet spots so expertly anyway. Grunting out over those absolutely lewd squelches, “I just want- need you so bad. S’like m’burning from the inside hah- o-out if I don’t ngh fuck this pretty pussy.” He’s babbling deliriously, bent so far down now that your forehead is pressed up against his, thighs burning at the stretch. “-need it so bad. Need it - my one weakness, sweetheart. S’gonna kill me- gonna be the death of me oh-”

“Please!” you think you could almost feel Gojo’s cum sloshing around your walls right now. Fucking you into the mattress so hard - so deep - that you wonder by what miracle the neither of you haven’t broken anything yet.

It wasn’t a miracle - it was his reverse cursed technique, which the both of you discover only much, much later.

But for now you’re only clinging desperately to Gojo’s muscled shoulders, bones popping in protest. Fucked-out whimpers spiling from his pretty mouth each time he was slamming his poor, overused cock inside you. Teary eyes screwing shut because shit it hurt so good. Too good.

“F-Fuck!” you’re gasping when he dances his fingers straight down to draw hasty, feverish little circles on your poor clit. Fingers clawing at his persistent wrist, “Oh my god-”

Gojo hums into your mouth, “J-just ‘Toru’ is fine.”

You let his cocky little comment slide - if only because your boyfriend was smashing into your g-spot repeatedly now. Over and over.

Voice about an octave higher when he’s groaning, “Y-yeah, that good? Ngh- ah!” His hips were stuttering forwards - messy, so so needy like he was drunk on those cute lil’ whines tearing from you with each drag of his cock. “Yeah fuck fuck f-fuck yer killin’ me - pussy too good, feels like m’gonna die.”

God, he really did feel like he could die. Fuck.

“M-me too ngh, Toru.” you wrench your eyes open when something so wet splashes onto your cheeks. Boring into Gojo’s glassy, pussydrunk eyes. Crying now. “M’so close-”

“O-oh yeah?”

And then he’s speeding up - if that was even possible. Flushed skin smacking against yours harder. Just a bit more calculated. Like he couldn’t stop. Uncontrollable.

Enough for Gojo to blink away the slight haze in his eyes and actually look at you. Look at the way your lips wobble with each glide of his fat tip against your sensitive spots, the way you milk him harder when he’s smearing his mess of cum all over your clit. At those delirious little heart-eyes you give him when he only lets his jaw sag open, such fucking embarrassing whimpers of your name being drawn all the way from his overworked cock.

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.” he manages to grit out. “Cum f’me cum f’me, please. Please.”

And how could you not when the strongest asks you so prettily?

You don’t know who cums first - just that your own orgasm is a wave of tingles that shoot all the way from your toes right into your stupidly fucked-out brain. Again and again and Gojo-

Oh, Gojo can’t do anything but bury his head into the crook of your neck. Sharp teeth biting down hard at the point of your pulse as he cums over and over and over. Shooting thick, hot spurts of seed right into your silky cunt. A sinful little white that drools out of your sloppy slit - too much.

“Sweetheart…” Oh, you knew that tone - too well. “Y’know how I h-have the ah- six eyes n’ this was only our fifth round and six is really a nice num-”

“M’gonna kill you, Toru.”

“S’that dirty talk for our sixth round?”

A/N. TEARY GOJO TEARY GOJO TEARY GOJO

Plagiarism not authorized.

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maulfucker · 1 year

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Tbh I might share this someday. I put too much effort into it to not let the world see more than a few glampses of it.

#hm i should make an original post tag #the thing i'm writing that i'm never gonna post #glampses is not a typo. btw. it's a word i invented. used by two people (me and the 'official reviews' friend) so it counts as real.#for reference of how much effort I'm putting into it. i did a rough translation of the jedi code into sith from the stuff on wookiepedia #and this thing is already 5.5k words long. and it's only the first day of the story.

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slytherinslut0 · 9 months

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Theodore Nott. | be my first.

PAIRING: Theodore Nott x Reader

PROMPT: “PLEASE please do a Theodore nott x fem!reader virgin!!”

WORD COUNT: 5.5k.

TAGS: 18+, Mentions of Slight Violence, Depictions of Blood, SMUT, Fingering, Bestfriends to Lovers Trope (my personal fav), Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Slow Sex, Soft!Theo, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk.

"I don't know, Pans, wouldn't that be weird?"

Pansy's laughter echoed in a melodious giggle, the rhythm of her steps creating a soft shuffle across the expanse of your shared dorm. With effortless grace, she descended onto your bed, settling in with a languid poise. Laying on her side, her head found a comfortable perch on her bent arm.

"Why would it be weird?" Her grin, radiant and infectious, painted a mischievous allure across her features. "He's your lifelong best friend. I'm pretty sure he's in love with you-"

"Absolutely not," you interjected, employing a dramatic flourish with your hands for emphasis. "He is not."

Pansy cast a sidelong glance your way. "He so is."

"He's not!" Your grin persisted as you fired back, "if he was, he wouldn't be regaling me with tales of the girls he's shagging every bloody weekend."

Pansy, after a moment of silent contemplation, arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps he's just doing that to make you jealous. Ever think of that?"

You released a sigh, your body surrendering to the bed's embrace as you slumped backwards. The gentle thud of your head meeting the pillows echoed the weight of your contemplations, and memories from the past few weeks intruded your mind--acknowledging the nuanced shifts in Theodore's behaviour, particularly since that one unforgettable common room party.

As the realization took root, you abruptly sat up, the intensity of the revelation reflected in your eyes as they locked onto Pansy's gaze. "Pans...he's been acting distinctly different lately."

Pansy blinked, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "You're just noticing?"

"No, I mean," your thoughts scattered like confetti, your heart pulsating with the weight of the revelation. You realized you hadn't told her. "Ever since that party, the one last Friday in the common room...where we, um...we kissed."

Pansy's eyes widened in sheer disbelief, her jaw dropping in a dramatic display of shock. With a swift, purposeful motion, she sat up, aligning her gaze with yours, the unfiltered surprise etched vividly across her face.

"What the hell!" Her exclamation rang with feigned outrage. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Your expression contorted into a frown as you extended a gentle hand, resting it on Pansy's shoulder. "I'm sorry...we both agreed it was a stupid mistake, and we promised not to tell anyone. We knew you guys would relentlessly hound us about it...I just...I just couldn't risk it..."

Pansy took a measured moment to process your words, her eyes narrowing slightly. She ran a hand through her raven-black hair, the gears turning behind her eyes, thoughts churning with an amused yet contemplative air as she processed your confession.

With an entertained huff, she locked eyes with you. "I can't believe that little weasel kept his mouth shut for all that time. Guess he really can keep a secret."

An assertive snort escaped you, relief from her reaction igniting your features. "Probably just doesn't want me to hate him, considering we're bound to cross paths at every family gathering. Our families are so tightly knit..."

Pansy reclined with a subtle smirk gracing her lips, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. Her fingers traced an intricate, invisible pattern on your emerald green bedspread, their movements betraying a simmering excitement.

Meeting your gaze with unwavering confidence, she responded, "yet another advantage for you, and another compelling reason to go for it."

You shifted, your posture a nuanced blend of contemplation and uncertainty. Your fingers delicately toyed with the hem of your shirt, a nervous energy manifesting in the subtle dance of fabric against your skin.

In the pregnant pause that followed, you countered, "I just...I just can't envision a scenario where asking my best friend to take my virginity works out in my favour."

"I can't see a world where it doesn't," Pansy replied with a softness that hinted at the weight of her conviction. Sitting up again, she met your eyeline, the motion accompanied by a deliberate brush of loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze held a depth of understanding as she continued, "You guys clearly love each other, given you've known each other forever. He's always Mr. Funny Guy with you, perpetually super flirty and protective...I genuinely believe he'd be happy to oblige."

Absorbing Pansy's counsel with a thoughtful nod, you murmured a grateful, "I'll think about it."

Rising in unison, the two of you traversed to your respective wardrobes, swapping the gravity of the previous discourse for the ease of more casual attire. Satisfied with your choices, you exited the dorm, descending toward the common room. The soft glow of dimmed sconces on stone walls cast an intimate ambiance, while a low hum of hushed conversations and sporadic laughter created a comforting background symphony.

As you stepped into the common room, an immediate sense of unease gripped you. Your attention honed in on the far corner, where a palpable commotion unfolded. Brows furrowing with concern, your gaze fixated on a group of clustered bodies--Mattheo Riddle, Lorenzo Berkshire, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott all converged around someone.

Instinctively, you made your way over, Pansy following closely behind. As you approached the charged scene, you reached out, placing a steadying hand on Mattheo's arm in an attempt to capture his attention. The air buzzed with tension as you sought to understand the cause of the brewing conflict.

"Matt, what's happening?" you inquired, peering past him to catch sight of a bloodied Malfoy standing at the center of the circle. "Did you do this?"

"No, it was Nott," he retorted, his dark eyes meeting yours as he ran a hand through his dishelved curly hair. "They had a little disagreement--nothing too crazy."

Your gaze swept around the circle, capturing the aftermath of the disagreement. Malfoy wiped the blood from his chin on the back of his hand, keeping his gaze glued to the floor. Meeting everyone's eyes, your search finally settled on Theo, his nose bleeding and a minor cut marring his chin.

A heavy sigh escaped you, the weariness evident in your tone. "Do your petty disagreements always have to escalate into a damn bloodbath?"

Mattheo nonchalantly shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "When they involve Nott...pretty much, yeah."

With an exasperated scoff, you distanced yourself from him, striding purposefully toward Theo. The cerulean depth of his eyes locked onto yours as you approached, a battered hand running through his tousled hair as he shook his head in a frustrated scowl.

"What happened?" you inquired, genuine concern lacing your voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Theo's jaw clenched, his stormy gaze shifting from your face to fixate on something over your shoulder. "Sorry prat had it coming."

His eyes locked onto Draco, who was now being tended to by Pansy, the lingering fury evident in the tight set of his jaw and the fire in his gaze. Theo was not merely angry; he was simmering with a profound frustration that permeated the air around him. Sensing his reluctance to share details, you delicately grasped his arm, lowering your voice into a soothing whisper.

"Come on, Theo," you murmured, your tone gentle and calming. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

With a reluctant nod, he cast one last glance over your shoulder before allowing you to guide him out of the common room and back down the dormitory hall. Upon reaching his dorm, he unlocked the door with a brief motion, and you stepped in first.

Navigating the familiar space, you headed straight to his bathroom, grabbing a wet cloth and some ointment. As he took a seat on his bed, the routine unfolded seamlessly--a ritual born out of many similar occasions. Cleaning up your best friend was a well-practiced chore, a testament to his quick temper and penchant for confrontation. It was second nature to you, an unspoken agreement that you'd always be there for him in these moments.

Emerging from the bathroom, you noticed Theo had already cast a silencing and muffling spell over the room. A waft of smoke hung in the air as he lit up a cigarette, his darkened gaze keenly tracking your every movement as you approached.

You came to a halt in front of him, and he widened his stance, creating a space for you to nestle between his legs. Seated on his bed while you stood, the two of you aligned perfectly at eye level. A surge pulsed through you as you observed his plush lips sealing around the cigarette, his long fingers delicately holding it to his mouth. After a quick ashing on his nightstand, he granted you the space to tend to him.

Raising the cloth to his chin, you softly dabbed over the cut, your gaze fixed on the subtle flutter of his long lashes--like delicate wings of a butterfly. A scowl etched his features, and your hands trembled inexplicably, watching his brows furrow, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. His own hands rested on his knees on either side of your hips, fingers twitching from the sting of your movements.

In a bid to alleviate some of his discomfort, your voice echoed as a delicate murmur. "Do you remember the first time I did this?"

"How could I forget?" He met your gaze, his stormy eyes flickering as his lips teased a subtle smirk. "My personal saviour, always cleaning up my messes."

Pleased with the condition of the cut, you glided the cloth along the sharp ridge of his jawline, meticulous in collecting every trace of dried blood. Progressing to his nose, you repeated the careful process--his eyes remained fixed on your face, observing each subtle movement as you concentrated on restoring his appearance, gently swiping over his lips last.

Grinning at his words, you locked eyes with him. "You're right...I've been quite the skilled nurse, haven't I?"

He chuckled, a deep sound resonating through his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. "The best damn nurse I've ever had."

You laughed, a warmth dancing across your skin as you pulled the cloth from his face.

"Now that's a compliment, considering you've been in the hospital wing a lot of damn times," you quipped, playfully raising an eyebrow. "I should be getting compensation for my efforts."

"Compensation?" He grinned, the playful glint in his blue eyes unmistakable. "How about I owe you a pack of cigarettes and a promise to keep the brawls to a minimum?"

Smirking, you couldn't hide the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Please, you and I both know your promises mean very little, Nott." As you stepped back, you added, "but I'll take the cigarettes."

Before you could get very far, Theo's large hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, halting your movements as well as the breath in your lungs. Your gaze riveted to the hand, the touch sending a shiver through your skin, before slowly moving back up to meet Theo's eyes. Within their depths churned something profound, a silent intensity that stopped your heart in your chest.

"You want to know why I fought him?" he said, his voice so deep it was almost imperceptible. "Malfoy."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you waited for him to elaborate. "Sure."

Theo's grip tightened on your wrist, his jaw tensing as his eyes drilled into yours. "He said that if he wasn't with Pansy, he'd have gotten with you a long time ago," he confessed, the words carrying a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "He claimed your hard-to-get facade is all an act...that you're really a little slut..."

Your eyes widened at Theo's revelation, a mixture of surprise and disbelief sweeping across your features. Your pulse quickened, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of the situation.

"He said that?" you muttered, the weight of Malfoy's words sinking in. Theo's grip on your wrist loosened, and a subtle vulnerability flickered in his eyes as his hand slid lower, fingers finding yours.

"I don't care what he thinks, but hearing him talk about you like that...I couldn't let it slide," he admitted, his voice softer now, revealing the protective undertone that fueled his actions. "He doesn't know..."

"...that I'm a virgin," you said, finishing his sentence with a hushed admission.

Theo's expression softened as he nodded, and his thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hand.

"I don't want anyone disrespecting you like that, especially not him," he said, a mixture of concern and sincerity in his gaze. "You're a fucking angel, he doesn't deserve to even think about you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, warmth spreading through you at his words. Your gaze locked in with his, his eyes momentarily dropping to your lips, yours doing the same. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken emotions as Theo’s declaration lingered. His protective stance and words resonated deeply, and you couldn’t help but feel the gravity of his sentiments.

Silent acknowledgment settled within you, a quiet admission that the dynamics between you and Theo had shifted. The boy who had once been your childhood best friend was now a source of desire and an unexpected depth of affection. Over the years, his presence had woven into the fabric of your heart, evolving into a sentiment that transcended mere friendship.

"Thank you, Theo..." you murmured, involuntarily leaning closer. "Thank you for-"

Before you could finish the sentence, Theo's hands shifted with intent, cradling the sides of your face as he drew your lips to his. The hunger in his mouth was palpable, a dance of devotion and purpose, his tongue delving past your teeth without a moment's hesitation.

Your lids fluttered shut, your brain caught off guard, taking a seemingly eternal five seconds to gather itself from the molten state it found itself in, the realization dawning that you weren't merely passively enjoying this kiss--you were actively engaging, meeting his fervour with equal intensity.

Your hands instinctively sought his messy hazelnut strands, fingers threading through them as you pressed against him, the world beyond the kiss momentarily forgotten in the heated exchange. As the kiss progressed, your mind struggled to fathom the reality of locking lips with your best friend--a completely sober, unrestrained exchange with no intentions of stopping.

And then, before you could process it, large hands enveloped your lower thighs, drawing you closer as Theo reclined onto his plush green duvet, the soft fabric embracing his back with a gentle touch. Your hands landed involuntarily with a deliberate force on his chest, seeking stability as you shifted to straddle his waist.

The kiss intensified, one of his hands securing the back of your head, while the other boldly explored the curve of your hip, his pelvis pressing against yours, his erection evident even between your layers of clothing.

A low, involuntary moan escaped your lips as his undeniable hardness pressed against you, a sensation that sent shivers down your spine. It kindled a fervent desire within you, a flame only he could stoke. Your hands transitioned from his chest and back into the tousled richness of his hair, fingers entwining in the silky strands. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you caught your breath, panting softly as you gazed down at him through eyes clouded with lust.

Theo's lips curled into a knowing smirk, evident satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he surveyed the effect he had on you. His hands traversed the landscape of your back, drawing you back down to him. Your bodies melded together, the heat rising between you palpable. You instinctively moved your hips against his crotch, craving more of the intoxicating friction that left your senses spinning, and a low groan escaped him, his hands guiding your hips back and forth.

"What are we doing..." Theo whispered, his voice a breathy murmur, his head falling back, and his eyes squeezing shut in a moment of quiet contemplation. "I told myself I wouldn't do this with you again."

Your heart hammered in your throat, your fingers trembling as his hands grazed the curve of your ass. In a mere pant, you breathed, "do what?"

His fingers traced a slow path to the back of your head, gently guiding your lips back to his.

The heat between you intensified as he whispered, "this," against your mouth, his soft breath sparking heat in your veins.

A low, desperate sound escaped your throat, a mixture of a mewl and a moan, as the fire in your core reached an almost unbearable intensity. Theo groaned in response, his grip on your hips tightening, and with a swift motion, he flipped the two of you around, placing you on your back beneath him. His hips pressed into yours with a force that felt like an attempt to fuse you with his mattress, his hands finding purchase on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him.

"Theo," you murmured against his lips, your hands tugging on his hair in a desperate attempt to part his mouth from yours, yearning for a breath of air. "Theo...”

Refusing to break the kiss, Theo groaned into your mouth, his hand cradling the side of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a feather-light touch. He rocked his hips against you, both teetering on the brink of losing yourselves entirely. The restrained passion and tension accumulated from years of friendship were on the verge of breaking free.

Finally, in a gasp of air, Theo pulled back, both of your chests heaving, your lungs reaching for oxygen in desperation. His blue eyes dipped over your face, lingering for a moment before trailing lower. With a regretful realization, he shifted back onto his knees, putting a disappointing amount of space between your bodies, as if just coming to terms with the consequences of his actions.

"Fuck," he murmured, running an unsteady hand through his hair. "I...I'm sorry-"

"Theo...I want you," you cut him off, the desperation evident in your voice as you expressed your desire for him. "Please..."

Theo's eyes flickered, and he blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You..."

"Yes," you whispered, a subtle flush colouring your cheeks as you pushed aside any embarrassment. "I want you to be my first, Theo."

Theo leaned back down, his hand gently cupping your chin as he directed your eyes to meet his intense gaze, his fingers digging into your skin only slightly.

"Are you fucking serious?" he questioned, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Don't play with me, principessa..."

"Why on earth would I joke about something like that?" you replied, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "Of course, I'm serious."

Theo's countenance softened with a tender gaze as he scrutinized your face, searching for any traces of hesitation or uncertainty. Discovering none, he leaned in, planting a delicate kiss against your lips. His hand gracefully transitioned from your chin, weaving into your hair with a gentle, reassuring touch.

"You don't know how fucking long I've wanted you," he whispered against your mouth, his eyes reflecting the intensity of his desire. "But I don't want to fucking hurt you...I don't know if I'll be able to control myself..."

Your fingers gently traced the contours of his face as you held his gaze. "Theo, we've known each other for so long, there's no one I trust more than you...I know you'll be gentle with me..."

Theo's gaze softened further at your words, and he leaned in for another kiss. His hand embarked on a slow journey from the strands of your hair, delicately tracing the curves of your body until it found the waistband of your sweats, teasingly playing with it.

"Gonna' need to ease you into it, principessa," he whispered against your lips, his warm breath mingling with yours. "Let me know if it's too much, alright?"

As you nodded, your hands migrated from his shoulders to entwine in his hair. His hand daringly slipped beneath the cotton fabric, and a gasp involuntarily escaped your lips as he skillfully explored the warmth between your thighs with his fingers. Simultaneously, his lips traced a tantalizing path down past your jawline, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Mm, you're already so fucking wet for me..." he nipped your neck and you squealed, fingers gripping fistfuls of his hair. "Gonna' fill you up so good...stretch you out just for me..."

Pleasure rippled through your thighs, your heartbeat thumping in your core. "Theo..."

"Mhmm," he breathed as he trailed lower, mouth grazing over your collarbone, long fingers teasing over your clit, coating himself in your slick. "Fuck, I've wanted to hear you moan my name like that for years...you've completely fucking tortured me, bella..."

You gasped as he teased your clit again, fervent fingers digging into his scalp. "You-you never made a move-"

Theo groaned against your skin, his free hand sliding up to pull your shirt along your stomach, and then skillfully tugging on your bra, exposing your bare chest to his hungry gaze. His lips parted, and a deep lust filled his eyes as he immediately cupped one breast in his palm, skillfully flicking a stiffening nipple between his fingers.

"Fuck me," he muttered before pulling one of your nipples into his mouth, skillfully twirling his tongue around the bud. "I didn't want to complicate our friendship, bella mia...I didn't want to risk losing you..."

Theo's mouth moved to your other nipple, and he deftly took it between his lips, suckling on it before tracing circles around it with his tongue. You moaned, feeling your body respond to his touch, your hips jerking involuntarily as he pushed a finger inside of you, causing you to cry out in pleasure. His thumb resumed its motions on your clit, coaxing sounds of desire from deep within you.

Heat scorched your blood. "F-fuck, Theo..."

"Is this okay?" he muttered, pulling back slightly to examine your face. "You're so fucking tight."

You nodded, incapable of forming a coherent thought as your body's reaction was immediate, every fiber of your being inundated by intense, mind-numbing pleasure. Theo groaned as he brought his lips back to your nipple, skillfully pulling it into his mouth. Your entire body quivered beneath him, unable to comprehend how rapidly your impending orgasm was overwhelming you.

"Oh, Gods, Theo..." you gasped, your fingers tightening their hold in his hair like you were trying to pry it from his scalp. "Oh, fuck-"

Theo heightened his rhythm, skillfully adding another finger inside you as he fervently zeroed in on your sensitive nub with vigorous strokes. Your vocabulary dissolved into a symphony of flailing wails and moans, your eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy as he sensually flicked his tongue over one nipple before seamlessly transitioning to the other.

"That's right, darling..." he cooed against your chest, his voice torn and barely restrained, a low rasp that sent a thrill up your spine. "Let go for me...I've got you..."

His words alone ignited a blaze of warmth across your skin, and as much as you desired to resist, to not succumb so swiftly, it was inevitable and overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a powerful shot to the gut.

"Shit-Theo!" Your jaw fell slack, eyes rolling back. "I'm-i'm-"

Your vision whitened as you broke, every nerve in your body pulsating with ecstasy. It was a wave crashing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake. Theo's movements never faltered, his touch relentless, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your shuddering form.

"That's it--fuck--so perfect..." he breathed, rubbing you through the remnants of your aftershocks. "Such a good fucking girl...did that feel good?"

You nodded, still gasping for breath as you tried to compose yourself. "Yes," you said, feeling a flush of embarrassment on your cheeks. "It felt amazing."

"Yeah?" Theo whispered, his hand withdrawing as he shifted to press his lips softly against yours. "You like cumming for your best friend, huh? Enjoy making a mess all over my fingers?"

You released a throaty groan against his demanding mouth as his skilled hands effortlessly peeled down your sweatpants and panties, revealing the goosebumped flush of your skin. His shirt swiftly joined the discarded clothes, exposing the sculpted lines of his torso. Unrelenting, his eyes remained fixed on yours as he leaned back to undo his belt with a controlled urgency.

Once successful, he leaned back over you and a large hand cupped your jaw, his voice a low, commanding murmur.

"I didn't hear an answer," he stated, the timbre of his words sending shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I need to make you cum again?"

You huffed, a subtle squirm beneath him accentuating the anticipation, his free hand teasing the tender skin of your inner thigh. "Theodore..."

"Would you like that?" he muttered, his lips drawing nearer, the grip on your jaw tightening. "You want me to make you cum all over my bedsheets again, hm?"

His fingers caressed over your heat, teasing your folds, and you arched against his touch, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. You could sense he was attempting to buy himself time, to talk himself down from his excitement. His restraint hung by a thread, self-control wavered under the sight of you withering beneath him.

Swallowing hard, your throat felt drier than the desert as you met his gaze with pleading eyes. "Please, Theo," you whimpered, "stop teasing."

"Fuck--so eager for me, yeah?" he purred, releasing your jaw to slide his boxers down his thighs, pulling free his thick, long cock. "Let's see if we can sate this pretty little pussy."

Your breath fled from your lungs, your jaw practically dropping to the floor. He was massive, even in his own big hand, even as he pumped himself, sliding his fist back and forth over his length as his eyes burned wounds into the flesh of your tits. You whined, your core clenching and screaming with need, drool threatening to pour down the sides of your lips as your desperate eyes shifted between his eyes and his dick.

"Fucking hell, Theo..." your brain struggled to form coherent thoughts, and those words were the only ones that managed to slip past your lips. "You never mentioned...so massive..."

He huffed, and you knew he was watching you--his irises igniting in flames, a tiny smirk teasing his lips as you watched him stroke himself faster, harder.

"I didn't want to intimidate you before you got to experience how good it can be," he murmured, his voice low and laced with satisfaction. "Besides, I'm well aware of your disdain for men with oversized egos."

Your breath caught in your throat as your brain struggled to process the revelation. Losing your virginity to your lifelong best friend, who knew you better than you knew yourself, and who had purposely kept the extent of his endowment a secret, fearing it might scare you off. The boundary between reality and dream blurred, leaving you in a surreal haze of disbelief.

"Just shut up and show me," you finally managed to whisper, your desire overcoming any reservations. "Show me how good it can be."

"Easy, principessa, don't get greedy now," he murmured, his hands firmly grasping your thighs to pull you closer. "You're not ready for everything I have to offer just yet."

Theo leaned back over you, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and over your collarbone--forearm framing your face, other hand gripping his cock, angling the glistening tip toward your throbbing entrance, teasing you briefly with a few false thrusts, slicking his length in your wetness.

"Are you ready?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "To feel me inside of you, filling you up?"

Your voice barely more than a breath, you nodded in response, averting your gaze to the ceiling. "Please."

Theo huffed, pulling his face from your neck, long fingers directing your gaze to meet his eyes.

"Look at me, bella..." he looped an arm under your neck, long fingers holding you in place. "I want you to look into my eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

Your lips parted in awe, speechless and utterly intoxicated. Doing as he said, you held his gaze, feeling yourself slowly getting lost in the ocean waves of his eyes. Theo groaned, his own breath shallow as he pressed the head of his dick into you, pushing you apart, and you whimpered, clenching before he even entered you. You were quaking--and he hissed through his teeth before he'd fully sank into you, letting loose a low, deep groan as your wet cunt swallowed his cock.

"Shh," he purred, glimpsing your lips. "Just a little bit more..."

Pleasure and pain erupted through your bloodstream as he stretched you wide, a sharp cry leaving your throat as he pushed deeper and deeper, stroking into your heat with the pace of a snail, inch by agonizing inch--pausing once he'd sunk in to the base. You could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, and you were breathless, unable to fathom how big he was, how full he made you feel.

"Fucking hell, are you okay?" he muttered almost under his breath, his voice cracking with concern as he looked into your eyes, his blue gaze searching for any sign of distress. When you merely nodded, the desperation in his expressions intensified. "Please, talk to me...keep me grounded..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you mumbled, still trying to catch your breath. "And what do you mean, 'keep you grounded'?"

Theo sighed heavily, emitting a low groan, his breath catching in his lungs as he withdrew slightly before smoothly gliding back into you. You whimpered, still holding his gaze, lips parted in unbelievable bliss. His hand cradled your head, staring at you with gleaming eyes as he found his rhythm, keeping every stroke deep and careful and full.

"I-I, fuck," he grunted through gritted teeth as he stared down at you. "You're so tight, so fucking wet...I can barely control myself..."

He lowered himself, ensnaring your lips in a profound, fervent kiss while maintaining a deliberate pace within you. Each rhythmic thrust unleashed renewed waves of ecstasy, prompting unrestrained moans from your chest and sending you writhing beneath him.

"You feel so good," he whispered as one of his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch as he slowly began to increase the tempo of his thrusts. "I can't believe how fucking tight you are. You're going to make me cum so fucking hard, my pretty little virgin."

Your nails clawed at his back, your walls squeezing his thick length with every thrust. "Theo-harder, please..."

"Yeah? You want more, pretty girl?" he whispered, warm breath enveloping your ear. "Such a needy little pussy..."

You gasped, nodding as his lips attacked your neck. "Please, please-"

"Anything for you," he responded, his voice torn, each syllable saturated with longing. "Filthy little--fuck,"

He surged into heightened motion, the force of his hips colliding with yours intensifying upon your command. A sharp cry escaped you when he skillfully found that responsive spot within you, immediately unleashing a cascade of pleasure that surged through your body like electric currents. The intensity reached a near-overwhelming point, a delicate dance between ecstasy and a hint of exquisite pain, causing unbridled moans to spill from your lips uncontrollably.

"Mm," he grunted, a near growl in your ear. "Pretty pussy taking me so well,"

His paced increased again, slamming into your cervix with every thrust. His fingers resumed their work on your clit, yanking you toward your climax, your body being whiplashed with pleasure. You bit down on his shoulder, desperate to muffle your screams as your pussy squeezed him harder, yanked to the edge by the stretch of his cock slamming into you, his fingers battering your nub.

"Theo--w-wait," your words stumbled amidst waves of pleasure, your body convulsing beneath his unyielding onslaught. "Theo, please-I can't, I-it's too much...”

"Come on baby, I know you're close," his voice, raspy and unbridled, revealed the shattering of his self-control. He relentlessly pounded into you, beads of sweat adhering his hair to a glistening forehead. "I felt you squeezing me--fuck--you can take it..."

You gasped for breath, a desperate symphony echoing your lungs' protest as your teeth found refuge in his skin. Fingers, possessed by an almost primal force, clawed into his back, leaving an indelible mark. Theo's movements, unyielding and masterful, propelled you inexorably towards the precipice of climax, each sensation more vivid than the last.

"Theo-" you practically screamed, your body buzzing in anticipation. "I'm gonna' cum, Theo-fuck-"

"Let me hear you," he said, voice shredded raw. "I want to hear you scream for me...I want to hear you moaning my name as this tight little cunt breaks for me..."

"Oh, fuck.." you moaned, eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck, Theo...oh Gods, fuck..."

You shattered, euphoria tearing through you as your walls pulsed and milked his cock. Your eyes rolled back, vision going blank as squeals and screeches left your lips in nothing more than mumbling nonsense.

Theo groaned, bliss numbing your skin, limbs shaking and trembling as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, gripping you tighter until he too exploded, breath sputtering as he poured himself into you, hips bucking until the only sensation left was sweaty, heaving, post-orgasmic rapture.

In the aftermath, an extended silence enveloped the room--long after the cadence of your breaths normalized, long after the faculties of your minds fully reassembled. Theo finally stirred, rolling off you to settle on the mattress, where he promptly drew you into the sanctuary of his embrace.

"Can we acknowledge our feelings already?" Theo teased, fingers delicately brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You know I’ll fight you if we go back to just being friends after all of that.”

You huffed, on the precipice of unrestrained laughter. "Only if you go first."

As you shifted to lock eyes with him, a smirk adorned his face, that mischievous grin unfurling across his impeccably plush lips. "Fine…I'm fucking in love with you."

Your own smirk surfaced, a surge of warmth coursing through you as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. "I'm in love with you too, you dork."

4K notes · View notes

onlyswan · 9 months

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summary: in which jungkook gets his motorcycle license and you don’t believe in fate.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, a dash of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: protective!bf jungkook 🫡 / jk gives oc h*ckeys / jk is sad and scared bc many couples r breaking up :( then he gets h*rny and i can’t blame him bc oc is hot / oc loves short skirts n jk is stressed / oc gets an anxiety attack !! bc they thought jk got into an accident / bam cameo <3

> in which masterlist!

note: ART REPORTING FOR DUTY 🫡 it’s been a while so i feel quite rusty and my brain is fried pls bear with me </3 i’m excited to post regularly again and get back into the flow hehe. as always feedback and reblogs are appreciated! 🥺

—

it is a rather calm afternoon in your shared apartment. you and jungkook may be together in the living room, but you’re each spending your alone time.

you’re sitting on the couch with bam’s head on your lap, your not-so-little baby sleeping soundly. you indulge yourself in a fashion magazine, occasionally lifting your head when you sense your boyfriend staring at you longingly from the desk. he would quickly avert his eyes to feign obliviousness, switching between the laptop or his phone to busy himself.

“babe, spit it out.” you giggle, lowering down the magazine from your face. “is there something wrong…? what do you want?”

“no, it’s nothing. just ignore me.”

“then you’re going to be upset with me when i actually do it?”

“yah! that’s not true!” he looks at you wide-eyed, chest puffing up in defense. “it’s really nothing, okay? you can go back to reading.”

“mkay, whatever you say… i’m not reading, though.”you mumble the last sentence, burying your nose in the magazine again.

with a glittery golden-inked pen, you draw a star beside a bag from the spring/summer collection that you fell in love with at first sight. you hear the clacking of the keyboard pause and resume, pause and resume, but you ignore your boyfriend’s beseeching glances like he asked you to.

minutes pass by on the clock as you flip the pages with twinkling eyes and silent squeals, but they feel like hours to jungkook.

he blinks at the laptop screen as he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip.

he just needs to do it— get it over with. whatever it is, he’s certain that the two of you could reach some sort of compromise… right?

he puts on a face of determination before wheeling the gaming chair towards where you are. and with no one to blame but himself, he releases a disgruntled noise when he collides with the leather couch. the impact sends him a couple of feet away from his destination, but his hands find purchase on your exposed thighs and he brings himself back to you.

his clinginess never fails to fill your stomach with butterflies.

you smile in secret, silent as he hooks his arms underneath your knees and lies his head beside bam’s. he kisses bam’s forehead, and in a somewhat twisted way, you are grateful for all the times the universe tugged at the string of joy and made you chase after it, because it led you here.

he has folded himself in a position that looks wildly uncomfortable, but jungkook likes to torture his senses for some reason, so you let him be. you pretend that no one has invaded your space, attached theirself to you so close that you’re carrying a quarter of their weight; feeling tickled by their exhales against your skin.

you planned to mix yourself a cocktail halfway through your magazine, but that is pushed to the bottom of things you can do now that your boyfriend is displeased with the lack of attention from his lover.

“this won’t do!”

his impatience forces him out of the chair and onto the couch, where he sneaks his strong arms around your waist. the movements shakes bam awake from his slumber. the doberman sits up, tiredly blinks at his father as if he is so done, and leaps off the couch to strut to his house.

jungkook scratches his head guiltily. “bam! dad is sorry that he disturbed your sleep!”

to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t receive a reply.

“oh, bam, are you mad at me…? you can’t be, right? you must understand… we both really love ____, don’t we?”

but he does receive one from you— a fond gaze that thinks of him bizarre.

“he’s not mad!” he defends himself.

“he should be. we were having a peaceful time together.”

“yah, that’s so mean. i’m part of this family too!” he complains with a scowl. “i want to cuddle.”

“no one’s stopping you, babe.”

this time, he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

he breathes you in, and his mind becomes clouded with the natural scent of you, so uniquely you, sweet and fresh like the clouds on a spring day, mixed with a hint of strawberries. humans smell fragrant flowers and break off their stems. jungkook smells you and he bites, sinks his teeth on your skin, sucks, again and again, and then soothes the ache with a slow and gentle slide of his tongue, but it doesn’t erase the marks that blossom into a hue of a bruise.

he licks his lips, wet with saliva, feeling cocky with the memory of your sharp inhales— cockier when he lifts his head and sees the dilation of your pupils behind a curtain of haze.

however, they’re still trained towards the fashion items printed on paper that you so desperately wish would materialize into thin air.

he groans.

“baaaaby,”

“mhmmm?” you mimic the tone of his whine, resting your head on his shoulder— just to be closer, let him know you’re here and you’re listening.

he clears his throat, prepares for the worst.

“these days, there’s something i’ve been thinking of a lot… i’ve been researching here and there, too…”

“about?”

“motorcycles…”

“okay,”

“okay?”

bewildered by your nonchalant response, he pulls away to squint at you in suspicion.

“…i’m planning to buy one and get a license? like, maybe next week?”

“okay,” you repeat yourself.

hit with a twinge of confusion, you briefly tear your eyes away from the beautiful gowns worn by beautiful models.

“are you telling me or are you asking me?”

“uh- uhm,�� he stutters. “i’m telling you.”

“alright then,”

his chest puffs up as he inhales sharply. “that’s it?!”

“what do you want me to say?” you flip a page, a flicker of amusement flashing across your face. “you’re not allowed to…? i mean- sure, i can do that, too.”

“no, no, no, no, no-” he kisses your cheek— nearly, barely, he’s smiling too big to do it properly. “no, really! are you serious?”

“why won’t you believe me?” the magazine lands on your lap as you cross your arms in annoyance. “what do you think of me?”

“i heard couples really fight about this in particular, though?” he chuckles, and it’s your pouted lips’ turn to be granted a kiss. “sorry, i assumed you won’t approve of this one. you’re so strict with me about driving safely.”

“it’s no problem because i know you’re responsible. i just get worried sometimes,” you mumble. “when you’re tired from work.”

“i know,”

“good,” you sigh, leaning into him to steal a kiss yourself. “can i just ask you for one thing then?”

“yes,” he nods eagerly. “anything.”

“if i find out that you didn’t wear a helmet one time…” you tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth, unsure what type of reaction you will elicit. “you’re getting rid of it.”

“three times-”

“oh my god, absolutely not!”

the sheer horror painted on your face further fuels his mischief.

“twice?”

“you said anyth-”

“please?”

“no! then i’m getting rid of it myself!”

you shove his shoulder, and he allows himself to fall flat on the couch before bouncing back with the mission to ease your mind.

“i’m just joking, baby!” his giggles fill the entire apartment.

he cages your face in his hands but you stubbornly resist.

“i’m joking- i’m joking. i’m sorry. come here, give me a kiss.”

he makes a smooching sound with his puckered lips and you send an unimpressed glare in return.

“promise me first,” your fingers wrap around his wrist to deny his affectionate advances. “one time!”

“i promise!”

“and you won’t get angry at me?”

and with that, his heart begins to ache in his chest. the shift in your voice, the nervousness blanketed by softness… fuck.

“how hard can that possibly be?”

he just remembered how upset you were when he got himself infected after visiting a tattoo shop in america. you told him it would probably be best to do more research on the place, but he isn’t jungkook if he isn’t stubborn. it was hell, to say the least. being in pain and fighting with you for days. you would tend to him and the silence would rub salt on the wound.

today, however, he was more than prepared to defend his case in the event that he faces rejection.

he doesn’t.

on the contrary, he is a given a gift.

“i hate you,” you whimper, but your words contradict the way you respond to his kisses— the sharpness of them has been dulled by his tongue. he tastes like the green apple lollipop that you completely forgot you left on the desk four days ago.

he draws back with a playful grin.

thief… your kisses and your candy and your body and your heart. all his.

“huh, you don’t mean that.”

“i do!”

“i love you,” he utters tenderly. “i trust you to set me straight when i need to get my shit together.”

“then you understand that i just don’t want it to become a habit, right…?”

what does he think of you? a person who treats him with utmost gentleness, supports his happiness, and worries about his safety— a person more important to him than himself.

“and even if it’s only one time… we never know what’s going to happen. i wouldn’t be able to bear seeing you outside the celebrity segment of the news. jungkook, i swear.” you pray that he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice, disguising it with a layer of humor. “i will lose my mind.”

“of course i understand! that won’t ever happen, baby! i want to tell you not to worry too much, but… but to be honest… i think i will be more upset if you don’t lecture me about this kind of thing at all.”

“really?”

“yes. because then doesn’t that mean you no longer care about me?”

this whole time, you’ve been saying i don’t want you to get hurt i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you, and he hears you clearly— like how one recognizes their favorite song playing in public even from far away.

you smile sheepishly. “show me the motorcycle you want.”

your outspoken interest makes jungkook’s face light up like a christmas tree.

“there’s actually a few that i’m looking at…” he trails off, running back to the desk to grab his laptop.

“i’ll help you choose!” you clap your hands excitedly. “is there a pink one?”

“pink?!” he exclaims, which is then followed by endeared laughter. “you want it?”

you assume that he is going to ignore the silly idea, that is until he returns to his seat beside you.

“sure, there should be one somewhere.” he whispers, more to himself, typing away on the keyboard to feed your curiosity.

“really? really?” you babble, clinging to his arm to take a peek at the screen.

“hmmm,” he hums. “get a license too and i’ll buy it for you.”

a sound of disapproval bubbles in your throat. “eh, not for me. i want you to use it.”

jungkook dramatically pauses. he stares at you, doe eyes infront of blazing headlights.

he releases a burdened sigh.

“why me?!”

—

“bend over,” jungkook commands sternly, standing arms crossed infront of the bedroom door to deny your exit. “right now.”

“eh?” you gape at him. “but aren’t we goi-”

“i said turn around, baby.”

you’re left with no choice when his patience runs thin and he captures your hand— it comes so naturally when you twirl on your toes as if you’re waltzing to a slow love song. he pushes you forward gently, and you carry your innate grace all the way to the arch of your back.

jungkook swallows down a moan elicited by the tantalizing view, clearing his throat. he masks the sound by unceremoniously spanking your ass, the skin-to-skin contact also causing a sharp sting to spread across his palm.

“shit- i knew it, it’s too short.” he tugs your skirt down, a useless attempt at concealing your white lace underwear. he harshly breathes out in exasperation. “baby, i can see everything! you can’t ride a motorcycle wearing this!“

“what? motorcycle?! i can finally ride it?!”

you only heard one word come out of your boyfriend’s mouth, it seems.

you flip in excitement, facing him again with a smile as bright as the sunny sky outside. “you got your license? why didn’t you tell me?!”

“i was going to surprise you but-”

he still looks stressed out, eyes trained to your skirt- well, your legs. the skirt is barely there.

“going back here from the parking lot to change would be-”

“but it’s miu miu,” you quietly remark, looking down at the article of clothing with a frown. “it’s not that short…”

“look at the mirror,” he points to your left with his eyes, but then he is already carrying you by the curves of your waist so that your back is facing it.

you bend down on your own, and jungkook clicks his tongue when you only giggle heartily upon seeing your own reflection.

“it’s fiiine! you’re there to protect me. i just won’t bend down.”

“but won’t you get cold?”

“nope!” you reply without a second to spare. “for fashion, i never get cold.”

it’s been more than five years since he met you; jungkook knows damn well that is very far from the truth. not a single autumn and winter have passed that he didn’t lend you his jacket, his warmth, and then some more, simply because you refuse to stop wearing skirts until you’re at the verge of freezing to death.

alright, maybe he’s being dramatic, and you’re stubborn as hell.

“and i’m wearing my tall boots,” you raise your leg in a straight line to show off the leather brown boots that stop below your knees. “look, look… don’t i look cute?”

cute? such a word won’t do you justice. you’re acting like he’s not also looking at your panties.

“of course,” a soft smile replaces his hardened features. “you look so beautiful, baby.”

“hm, thought so,” you scrunch your nose, and his heart skips a beat.

damn, but that- there’s definitely no other word to describe it but the word cute.

“but how about, let’s say, wearing a coat over it?”

“jungkook! no!” you grunt, punching his arm- but then a lightbulb illuminates your brain.

“or shorts under it-”

“oh my god, i think you have one that matches. i remember i saw it the other day-”

“no, wait, wait, wait- shorts are safer! ____!”

you sprint back to the walk-in closet, leaving jungkook alone in the bedroom.

“come back here!”

he jerks his head in distress, rubbing his eyes harshly with his tattooed knuckles.

“ah, ____!”

“what?!” you yell, voice bouncing off the walls of your apartment. “i found it!”

—

“is it too tight?” jungkook inquires, looking up to you from the floor.

you bend your knees to assess the tightness of knee pads. “nope, it’s good.”

he proceeds to grab the elbows pads he hung over the handle of the motorcycle.

“hmmm, next… you wear these instead.”

you pout, recalling that he forgot his riding jacket at work yesterday. “but what about you?”

“i only have one pair.” he says. “it’s fine, it’s just for now. let’s pick up my jacket at the company before going to the museum.”

“how about let’s wear one each?”

upon processing the mechanics of your suggestion, his tall and broad frame shakes with mirth.

you obviously grew up with little siblings. they were so lucky to have you.

“hey! what are you laughing at?”

“nothing, you’re just cute.” he chuckles, wrapping the other protective pad around your left elbow. “just wear them both. i’m confident with my driving but… i still need you as safe as possible, baby.”

“but jungkook! what if y-” you whine out a protest, which he instantly silences by slipping your helmet over your head. “ugh, you’re so rude!”

he beams with pride as he clips its straps beneath your chin. “wow, it fits so perfectly? i only guessed… ah, as expected of jeon jungkook.”

his hand freezes on the visor when you strike him with the beady eyes, pouting your lips to request for a kiss, which he grants— more than willingly. gladly. happily. with pleasure.

cruising through the city on a motorbike with the love of his life; going on dates; putting on your helmet for you and learning how to angle his face for when he steals a kiss— he used to only witness this in romance films.

at the end of the day he’s just a simple man, jungkook admits.

what a dream come true.

—

it definitely becomes clearer to jungkook today— why you did not oppose the idea of him getting a motorcycle license on such short notice.

“this is so cool!” you squeal behind him, subconsciously raising the pitch of your voice to contest with the wind and the roaring engines.

“____, be careful,” he chides you. “or else i’ll slow down!”

a sense of relief washes over him as you readjust your arms around his waist, your weight resting on him ironically making his chest feel lighter.

if only jungkook could protect you by keeping you bubblewrapped at all times, he would.

“you’re enjoying this more than i expected.”

the two of you idle before a red light. he balances the two-wheeled vehicle with his left foot planted on the ground.

“is it fun?”

“so much fun!” you gush, enthusiasm overflowing past the seams of your lips. “you already drive like a pro!”

“of course! i studied hard! i don’t plan on putting you in danger with my stupidity!”

“still-” you interject. “you’re just good at everything.”

while he is aware that he is gifted in many ways, technically speaking, jungkook knows he can’t possibly be good at everything. but hearing it come from the person he love and adore most in the world? he can’t help but to allow it to inflate his ego a little bit.

ten seconds before the traffic light turns green.

his smirk is hidden inside his helmet, but you can masterfully envision it in your head just from the transparent smugness in his voice.

“time to hold on again, baby.”

“i think you just like me feeling you up.” you muse.

you teasingly slip one hand underneath his shirt to caress his toned stomach, and he hisses out a curse. with how strict you are about road safety, one would assume that you would restrain on being frisky while riding a vehicle thirty times more dangerous than a car. you either have too much in trust your boyfriend or you underestimate your effect on him.

in his case, double the thirty.

the engine roars to life and the wheels screech against the concrete road. your gentle touch turns into a bruising grip on his waist.

jungkook thinks that you might be right. he would never miss an opportunity to feel your skin on his skin. he selfishly decides then and there— he now prefers motorycle rides with you.

—

it doesn’t take you long to catch up to that fact. when he tells you wear something comfortable, you also know not to spend too much time doing something cute with your hair because the helmet will just turn it into a tousled mess. for the past two months, he has been calling you every night to ask whether you want to be picked up from work with the bike or the car, because as much as you both relish in the thrill and the wind and the intimacy, sometimes you fall asleep on the way home from exhaustion and he doesn’t want you… quite literally falling on the streets of seoul.

but today is your day-off, and with your head hanging from the edge of the bed, you tear your attention away from your phone to find jungkook is upside down. he stands outside the bedroom door hugging your rainbow hello kitty plushie to his chest, frowning woefully with a cause you are clueless about.

the contrast of his black t-shirt with the rainbow makes you crack a smile, reminiscent of the countless memes you’ve seen on the internet. you find it funny, but mostly endearing. because you’re the one who loves colors but dreams of nightmares, while he loves dark colors but dreams of stars, fairies, and soaring through skies and different dimensions. you don’t believe in fate. however, jungkook believes that it was fate that brought him to you, and that you are the person he is destined with. you don’t believe in fate, but you wholeheartedly, unequivocally believe in him.

“i was watching the news-” he huffs, seemingly perplexed. “why is everyone breaking up all of a sudden?”

“who broke up?”

he freezes, attempting to recall the names that flashed across the television screen only minutes ago. “i honestly don’t know them, but still!”

“then why are you pouting?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he carelessly tosses the plushie on the bed before climbing on it, sneaking his arms between your torso and the mattress to engulf you in a bone-crushing embrace. your phone slips away from your grip, buried somewhere in the sheets, but when big bundle of love and warmth is over you, it’s impossible to be consumed by anything else.

you weave your fingers through his hair, whispering teasingly. “scared of being in the headlines too?”

“scared…” he agrees, then he doesn’t. “of losing you.”

he scoots closer to nuzzle his face against your neck, his warm breath fanning your skin.

“i-it’s just,” he pauses. “ah, i don’t know! nevermind, forget it.”

“no, tell me. it’s okay.” your hands cup his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you. “tell me what’s bothering you. whatever it is. i’ll listen.”

there’s a glint of melancholy on his glassy eyes, and you desperately want to know what brought forth this pain so you can take it all away. your heart shatters when his nose scrunches into a sniffle, skin becoming more flushed, a shade of red that dusts his skin only when he cries.

“when couples break up after a long time… many of them say…” he trails off, held back by uncertainty.

“they say?” you urge him to continue, pretending to be absorbed in fixing his hair— running your fingers through the soft locks, rearranging his bangs, trying to see if they’re long enough to be tucked behind his ears— all in an indulgent effort to show him that this type of conversation doesn’t need to be awkward or intense.

“they say that… that they just woke up one day and- and realized they were no longer-” his lips curve into a frown, deeper than before, and you mirror him without knowing. “happy, or in love.”

he breathes shakily, avoiding your eyes to gather himself together.

fuck, jeon jungkook. man up! are you seriously going to cry right now? like this?

“and we’ve been together for five years.”

“almost five,” you correct him with a sweet smile, poking his soft cheek right where one of his dimples would be. “our anniversary is right around the corner.”

the unadulterated joy you radiated as you spoke those words makes the trepidation in his brain glitch.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself. please continue.”

he licks his lips, and then opens his mouth but- “i’ve lost my train of thought.”

“oh my god, i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“you were talking about something serious.” you wince guiltily.

“our anniversary is something serious too!” he points out, pouting cutely.

“yes, but… it’s a different story, breakups are- jungkook! why are you suddenly laughing?!” you sputter, shoving him away in annoyance when you hear a snort in the midst of his uncontrollable giggles. “what’s so funny…? you were just so close to crying!”

he shakes his head profusely, collapsing over you, but he ends up rolling over to the side so he can lie on his back and clutch at his aching belly.

“ah, ____! my heart fluttered when you mentioned our anniversary. i totally forgot what i was talking about!”

if it fluttered earlier, now it goes absolutely wild in his ribcage.

your positions are switched before he can comprehend it— you’re now on all fours on top of him. his head is trapped in between your arms and your gold necklace is dangling over his face and you’re straddling his lap and now it’s getting harder to breathe and not picture obscene images that involve you worshipping his body.

he probably likes this way too much than he cares to admit.

“do you see it now?”

he purses his lips, obviously distracted, controlled by his desire for you as he finds the curves of your waist to caress. “see what?”

“that you don’t need to be anxious about us not being happy in the future, because we’re happy right now.”

he cannot detect an ounce of hesitation even if he tried. you are steady. you are sure. something intangible and inexplicable floods your souls when your eyes meet, but the two of you know that it exists and it is real.

“fuck… i love you. i fucking love you so much.” his voice borders on a growl, and a whimper escapes your lips just before they crash against his for a kiss so full of passion that it completely catches you offguard. he pulled you down so swiftly that your hands anchored on the bed scrambled for his forearms to break your fall, nails digging into his skin as you balance yourself.

jungkook isn’t much for words, but something in him always wants more. he likes to speak with his tongue in a way so sweet that it compels you to abandon your vocabularies in the farthest back of your mind.

you sit down on his lap breathless after making out. your boyfriend watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slipping his hands underneath his head as he cockily grins in satisfaction.

you roll your eyes at the sight of his biceps being shamelessly flexed. “bastard,”

“bastard you’re crazy about,”

“unfortunately,” you sigh with faux disappointment, hugging the hello kitty plushie you picked up from the floor.

“want to go for a ride?”

“to where?”

“anywhere,” he shrugs. “it’s already late so there shouldn’t be traffic anymore.”

you jump off the bed without another word, returning a minute later clad in a black harley davidson jacket. you look so fucking chic and attractive in it, he always pats himself on the back for buying it for you.

jungkook would go against all laws of the universe if it meant spending a hundred more almost five years with you, until the hello kitty plushie you’re still hugging becomes gray and unrecognizable.

“babe, why are you still staring at me like that? i’m ready!”

—

from the entrance, jungkook discerns your familiar figure pacing back and forth across your designated parking spaces. you appear to be engrossed in your phone as you nibble on your thumb, which he knows to be a tell-tale sign of your anxiety. you just got your nails done, and for the first three days, you’re usually very conscious of messing them up.

you fail to notice the loud presence of his motorcycle, not until he has successfully parked and pushed down its side stand on the ground.

“baby! what are you doing out here?”

he lifts off the helmet, ruffling his hair to tame it. and as he brushes his stubborn bangs away from his eyes, that’s when he sees his lover overcome with distraught.

his heart drops to his stomach.

your eyes are filled with unshed tears, chin trembling with the struggle of holding them back.

“jungkook!” you wail out his name, and you haven’t cried this loud since you were sixteen.

an unnamed neighbor walks by the scene and says to theirself, somebody must’ve died.

“yah- why? why, why, why?” he stumbles over his own words in panic, carelessly hanging the helmet on one of the handles of the motorcycle as he gets off. “what’s wrong? baby? what happened?”

you hide your face in the palms of your cold yet clammy hands, ashamed by the surge of your emotions flooding the parking lot as acid rain, but a sense of safety blankets you when jungkook gingerly tugs you towards him.

“i thought something bad happened to you! a car hit a motorcycle nearby- and i thou- i really thought-”

“oh, that’s right! how did you know?” he gasps. “i passed by them earlier. there were so many people and police officers.”

“jungkook!” you snap, hitting his chest in frustration.

“sorry- i’m sorry! okay, that was insensitive of me- fuck.” he rambles, and you visibly cringe when his glove-clad hands touch your face.

the texture, and only god knows all the places it’s been…

“there’s no need to cry, baby! i’m already here, aren’t i? i’m so healthy. there’s not a single scratch on me.”

he hastily takes off his jacket to reveal himself in a white sleeveless shirt. spotless that it looks brand-new.

“see? all good!“

you fall silent. your eyes frantically scan his body, but your brain doesn’t really register anything that you perceive.

“aigoo, why are you shaking so much?”

he can’t bear to watch you in this state. he feels nauseous, almost, like his gut is being twisted and wrung in different ways.

“my baby must’ve been so worried about me, is that right? come here.”

in the solace of jungkook’s embrace, wrapped in his strong arms that are, praise heavens, not broken, the pounding of your heart gradually returns to normal.

his, however, becomes louder. and these days he likes to believe that he is no longer the crybaby he once was, but his skin feels flushed as tears fills his eyes, because damn, what a blessing it is to be loved by you.

he leans on the motorcycle, lovingly rocking you back and forth with shushes and soft hums.

time flies by when you are floating, but jungkook is patient as he waits for you to land and come home to him, even when his feet have fallen asleep.

“you haven’t forgotten your promise?” you whisper.

“never not wear a helmet,” he coos, pressing his lips to your temple. “of course i haven’t forgotten.”

“good,” you mumble, drawing back. “go home and shower. you’re all so sweaty.”

“i will. i feel so sticky.” he chortles. “this is so annoying. i hate summer!”

—

you continue to cling to jungkook all the way to the apartment unit, arms circled around his torso and soft cheek smushed against his back. snuggling him from behind like a koala does a tree is a newly-discovered joy. and if you were single you would be rolling your eyes at a person for saying this, but it is quite wonderful to have a boyfriend for a pillow that is also a blanket. has anyone invented that?

“you know, i regret not getting a motorcycle earlier.”

“why?”

the door opens with a short jovial jingle as a signal.

“i saw someone with a puppy in a basket this morning. it was even wearing goggles! it was really cute!” he laments, dragging you along with him into the living room. “ah, i’m an idiot. why didn’t i think of that? we could’ve done that with bam!”

you form the mental image of tiny baby bam wearing tiny goggles and a tiny leather jacket, and then another, but with the current bam.

“but bam is already as big as the bike!” you dissolve into laughter.

jungkook grunts, and you can’t tell whether he’s genuinely feeling this regretful or he’s just trying to distract you after you broke down with the mind-numbing anxiety of losing him forever.

“exactly!”

you sink into the couch, instinctively reaching for the hello kitty plushie to hug. meanwhile, he begins stripping off his shirt.

“it’s not even possible at all now!”

“but i do want to see him wear goggles…” you say in jest, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your shorts. “should i look for one?”

wait, what do you even type for it? dog goggles?

“i found them. there are helmets, too.” you gasp, covering your mouth as an epiphany hits you. “the puppy wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

driven by curiosity, jungkook sits next to you as you search for the item online. he is practically naked, left wearing only his black calvin klein boxers.

“oh,” he pauses. “now that you mention it, the puppy wasn’t wearing one.”

“how are you still sweaty?” with your thumb, you wipe the bead of sweat threatening to enter his eye. “go shower first.”

he manages to sneak a chaste kiss to your wrist before it becomes out of reach.

“before that, i need to tell you something.”

you bob your head, encouraging him to speak out, but the longer you maintain eye-contact with him, the faster his impulsive courage melts into a puddle of nervousness.

marry me.

“baby…”

“yes?” you half-smile. “what is it? you’re starting to scare me.”

marry me.

when i see the future, i only see you.

“i love you.”

—

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—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic

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joelscruff · 3 months

Text

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

#joel miller x reader #*#1500 kisses challenge

2K notes · View notes

freedomfireflies · 6 months

Text

Teenage Dirtbag*

Summary: The one where Harry's popular, cool, and everything you aren't. And maybe you want to keep him your dirty, little secret.

Word Count: 5.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, gag, exhibitionism if you squint, fratrry, not suitable for Ramadan!

“Okay, next question. What is the Albedo Effect?”

“27.”

“Harry, come on.”

“What?”

“I need an answer.”

“That is an answer. Maybe not to this question, but it’s an answer to some question.”

Your expression falls flat as you toss a piece of popcorn at him. “H, seriously.”

“What?”

“We’re supposed to be studying.”

“We are.”

“No, actually studying.” You toss another piece at him, which he catches in his mouth. “Harry—"

“The Albedo Effect is the reflectivity of the Earth’s surface,” he finally says before grinning smugly. “There. Happy?”

“Mm.”

“Since I got it right, do I win a kiss?”

“No. You win another question,” you say before switching to the next notecard. “Okay, what is the average temperature of the Earth’s surface?”

“27.”

“Harry.”

He laughs before he’s reaching across the bed to grab the stack of notebooks, cards, and books all over your lap. Effortlessly discarding of them while leaning toward you to ghost his lips over yours. “59 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Your lashes flutter. You want to argue. Want to fight him and demand your things back. But it’s hard when he’s this close. “Um…right.”

He smiles, mouth dangerously tempting as it dances along the curve of your jaw. “Give me another.”

“I…” You swallow. “I can’t. You stole my cards.”

“Oh, did I? Oops.”

“You’re mean.”

“Yeah. But you like me.”

“Not right now.”

“Yes now. Always.”

You huff. “I’m not…I’m not kissing you until we finish studying—”

“Well, I’m not studying until you kiss me.”

“Harry—”

“What, angel?”

You fist his shirt. You mean to push him away and yet somehow, he ends up even closer. “I didn’t invite you over for this.”

“I know.” He smirks again. “This is just a bonus.”

“We agreed to study.”

“We are.”

“Jessica’s gonna be back soon—”

“So?”

“So, you know you can’t be here when she gets here,” you remind him, finally finding the strength to shove him back. “Come on, a few more questions and then we can take a break.”

“You said that a few questions ago,” he argues.

You grab the cards. “Oops.”

Fifteen minutes go by before you finally reach the end of your notes, earning a loud sigh from your study buddy as he flops onto his back in defeat.

“That was awful,” he declares. His head rolls until his eyes find yours. A soft green beneath those long lashes. “You take way too many notes.”

“I like to be prepared,” you pout as you stand and put them back on your desk. “You don’t take nearly enough.”

“Because I have you.”

“Yeah, well…that’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating if I’m helping you use them.”

You turn around and place your hands on your hips. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He sits up and reaches for you. Easily tugging you between his legs as you try—futilely—not to fall for that gorgeous grin. “And yet you keep me around.”

“Mm…for now.”

“For now, huh?” His large hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt and you do nothing to stop him. “You just use me for my cock, is that it? Cause I’m a good fuck?”

Your skin grows warm as you look away. “Stop it, don’t say it like that.”

“What? M’I embarrassing you, pretty girl?” he whispers. He squeezes your sides, palms soft against your stomach. “Which part did it? Cock or fuck?”

You close your eyes and groan. “Harry—”

“What? They’re just words, baby.”

“Yeah, but they’re dirty words.”

He’s grinning again. Arrogant and far too smug. “I’ve seen this pretty mouth do far dirtier things—”

You bury your face in your hands to hide. “Please don’t remind me—”

“Why not? Hm? You don’t wanna remember the way you took me down your throat like a good girl?” He lifts your shirt and presses a gentle kiss just below your belly button. “Or what about the way you scratched your nails down my back as you came? Crying my name until your voice went raw?”

“Harry…”

“What about when I fingered you under the table?” he murmurs, then moves his kisses up your torso. One after the other. Slow. “And you had to bite your cute, little lip to keep from moaning?”

You start to squirm. “H…H, please—”

“What about the time I bent you over that desk—” He nods his chin toward the table in the corner of your dorm room. “—and made you cum so hard, you squirted.”

You make another noise and melt into his touch. They’re good memories, you know that. But they do unspeakable things to your anxiety. Just the thought of what someone might say…the idea of what the two of you have done. You weren’t raised to think or feel so freely and Harry is a master at making you nervous.

You’ve done more with him than you ever have anyone else. More than you imagined you’d ever do. And even if you wouldn’t trade it for the world, you can’t say you really welcome the reminder.

His kisses reach your chest. Naked and bare and begging to be touched. “You can be dirty, too, pretty girl.”

Your hand finds his hair. Fingers sweeping through his soft curls that are normally restrained by some sort of beanie or bandana. “H…”

He hums. He knows he’s embarrassing you. But you suppose that’s why he does it.

The small room falls silent, save for the gentle sounds of his kisses as they move toward your breast. His tongue is dangerously close and you know if he gets his way, you’ll never get anything else done.

However, just before those pretty pink lips can make contact, you hear the sound of your roommate’s voice down the hall. Loud enough to startle you and pull you out from between his legs.

Quickly, you’re tugging your shirt back down and grabbing his hand to lead him to the window. Nearly shoving him out onto the fire escape before he’s even had a chance to catch his breath.

“Go,” you whisper as you toss his flannel at him. “Hurry.”

“You know, as much as I like being your dirty little secret, you know she’s gonna find out eventually,” he says while dipping beneath the window frame until he’s completely out of the room.

“I know. But today is not that day.”

Once you’re sure she won’t see him, you get ready to close the curtains. But you’re stopped by his large hand slipping around the back of your neck as he yanks your mouths together. Finally getting the kiss he so desperately wanted.

“You’re still coming to the party this Friday, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips.

You kiss him back just once before you’re shoving at him again. “We’ll see,” you call.

He winks.

With that, the window slams shut, and he disappears into the darkness. Right as Jessica slips inside the room and begins to tell you about her incredibly long day.

And every trace of Harry has gone.

“Ten minutes. Just ten minutes. And if we hate it, we can leave.”

“All right, fine,” you agree, begrudgingly following your friend into the large, familiar house that sits a few miles outside of campus. “Ten. But if I get a single drink spilled on me…I’m out.”

“Deal.”

You laugh as Jess throws her arm around your shoulders to lead you inside, shoving past the group of college students already gathering in the living room.

Every inch of the house is packed full of people. The music is loud, the smell of weed is strong, and a lively game of cup pong is being had down the hall. Truth be told, this scene always tends to catch you off guard. No, this isn’t your first party. But you were raised in a world and in a home where drugs and alcohol were never present.

You don’t mind being around them or watching people participate, but the concept is still rather foreign to you. Even if Harry’s presence in your life is beginning to change that.

Speaking of, you can’t help but search for him as Jessica drags you from room to room. You imagine he’s around somewhere. After all, this is his frat house, and you’ve never known him to miss a party.

But with the football game happening tomorrow night, you wonder if he’ll be out practicing or if he’ll be here with his teammates, pre-gaming.

You catch a glimpse of his red, backwards baseball cap as you’re leaving the kitchen. He’s across the house, clad in a black, graphic t-shirt and skinny jeans, leaning against the wall as he talks to one of his friends.

He’s nodding along to something they’re saying, taking slow sips of whatever’s in his solo cup while lazily looking around.

And that’s when he finds you.

Even with all these people, you feel like the only two in the room. And you catch the way he smiles. A soft, secret smirk meant just for you. And a gleam in his eye as he takes another sip and returns to his conversation.

He’s glad you’re here and honestly, you think you are, too.

“Oh, Zack, there you are!” Jessica suddenly exclaims before she’s yanking you toward one of the guys on Harry’s team. “Zack, this is the friend I was telling you about.”

A bit confused, you and Zack exchange a nod as your roommate begins the excited introductions.

“This is the guy I wanted to set you up with,” she whispers under her breath before straightening up. “So, uh, Zack! You’re single, right?”

Even more surprised, Zack blinks as his attention drifts to you. He hesitates, and for just a moment, you wonder if he recognizes you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this house. And it’s not the first time you’ve met Zack. However, you and Harry have been rather diligent about keeping your visits a secret, even from the other boys that live here.

Still, Zack almost caught you once when you were forced to hide in the shower as he brushed his teeth. And even though he didn’t seem to notice, Harry mentioned that he did see the earrings you accidentally left behind. The same earrings he proceeded to tease Harry about for the next week.

And the same earrings you’re wearing now.

But, if he’s begun to put two and two together, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he shakes his head. “Nah, not really. I’m kind of seeing Annie. I guess.”

You smirk. “You guess?”

“I mean, we’re fucking,” he argues. “But, like…I wouldn’t say we’re together. But she would. I don’t know. But she’d be fucking pissed if I went out with someone else.”

To your surprise, Zack seems to be covering for you. Because you happen to know Annie is actually seeing Derek. She and Zack never got past the drunk-fuck phase, but it seems Jessica doesn’t realize the lie being told. That, or she’s lost interest.

“Oh, boo,” she pouts before turning to you. “Well, I tried. Sorry, babe.”

You laugh. “More than all right. I’m…I’m gonna go use the bathroom and maybe look for some water. I’ll meet you here in a bit?”

“Yes! Text me! Or call me. Or…just yell my name really loud,” she says, already slipping into the next room. “Whenever you wanna go, we will, okay? Seriously.”

“Got it,” you call. And with that, the two of you split. Leaving you to look for the only man you really care to see.

He’s no longer talking to his friend and doesn’t seem to be in the lower part of the house. So, you make your way to the next floor. Shoving past couples making out on the staircase and groups doing blow in the bathroom.

He might be in his room, although that’s perhaps a little too obvious. You still aren’t ready for people to know that the two of you are…well, whatever you two are. And you can’t imagine he is, either. Not considering his reputation and the other girls he’s been with before.

Compared to them, you’re just…you.

Swallowing your own disappointment, you continue down the hall in search of him when a large hand suddenly wraps around your upper arm and yanks you into a bedroom.

You aren’t surprised that it’s him. You aren’t even surprised that he’s brought you back to his room. You are, however, rather confused by the giddy grin on his face.

“You came,” he whispers before he’s shoving you against the closed door and kissing you hard. “Been waiting all fucking night to see you.”

You’re breathless. You always are when you’re with him, but this…now. His kiss, his touch, his voice. The sultry way he speaks that goes straight to the place between your thighs.

“Missed you,” he says. He sucks on the spot below your ear. “God, I really fucking missed you, angel. You have no idea.”

“You saw me this morning,” you remind him. “And for lunch in your car.”

“S’too long,” he argues. “You don’t know what you do to me, baby.”

You grin. Even if you know he’s merely being cute, you can’t help but believe him. “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it. Besides, you think I wanna watch Zack fucking hit on you all goddamn night?”

You lean back. “You saw?”

“Course I fucking saw. Could hear that shit-eating grin from outside,” he huffs before he’s kissing you again, as if to prove a point. Either to you or to himself. “But he wouldn’t if you’d just let me take you on a proper date.”

“H…”

“Yeah, I know.” His kisses get softer. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, I…I get it,” you sigh against his cheek. “I just…it’s hard—”

He takes your face between his hands and makes you look at him. “I know, angel. M’not pushing, I promise. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

You squeeze his wrists and smile. You sometimes find yourself surprised by how willing he is to be seen with you. You aren’t sure why, but you always assumed he’d be ashamed. That he’d be the one to want to hide. To lock you away and keep your rendezvous a secret.

And maybe you like it this way because you’re afraid. Because you’re worried that once he sees how odd the two of you look together, he won’t want you anymore. That the relentless teasing and comparisons will drive him to end things.

And you’ll be devastated.

Perhaps sensing where your mind has gone, Harry resumes his work on your throat, efficiently distracting you. You happily relinquish your overthinking to him and his intentions, and it feels good. You used to be scared of being touched, of being loved. But it’s becoming easier with him. A routine you wouldn’t trade for the world.

He begins to pull you toward his bed. It’s made for once, which you have to admit impresses you. Harry doesn’t tend to devote his time to things he doesn’t think matter. Like cleaning his space, taking notes, or worrying about his classes. Somehow, he manages to pass every semester, keeping his spot on the football team, while you struggle to keep up even with all the time in the world.

Half the time you suggest studying together, it’s because you’d actually like his help.

“Wait…wait, Har,” you murmur as he sits onto the mattress and begins to pull you in a straddle over his thighs. “Wait, not…not when you’ve been drinking—”

“Haven’t,” he exhales against your mouth. “S’just Sprite. Coach doesn’t let us drink before a game.”

Almost relieved, you lift a brow. “But he doesn’t mind a wild party?”

He smirks. “Technically, we’re not supposed to do that either. But…I kind of live here, so…”

“Ah.” You dip down and press your lips to his softly. “Then I guess you just don’t have a choice, huh?”

“Nope.” He moves his hands to your waist, subtly grinding your body over his until you both groan. “Besides. I’d much rather be here with you than down there with them.”

“Mm. That’s the right answer,” you tease as he laughs and slips his fingers under your dress.

You know this dance by now. You even enjoy it when Harry’s at the lead. He knows what he’s doing, even if you don’t. And he knows just how to teach you. Show you. Guide you.

You take a deep breath and let yourself submit. Let his hands roam, his thighs flex. Let his mouth travel down your neck and to the curve of your shoulder. He slips the strap down until he has more room and then he moves for your chest. Hungry kisses meant to devour you.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers, tongue licking a stripe along the top of your breast. “Wore this just to torture me, didn’t you?”

Your lashes flutter. “Thought…thought it would be easier.”

“Easier?” He glances up, smirk devious. “You wanted me to have easy access to your pretty pussy?”

The vulgar language brings a fervent heat right to your face. You glance away out of habit, but he doesn’t let you this time. Instead, he pinches your chin tight between his fingers and forces your attention back.

“Is that right, angel?” he asks again, firm.

You swallow. “…yes.”

“Mm. Good girl,” he mumbles before moving his hand to your tit. Squeezing it gently while wrapping his lips over your nipple. “Or maybe you’re my naughty girl tonight. Yeah? Wearing something so sinful. Just for me.”

You nod quickly as your nails scratch down his scalp. “Just for you.”

“Mhm. Not Zack.”

“No. No, not Zack.”

He simpers at the sound of your breathless whines. Enjoying the way your hips roll against his. The way your naked thighs feel against his clothed ones. “Gonna let me take care of you, baby? Let me have a little taste?”

Your stomach flips. Harry has introduced you to a world of pleasure you never knew possible, but you still can’t deny that it makes you feel vulnerable. The way your body is put on display for him. Accessible to his tongue, his hands, his…

You close your eyes and force a nod. You just won’t think about it. You’ll let him have his taste and then he’ll start. You understand the science behind it. Your body needs to be properly lubricated before he can begin. And it’s not exactly a step you care to skip, even if it does make you nervous.

He grins at your reaction before he’s leaning back onto the bed and dragging you up toward his face, that bright red hat falling off in the process.

He’s mentioned this position before. Apparently, it’s his favorite, but it certainly isn’t one you’re used to. You don’t understand the mechanics. How you’re meant to surrender control but also keep from crushing his pretty face beneath your weight.

“Angel,” he calls, pulling you back. “What did I say last time, hm?”

“I…I know, I just…” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You won’t,” he promises yet again. “You can’t. I know what I’m doing, yeah? Trust me. Just let me do this, I’ve got you.”

And you know that he does. So, surrendering your inhibitions, you let him place you just where he wants before he nods at you to pull your underwear to the side.

You do. Fingers shaking as you drag the damp fabric away and present yourself to his tongue. You want to look away. Want to hide from the growing look of hunger in his eyes, but he’s already sucking on you before you can.

And once he starts…things don’t seem so bad.

His tongue is magic. His lips are divine. Even his hands are wonderful with the way they hold you still.

You think you could spend a lifetime against his mouth. Live here, die here. Do anything and be anything he wanted so long as he never stopped.

“Doing so good for me, pretty girl,” he says after a moment, and you almost miss it over the faint thumping of music outside his room. “You okay?”

You nod, fingers back between his curls as you brace yourself. “Yes…yes, I’m…I’m all right. Am I…am I too—”

“No,” he says simply. “No, you’re perfect. Don’t move. M’having so much fun.”

And you don’t doubt that he is. His eyes are closed and he’s feasting on you like he’s been starved his whole life. His entire face is between your folds, licking, sucking, nipping. Wet sounds that are somehow louder than the noise outside.

You can’t help the way you groan. The way you say his name and shake in his hands. It’s too much and you’re still unsure how to handle so much ecstasy.

But he knows. And he keeps you planted on his tongue until you’ve nearly soaked his entire face. And then…he stops. Seconds before you can find that sweet release and you gasp as he pops off and scoots you back.

“What…what did I do?” you pant.

He laughs while he sits up, cupping your cheek in his palm before pulling you forward for a kiss. “Nothing,” he whispers, and the taste of you on his lips makes your insides twist. “I told you, you’re perfect. I just have something else in mind.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twist together. “Do you…do you want me to…?”

He smiles again then shakes his head. “Not this time, pretty girl. You know I don’t always expect that, right? I don’t eat you out just so you’ll suck me off.”

“I…I know.”

“Good. I eat you out because I fucking love it.” Another kiss. “And not just to get you wet.”

You feel your features scrunch, the urge to hide much stronger. “I know.”

“And I don’t want you to forget. I love watching you take me down your throat, but only when and if you want to. Tonight, I thought we could maybe try something we haven’t yet.”

“Oh…”

His eyes settle on yours. “I want you to ride me.”

Your lips part. “You…oh.”

“We’ve talked about that before, yeah?” He sweeps his thumb across your cheek. “About if you think you’d be comfortable?”

“Yeah, we…yeah. I…I don’t mind. I just…I don’t know…”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But I’ll show you, hm? We can just try it and see how you feel. And if you don’t like it, we can do something else.”

It’s a good plan. A solid plan, and even if you’re unsure, you can’t help but feel excited. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats happily before scooting back toward the headboard. “All right, can you take me out, angel?”

Eagerly, you agree, crawling after him until your fingers find his jeans. Seeing such a massive dick always tends to surprise you, but you find that you feel more confident now than you did before. He’s beautiful, every inch of him. And he seems to love the way you touch him. The way you look at him, admire him.

And that’s your favorite part.

“Good girl,” he coos as you reach inside his boxers to wrap your palm around him. “Not so shy anymore, hm?”

You shake your head, lip between your teeth as you release him from his pants.

He laughs. “I can see that. Can you give me your hand, pretty girl?”

You oblige and he pulls your palm to his mouth before he’s spitting directly in the center. A large wad that sits snugly in your hand before he drops it back down to his cock and nods at you to continue.

You drag the wet substance up and down his rather impressive length until he’s glistening. He’s already quite hard, but your delicate strokes seem to get him the rest of the way. Until he’s standing straight up and nearly leaking.

“Good,” he says again, a tad breathless. “So fucking good at that, you know?”

You smile. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Mhm.” He chuckles. “Then can you show me how good you are at putting me in?”

You nod fervently. The academic overachiever in you is always anxious to prove yourself to him. To show that you’ve learned, you’ve improved. That you’re worthy of his time and his body.

You use one hand to guide him and the other to keep your panties to the side. He, in turn, makes sure to lift your dress high enough that you can both see and the moment his tip makes contact with your throbbing clit, you whimper.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “You’re all right. Go ahead and tap it a couple times, yeah?”

Forcing your pulse to steady, you do. The heavy appendage seems to taunt you as you pat it against your pussy and the sensitive nerves that make your legs shake. But it feels like heaven and even Harry has to take in a labored breath as he watches.

The two of you rarely use condoms these days. You did when you first started, but after getting tested and being assured that you were the only person he was sleeping with, you decided to try just once without.

And you know the risks. Know it’s rather idiotic to tempt fate the way you do. The pill isn’t a guarantee, and you know neither one of you are ready to be parents.

But after feeling him…feeling all of him…you became addicted. Despite your better judgement, you found yourself eager to feel him again. And again. And again.

And now, well…now you don’t think you can go without.

“There you go,” he sighs. “Just like that. S’it feel good?”

“Mm…mhm.”

“Good. Go on, baby, put me in now.”

With his help, you lift up and guide his large head toward your hole. Slowly pushing it in while dropping yourself down.

“Fuck,” he exhales through a groan. “Shit, just like that. You okay? S’it hurt?”

You shake your head. You don’t have the strength to speak.

“Okay. Keep going.”

You do. A steady pace that seems to torture you both until the whines and cries slip out before you can stop them.

“Goddamn, angel,” he grits. “Shit, you feel so fucking good. You still all right? Know what to say if you’re not?”

“Ye—yeah.”

“Attagirl. Okay, baby, I want you to lift up now, yeah? Nice and slow.”

Doing your best not to tremble, you raise back up and feel the way his thick cock seems to stretch you open. The way it travels through your body, making you feel empty without it.

And once you’re near the tip, he pulls you back down, and you start again.

The speed is tediously languid. It almost hurts and the noises tumble from your lips one after the other without pause.

Your thighs burn. Your core burns. Every inch of you seems to be screaming, yet Harry doesn’t break a sweat.

“Doing so good,” he praises again. He pulls at your jaw until you kiss him. “Know it’s hard, but you look so good riding my cock right now.”

You only mewl. Loud and incoherent.

He releases your cheek to reach for something on the nightstand beside him. Something you don’t see through your hazed vision until he begins to unwrap it and bring it to your mouth.

His bandana.

It’s his favorite one, too. The white one, with little back details on it. But you aren’t exactly sure what he expects you to do with it now…until he smirks.

“M’gonna put this in your mouth,” he says before resting it on your lips. “Gotta keep you quiet since I didn’t lock the door. Don’t want anyone to hear you and come lookin’, hm?”

Your eyes widen as you gape at him. “Harry—”

“Sorry. S’just too distracted.” He grins. “Open up, pretty girl.”

Rather excitedly, you obey. Giving him just enough room to slip the fabric between your teeth until you can clamp down and he can fasten it in a knot against the back of your head.

“There you go,” he declares when he’s through. “Now you can be as loud as you want, yeah?”

You nod.

“Mm.” He dips down to start kissing at your chest. “Can you keep going, baby? Or do you need me to take over?”

Your lashes flutter.

“I know,” he coos when he sees the fucked-out expression on your face. “S’hard, isn’t it? My angel’s getting tired, huh?”

Another nod, slower.

“Okay,” he chuckles. He grabs onto your hips and straightens up. “Okay, I’ll fuck you.”

Just like that, he resumes the pace you set. Using every muscle in his thighs and abdomen to fuck his cock up into you and leave you a wilting, blubbering mess.

The poor bandana becomes soaked as he pounds into you. Faster and faster while your body shakes and drool pools at the sides of your mouth.

Your whimpers sound shuddered now. In tune with his fast thrusts and the wet, lewd cacophony of your bodies connecting. Pornographic in nature yet somehow…euphoric.

He sucks your tit back into his mouth and you clutch onto his scalp. Nails scratching at his neck, shoulders, and chest until you feel your orgasm coming up on you once more.

And he feels it, too. Features twisting at the way you clench around him. The way your body draws him in, treats him right. He’s obsessed and he’s told you as much. Even with the level of stamina he possesses, he can never seem to last all that long when it comes to you.

“Fucking hell,” he groans before he’s tightening his hold on your waist. “Shit, s’it feel good? Like being on top, angel?”

You nod and press your forehead to his. Even if it’s rather exhausting, you can feel him in places you couldn’t before. Nudging against your g-spot until you see stars and have to physically fight the urge to cum.

“No, don’t,” he pants, seeming to sense it. “Want you to cum. Right now, baby. Okay? Let me feel you first.”

Even if you wanted to argue, you can’t. The low, graveled instruction goes straight to your cunt and you cum before you can stop yourself. Drenching his cock, his thighs, your thighs. You sway, go limp in his hold. Until you’re slumping against his chest as he fucks you through every second of it.

“There,” he praises, large hand rubbing up and down your back. “God, you’re fucking good at that. Love the way you cum for me. S’fucking heaven.”

You know he’s close. And you know he won’t finish inside you, instead wasting his offering on his stomach or somewhere else.

So, you get an idea. You pull off him as best you can while he hisses and resists the temptation to release inside you before you slip the bandana back out and crawl down his lap.

Then, you take him in your mouth. It only takes two sucks before he’s grabbing at your neck and finishing down your throat. The warm, sticky substance familiar and far too thrilling.

He cums and he cums until you’ve nearly sucked him dry and his tired body melts into the bed.

He whispers your name and fights to keep his eyes open so he can gaze at you. Then, he tugs on you. “Come here.”

He kisses you. Tongue and teeth clashing in a messy exchange, but he doesn’t mind. He loves it. Moans into your mouth and pulls you against his heart until you can both catch your breath.

You revel in the post-orgasm glow. Body’s abuzz and slightly sweaty from the workout. But you wouldn’t trade this ache in your joints for anything.

And you realize you wouldn’t trade him, either.

“You okay?” he murmurs after a moment.

You hum. “Yeah. M’tired.”

“Yeah,” he echoes with a gentle laugh. “It was fun, though, right?”

“Mhm. Very.”

“Think you’ll wanna do it again?”

“Maybe,” you admit. “As long as you do all the work again.”

His laugh is louder this time. “Deal. Or maybe we’ll just have to work out your muscles until you can do it all on your own.”

“Mm…unlikely.”

“But maybe.”

“Maybe not.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Might hurt.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He smiles. “Can you stay tonight?”

“I don’t know. Jess might be looking for me.”

“Tell her you’re staying.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to tell her who you’re with.”

“H,” you sigh. “She thinks I’m a virgin prude. If she knows I’m staying, she won’t let it go until she finds out who I stayed with.”

The room falls silent. You feel him sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

You glance up. “I’ll tell her one of these days, I promise. I just…I wanna keep you to myself. Just a little longer.”

His grin splits his face. “Good. Think I might wanna keep you, too.”

He kisses you again. Soft, slow, sensual. Filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say out loud. And long enough to leave you breathless.

Until the door opens.

And Zack walks in.

God I love fratrry 😭💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

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flickering-chandelier · 5 months

Text

Falling Slowly

Pairing: Azriel x fem Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel slowly get close and realize they’re destined to be together.

Word Count: 5.5k oopsie. this man makes me feral.

Your feelings for Azriel really snuck up on you. Of course, as soon as you had been taken in by the High Lord and his inner circle, you noticed how unbelievably gorgeous he was, but that was true of all of the Illyrian men that became your family. He was such a quiet, steady presence, it was easy for him to blend into the background, and you had a feeling that he didn’t mind that one bit.

Slowly though, he let you in more and more and you started to see through the shadowsinger’s thick shields that he always kept up. It started when you had been in Velaris for a few months, and you were finally feeling like you were settled in, that you had a home there. You were reading in the library of the House of Wind and he came in, settled down in a chair a few feet from the one you were occupying, and lifted an eyebrow when you glanced at him, no doubt silently asking if he could stay. You nodded, smiling faintly. He picked up a book that looked to be for research, his brow furrowed in concentration and his shadows wisping around him every time you dared look up at him. And thus, started your library time together.

It had gone on like that for a week or two, never a word spoken between you, but you enjoyed his comforting presence more than you liked to admit. Though it did become harder and harder to keep your eyes on your book when he was present. Finally, one day when the two of you had been reading silently for about ten minutes, he cleared his throat and said in a low voice, “you read a lot.”

The sudden sound of his slow, deep voice after weeks of silence sent a shock through your body, making your toes curl. You shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see the heat in your cheeks in the dim light. “So do you, it seems.”

He held eye contact as the side of his mouth quirked up into the slightest smile that sent electricity through your body again. You noticed his shadows were back, circling around him idly. They didn’t often show up in the library anymore. It took all you had to not squeeze your thighs together, knowing full well that he would notice. “Research,” he said. After a beat he added, “Plus, I like the quiet. It’s nice to hide out from Cassian for a while.”

You couldn’t remember if he had ever said so many words to you directly. You found yourself hoping that he was just trying to keep the conversation going. “Completely understandable,” you laughed. “I come here for the books first and foremost, but the quiet is definitely welcome, too. I love that I’ve found a family here, but it can get… overwhelming at times.”

He nodded, like he knew exactly what you meant, continuing to gaze deeply into your eyes. “I’m glad. That you’re here, I mean. That you see us as your family,” he said quieter than before, almost like he was unsure if he should be saying it.

A smile broke out on your face, and he held your gaze for another beat, his smile widening just slightly before he bowed his head back to his book, seemingly done with the conversation.

You hoped he didn’t notice that you did not read a single page for the rest of your time in the library that day.

A few days later, you were itching to get out of the house and wander the beautiful streets of Velaris. After breakfast, you worked up the nerve to call Azriel’s name as he was leaving, timing it out perfectly so the two of you would be left alone in the dining room. He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

“What are you up to today?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He cleared his throat, definitely caught off guard. “Well, Rhys has me off to get some intel this morning, but if everything goes to plan, I should be back around lunch…” he trailed off, obviously waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Perfect,” you said, not able to keep the smile off your face as you looked up at him. “Do you want to go to lunch in Velaris with me? I’ve been dying to get out of the house and try somewhere I haven’t been yet.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his head tilting slightly, one of his shadows curling around his ear, like he was trying to use his skills to see through to your intentions. “Okay,” he said finally. “Sure. Lunch. I’ll find you when I get back?”

“Great,” you grinned up at him before swooping out of the dining room, trying your best not to bounce on your toes. There was no denying it anymore: you had a crush on Azriel, and you couldn’t wait until he got back that afternoon.

You were in the library, of course, when he returned. He was out of his fighting leathers, but still wearing all black, his clothing perfectly tailored to him. He looked…so good. The side of his mouth was quirked up the slightest bit, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, his wings tucked tightly behind him. “How did I know I’d find you here?” he murmured, almost playfully.

“Lucky guess,” you smirked, placing your book on the table next to your chair and sidling up to him. You noticed his eyes trailing after you, for once not focused on your eyes, but on your body, watching the way your dress hugged your hips as you moved toward him. You flushed.

“Do you have a place in mind for lunch?” You asked when you were so close to him, your toes were almost touching. He towered over you, his eyes latched onto yours now, his shadows nearly tickling your arms.

“This was your idea,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice. Azriel? Teasing? Heat went straight through you again. You tried to control your breathing.

“You’ve lived here longer,” you countered. “You know places that I don’t.”

He smiled. A real, full smile. It was life-altering, ground-shaking. You tried to take a picture in your mind of your first real Azriel smile. You couldn’t help but return it. “I’ve got somewhere in mind,” he said finally.

“Lead the way,” you said. Even to your own ears, you sounded too giddy. You tried not to be embarrassed.

It wasn’t until you were standing outside on the mountain that you realized the implications of what you had asked. He would have to fly you down to the streets of Velaris. It’s not like you hadn’t had one of your Illyrian friends fly you somewhere before, but now it felt… different.

You glanced at him, and his hesitant expression told you that maybe he was thinking the same thing. Trying to make the transition the least awkward it could be, you walked right up to him and titled your head. “Ready?”

That tiny half smile appeared as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding onto you tightly, yet being as gentle as possible as the two of you left the ground. You had gotten more used to flying with them, but it still made your stomach twist into nervous knots. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean your face into Azriel’s chest, not wanting to look at the ground approaching.

As you leaned into him, you felt his muscles tense. “Sorry. We’ll be on the ground in a moment.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, leaning up to look at him, so he could hear you. “You’re better to fly with than Cassian or Rhys. They always try to scare me more.”

His body tensed, his grasp on you tightening. “I would never do that to you,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.

“I know,” you said, just as he smoothly landed. He held your gaze as he gently set your feet on the ground.

Your knees felt a bit shaky, whether from the flight or from your proximity to him, you couldn’t tell. You held onto his rock solid forearms for a minute, trying to steady yourself.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his eyes scanning your body, concern flashing on his features.

You cleared your throat, finally letting go of him. “Yes, sorry. I’m still getting used to that."

He nodded, still watching you as if to make sure for himself that you were okay. After a moment, you started walking, hoping to push down the heat that you’d been feeling at the touch of your skin against his.

The two of you walked side by side through the streets of Velaris, not saying much, though you could see from the corner of your eye how often he glanced at you. You watched as his shadows circled around his arms, as he stretched his wings out when the walkway was clear enough. You couldn’t remember seeing him do that before. They were usually tucked in close behind him when he walked around the house.

“Are they heavy?” you asked.

He just looked at you, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Your wings,” you clarified.

They seemed to bristle a bit once you mentioned them, a tiny wave rippling through from one side to the other. “You get used to it. But, yes.” The hint of a smile appeared on his face again. “Why do you think Illyrians are all so fit?”

You smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder. “I haven’t met any besides you three,” you looked up at him to find his eyes already latched on your face. “I thought it was just a you thing."

His face remained stoic except for his eyes, which widened very slightly.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat, finally taking his eyes from yours, and gesturing at a small building, nestled between what seemed to be two other restaurants. Unlike many of them in Velaris that were open and had tables stretching out into the outside, this building was completely closed, keeping whatever was in there concealed. “We’re here,” he said, his voice a bit more gravelly than before.

You followed him inside, past a roaring fireplace to a small table in a corner of the restaurant. It wasn’t crowded at all, which was a relief since it was so small. It was cozy and inviting though, with low light, candles flickering everywhere and soft music playing from somewhere nearby. You noticed that the chair he was seated in was perfectly accommodating to his wings. You could tell why Azriel was the one out of the group who liked it here. It was calm, quiet, dark. Intimate.

Azriel’s eyes were on you as you settled in, seemingly trying to detect how you were feeling about his choice of establishment. You looked around before meeting his eyes. “I see why you like this place. It’s like the library.”

The side of his mouth quirked up in that half smile you were starting to memorize. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

After you ordered, you looked at him and his eyes were already on you. “You have intense eye contact, do you know that?”

He coughed, but you saw the smile he tried to hide. He slid his eyes back to yours and you tried hard not to react. “I study people. It’s my job.”

“You’re not on duty now, are you?” you said teasingly.

Azriel shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. “It’s hard to turn off the instinct.”

“Alright, then,” you said, already regretting it before the words even came out of your mouth. “What intel are you picking up on me right now?”

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table in front of him, eyes boring into yours like they could see straight into your soul. Hell, maybe they could. You had never had the courage to ask what exactly his skillset entailed. “You seem… curious about me,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that brought heat to your cheeks. “For whatever reason,” he smiled faintly, lifting one eyebrow.

“Azriel, is that some self-deprecation I hear?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Leaning back in his chair again, he took a moment to respond. “Maybe a bit.”

You shook your head. “No, I will have absolutely none of that from the Night Court’s shadowsinger and spymaster. You are far too cool to be talking about yourself like that.” You tried to sound playful, but even to your own ears, you sounded far too serious. You meant it though, of course. How could he not see it?

He just studied you for a moment, not moving except for a slight tick in his jaw. Finally, he said, “As you wish, Lady.”

Clearing your throat, you settled back into your chair, mirroring his posture. “So is that all you’ve picked up on me?”

A slight smile. “All I wish to share.”

Mercifully, before you could reply, your food had arrived. Azriel seemed to hesitate, waiting for you to take your first bite before he dug into his own food. It was delicious, and somehow made you feel right at home.

You ate in silence for a few moments, your focus so wrapped up in the delicious food in front of you that you did not realize his eyes were once again fastened on you. Once you finally took a reprieve from digging into your meal, you looked up, found his eyes on you, his expression unreadable, and you flushed, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m not eating like a lady right now, am I?” you asked, your voice slightly wavering, no doubt showing your concern at the lack of decorum.

He let out a quiet chuckle that was music to your ears. “You look like a lady to me,” he said, his gaze not leaving yours.

You flushed even deeper, and he smiled, lighting up his eyes. Two real Azriel smiles in one day. You felt faint.

“You should do that more,” you whispered.

The smile dropped as he raised an eyebrow. A silent question.

“Nevermind,” you said, turning back to your meal, fearing that if you admitted how much you savored the smiles, they would stop appearing.

Azriel seemed like he wanted to push further, but decided against it. You thought he could probably figure it out anyway. He wasn’t the spymaster for nothing.

You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your meal, too distracted by him now to properly taste any of it.

At last, he said “Did you enjoy it?”

Despite how few real interactions you’ve actually had with the man, you felt comfortable with him, so much so that you dared to say, “The meal? Yes. The company?” You paused, looking up at him from under your lashes. “Absolutely.”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but you swore you saw his fingers clench for a moment, heard his breath catch, as the shadows appeared around him for the first time since the two of you sat down. After a moment, he said, his voice thick, “I’m glad.”

Your last remark took all the bravery you had, and you didn’t dare ask him the question back.

Later, the two of you walked in companionable silence back to the House of Wind. His arm lightly brushed yours as you neared the mountain, and you again felt electricity jolt through from the point of contact all the way down to your toes. You may not know Azriel extremely well, but you were pretty sure every movement his body made was deliberate. Was that one deliberate, too?

At the foot of the mountain, the two of you turned to face each other, and he smiled lightly. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you said, stepping closer to him before he gently picked you up. You could tell that he was making an extra effort to fly smoothly for you.

“You doing okay?” he asked, low in your ear.

Looking up at him, you nodded. “Going up is better than going down.”

“Good to know,” he met your eyes for a moment, his eyes twinkling. Your fingers flexed where they held onto him, and the side of his mouth tilted up the slightest bit.

He landed on the balcony outside of the dining room, setting you on the ground, but not letting go of your arms yet, his eyes searching your face, like he remembered that you needed a minute to get settled on the ground earlier. You reveled in the feeling of his rough hands on your bare skin, and after a moment, you reluctantly stepped back, unable to stop your hand from lightly grasping his bicep as you did so. “Thank you, Azriel. For all of it.”

Azriel nodded, smiling faintly, his eyes not leaving yours.

You wanted him to say more, desperate to continue whatever this was, but unfortunately Cassian walked out onto the balcony. “What are you guys up to?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two of you, no doubt noticing how close you were standing.

You glanced at Azriel, not sure what to say. He seemed to understand and answered Cassian. “We just went to grab lunch.”

Cassian grinned. “Just the two of you? Alone? Interesting.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Cassian.”

Cackling, Cassian mock saluted at the two of you, and left.

You suddenly felt awkward as the two of you were alone again. “So…” you trailed off.

He laughed, and you could feel heat rise to your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “See you at dinner?” he said.

“Dinner. Yes. Absolutely.” By the cauldron, you were starting to sound like him.

Azriel seemed to be thinking the same thing as he studied you for another moment, his eyes sparkling with what could only be described as a hint of mischief before he spread his wings and soared into the sky without another word.

You wandered around aimlessly for the rest of the day, not able to focus on anything but the memory of his hands on your skin, so gentle despite the scars, his eyes gazing into yours, the smile that you hadn’t gotten to see before today.

Dinner came and went mostly without incident, though you often felt Cassian’s eyes darting between you and Azriel. You glared at him, silently begging him not to make a big deal about what he saw, especially in front of everybody. Thankfully, he got the hint and said nothing.

The next day, you got up a bit earlier than usual, chose a dress that was a bit nicer than what you would normally wear around the house, braided and pinned your hair carefully, and set out to very casually lounge in the library, like you would any other day.

You tried not to sigh with relief as Azriel came in some time later, his shadows nowhere to be seen, and took his normal seat near yours.

He eyed you, and smiled faintly. “You look nice,” he said, quietly.

You blushed. His smile grew. “Thank you,” was all you could say.

Azriel lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going somewhere today?”

“Not that I know of…” you trailed off, debating on whether to attempt to explain your appearance to brush it off, or let him assume correctly that you did it because of him.

“Do you… want to? Go somewhere today?” He said, his voice more hesitant than you would think possible for the Night Court’s spymaster.

“With you?” You asked, sure your eyes were lighting up with excitement.

Azriel smiled, holding your gaze. Your knees would have buckled if you hadn’t been sitting. “That was the idea, yes.”

“Of course,” you beamed, trying to keep your voice even.

Just like that, you were in Azriel’s arms again, flying down to Velaris, where the two of you wandered happily, with no real destination. He was a bit more talkative today, asking you about books you were reading and your life before Rhysand found you and brought you into his family. He told you about the far-off places he’d been throughout his years as Rhysand’s spymaster, what it was like growing up with Rhysand and Cassian as his found family. You had never heard him speak so much, and you couldn’t get enough of it. You wanted to listen to everything he could possibly share, wanting to savor every detail of it.

And that’s how it went, just like your routine with the library. Every few days, when Azriel had the time, he would fly you down to Velaris and you two would wander the streets, stopping for food, perusing the shops. Slowly, slowly, he opened up a bit more to you, talking about his past every once in a while. He never went into much detail, but it was more than you ever expected from him. You were honored that he trusted you even that much. You became addicted to the sound of his voice, to the rare moments when his arm would brush yours, or when he would place his hand on your back to steer you away from somebody in your path who wasn’t paying attention.

On, and on, and on, you kept up your routine and you could feel the walls that he kept up for everybody break off little by little.

Still, you couldn’t tell if it was friendship that he was feeling for you or something else. It certainly wasn’t friendly feelings you had towards him. His gorgeous face, his piercing eyes, now had a permanent spot in your mind and in your dreams.

One afternoon, when you assumed Azriel was out doing his spymaster duties because you hadn’t seen him all day, you were about to leave your room when you heard his voice low, speaking to someone. He sounded mildly upset. You knew you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you certainly didn’t want to walk past them, so you waited it out.

“When are you going to tell her?” the other voice said, in a rushed whisper. Cassian.

“I don’t know. How are you supposed to just … tell somebody something like that?” Azriel sounded more frustrated than you’d ever heard him.

“How should I know? You’re the one who spends all your time with her. You should know what the best way to tell her is.”

Azriel sighed, and you could picture him running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you better figure it out. She’s going to think that you’re not into her.”

“You think so?” Azriel sounded worried.

“Dude, you’ve been spending every moment possible with her for weeks, and you haven’t made a single move.”

Before Azriel could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and their conversation cut off completely. You seized your chance, hoping to gain some insight as to who they were talking about.

You left your room, trying to look casual, and at the sound of your door opening, the two of them whipped their heads towards you.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked towards them. “What? Do I have something in my teeth?” you teased, trying not to dwell on what you had heard. Azriel was into someone?

Azriel just stared at you, his cheeks dusted red. Cassian smirked at you. “Nope, beautiful as ever, sweetheart.”

Azriel’s eyes darted from yours to Cassian’s, his expression turning lethal and his shadows suddenly appearing, swirling around his head, his arms. You had only seen that kind of quiet rage in his eyes when there was an enemy present in the Night Court.

You couldn’t fathom what would warrant this reaction. “Az, are you okay?” you asked, softly.

His eyes met yours again, the rage flickering away into something else entirely, though you couldn’t quite place it. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to speak for a moment. Finally, he choked out, “Yes, fine. I’m just -- I have to go.” Without another word, he bolted down the corridor, out of sight.

Cassian rolled his eyes, turning back to you. “You guys have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?”

You shrugged, trying not to let your feelings show. “Yeah, we’re friends now."

He cocked an eyebrow. “Friends? You sure?”

Sighing, you leaned your back against the wall. “Honestly? I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t tell.”

He pushed further, as you figured he would. “Well, how do you feel? Do you want to be just friends?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “If I tell you, do you promise not to make fun of me, or run off and tell everyone about it?”

Smiling, he raised his right hand, like he was taking an oath. “I solemnly swear that your secret is safe with me.”

“...Fine. No, I don’t want to just be friends. To be completely honest, I think I’m a little in love with him.”

Cassian’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, you said, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you say anything to anyone, I will get Amren to toss you into the pit of the library.”

At that, he clamped his mouth shut and held up his hands. “I won’t say anything to anybody,” but his demeanor turned serious as he leveled you with a steady gaze. “But I really think you should tell him.”

You swore you could feel your heart beat faster at just the thought. “What if it ruins everything?” you said quietly.

Cassian held your gaze. “It won’t.”

Before you could press him on what he meant, he smirked and clapped you in the shoulder, following in Azriel's wake down the hallway.

Surely it wasn’t incredibly narcissistic to think perhaps the “she” they were talking about before you interrupted was you, right? Who else had Azriel been spending all his time with? But… What was it that Cassian wanted him to tell you? Was Azriel interested in you?

Your head spun for days, especially as Azriel was noticeably keeping his distance from you. He had not come to the library, and had hardly talked to you at all. You felt an ache in your chest at his absence.

After he had been avoiding you for a week, you couldn’t take it anymore. You knocked on his door after dinner, realizing as it opened that you had never seen his room before. Over his shoulder you could see a humongous bed with black sheets and weapons scattered about on tables pushed against each wall.

He was clearly surprised to see you, hovering in the doorway, like he was unsure if he should invite you in or not.

Before he could say anything, you blurted, “Did I do something wrong?”

His brow furrowed in confusion, his shadows suddenly swirling around him. “Why would you think that?"

You shrugged incredulously. “It’s the only reason I can think of for you ignoring me for the past week,” your voice broke and you cursed yourself for showing him how much you had been hurting.

His eyes softened, his expression pained. “I-- come inside,” he said, stepping away from the doorway so you could venture inside. He closed the door behind you and you gulped, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

He slowly walked over to you, stopping a few paces away, his wings folded tightly behind him, his body tense. It took him a moment to finally meet your eyes. When he did, he said simply, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You asked, your voice wavering. “Az, what’s going on?”

Running his hand through his hair, he sighed, and gestured behind you at an armchair nestled between two of his tables laden with weapons. You sat down gingerly and he sat on the edge of the bed, facing you. His enormous wings stretched out behind him now that he was settled.

“I need to tell you something. And I’ve been avoiding you because… I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to say everything, and I didn’t know how you would react,” he said, his eyes on you as his shadows swirled around his head.

“O-kay,” you said. “What is it?”

Azriel took a deep breath and bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. Finally, he said quietly, “You’re my mate.”

You felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“I --” and before you could question him, you knew it was true, feeling the bond snap into place. You looked up at him to find his eyes on yours, more anxious than you’d ever seen him. “I feel it now,” you whispered.

His eyes widened and his body went even more rigid. It didn’t look like he was breathing.

“How long have you known?” was all you could think to say.

It was a long moment before he answered. “I… had a feeling for a while. I felt connected to you from the beginning. Even if you weren’t my mate, I knew you were different. Special. When you first met me, you never paid attention to my scars.” His fingers flexed as he said it, his deep voice slightly shaky. “Most people can’t help but stare, but you… whenever you looked at me, your eyes were on my face. Always.” He drew a deep breath and his eyes bore into yours, like he wanted to make sure you were still there.

He continued, “But I wasn’t sure, didn’t know how it was supposed to feel when the bond snapped into place, so I started going to the library to be close to you, hoping I could confirm it. That first day at lunch, when you asked me what I was sensing about you… that’s when it happened. That’s when I felt it… that unflinching rope tied around my heart, connecting to you. Then, I couldn’t stay away, that bond was always tugging me toward you.”

You gaped at him, images of him over the past few weeks blurring together in your mind.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “I didn’t know how you felt about me and I didn’t want to ruin what we started.”

The hurt in his voice finally spurred you into action. You got up from the chair and crossed over to him. He sat up fully, his eyes locked on yours as you straddled him, settling into his lap and holding his face in your hands. His body finally relaxed, his shadows dissipating as his hands held your waist gently.

“I’m in love with you, Azriel,” you said quietly. “I could not be happier that I get to be your mate.”

He made a choking sound, his eyes swimming with emotion. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” you said, your face inching closer to his.

“I kept it from you.”

“It’s okay, love,” you said gently, wrapping one arm around his neck and running your other hand through his soft hair. “I understand.”

“You love me?” he asked, finally smiling, his mouth an inch from yours.

“Of course I do.”

“I love you,” he murmured, cupping the back of your head with his hand and leaning in to kiss you gently.

You felt tears stream down your cheeks as he kissed you, and he wiped them away with his thumb, his touch featherlight.

“Happy tears?” he whispered against your mouth.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, deepening the kiss.

He kissed you gently for a few more moments before he groaned, wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, stood up, and tossed you onto the bed.

Your eyes widened and he smirked, making your toes curl.

“Ready to stay up all night, mate?” he teased, his eyes flashing with lust.

You could only nod.

-----

You two missed breakfast the next morning, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to what time it had become.

Mercifully, you were left alone most of the day, and it took some coaxing, but you finally convinced Azriel that you would need nourishment to continue the fun you were having, so eventually you did make it to the dining room in time for dinner.

All eyes were on you both as you sat down side by side, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even though you knew that all your friends could smell the new mating bond on you.

Cassian broke the silence, grinning at Azriel. “Well, she looks absolutely ravished, Az.”

A growl released from deep in Azriel’s throat as he lunged across the table at Cassian, tackling him to the ground.

Rhysand laughed, opening the door to the balcony, and the two tumbled out, arms and wings thrashing. He looked at you, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he shut the door behind them, locking them out on the balcony. “He’ll be better at controlling that, with time. Trust me.”

You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat at the protectiveness that Azriel now felt for you.

“I guess you’re officially part of the family now,” Rhysand smirked. “Congratulations.”

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar one shot #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel one shot #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar azriel

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yuujispinkhair · 6 months

Text

Bad Boy - Good Toy (Part 2)

His past self would have rolled his eyes at him for running back to you over and over again like some overly eager loser. But Sukuna simply cannot bring himself to give a fuck. Not when you are the only thing that can still make him feel something. The only thing that can still excite him

You can read Part 01 here

Pairing: Sub!Sukuna x Dom!Reader (female) Genre: smut, College AU Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, degradation, humiliation, Sukuna is a brat, edging, cum-feeding, tip-fucking, use of a cockring, reader slaps Sukuna's balls, creampie, smoking cigarettes, mentions of former drug use, squirting, overstimulation, piss (Reader holds Sukuna's dick while he pees + makes him squirt). Reader calls Sukuna slut, fucktoy and fuckdoll. Unhealthy relationship dynamics. Reader and Sukuna don't talk about limits or safe words. Sukuna is ok with everything Reader does to him, but please be aware that this isn't the way a sub/dom relationship is supposed to be in real life. I just wanted things to be a bit fucked up in this story ;) Divider @/benkeibear

Sukuna isn't the same guy he was a few weeks ago. His past self would have rolled his eyes at him for running back to you over and over again like some overly eager loser. But he isn't his past self anymore, and this new version of him scans the crowd at every party until his gaze finally finds you. And this Sukuna 2.0 feels his pulse accelerate anytime your eyes meet, and you both smile those matching smiles that are too savage to ever be called sweet.

Finally, Sukuna enjoys those boring parties again. He greets you with a smirk and some teasing insult, and you do the same, and his veins fill with that excited tingle that he's been craving so badly. You lean against the wall next to him and tell him that he is dressed like a slut with the sleeveless shirt he is wearing, and Sukuna lights a cigarette for you without you having to ask him for it, handing it to you with a grin and a cocky reply.

He must be out of his mind, but just seeing your red lipstick marks on the filter of his cigarette makes Sukuna half-hard. It makes him imagine your lips wrapped around his cock, makes him imagine his dick and balls covered in your red lipstick marks. Sukuna wonders what he must do to ever get you to suck his dick. He low-key fears the answer. Fears it because he suspects that no matter how degrading it would be, he would do anything you ask of him. Maybe the fact that it is degrading is what makes him crave it.

Maybe that should worry him. But Sukuna simply cannot bring himself to give a fuck. Not when you are the only thing that can still make him feel something. The only thing that can still excite him.

You smoke the cigarette with him, and afterward, you drag him to a bedroom and use him for your own pleasure. Use his mouth, use his cock while calling him a slut and your cute fucktoy, and Sukuna feels like blackening out from how hard he cums. He busts fat load after load over himself while you laugh and mock him for it and tell him how pathetic he is. And he feels alive.

Sukuna knows that approaching you in bright daylight on campus after all the things he let you do to him should probably feel weird. Any sane guy would be ashamed and walk the other way when he spots you from afar.

Not Sukuna, though.

Just two days ago, you slapped his balls while teasing his cock with your fingertips, called him a dirty slut and a useless brat, and made him curse and cry out and nut all over himself when you teased and slapped him to a fucking messy orgasm.

And you laughed and called him your messy, pretty fuckdoll and leaned down to press a soft kiss to the cum-stained tip of his softening cock. The noise he made was so pathetic that Sukuna shudders when remembering it. But the moment you left, Sukuna pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of his cock, and he has jacked off five times already to the image of your red lipstick mark on his tip.

So, yeah, Sukuna assumes he should at least have the decency to blush when he walks up to you in the middle of a busy hallway. But he doesn't. Maybe he is a masochist like that, or maybe he simply is beyond caring.

You are pulling another package of that stupid strawberry bubble gum out of the vending machine as if you are the most angelic and innocent good girl. But Sukuna knows you aren't, and it drives him insane.

Just like it drives him insane that you have him wrapped around your little finger. But he can't help it. He wants to grin like an idiot because it feels so good to feel that excited buzz in his body when he looks at you. He is addicted to you. As if you are a special drug that was designed only for him. The only drug that can give him the high he so desperately craves.

He leans casually against the vending machine, smirking down at you. And you smile at him all devilish, look up at him, and blow a pastel pink bubble that smells much too sweet. The bubble pops, leaving a mess of sticky pink gum all over your lips, and Sukuna leans closer with a cat-like smirk and his low voice raspy and teasing,

"Look at you, princess. Such a messy girl, too, huh?"

You grin at him, taking a step closer, making your breasts brush lightly against him, and then you are suddenly on your tiptoes, and you are kissing him, and Sukuna's eyes fly wide open.

The moment is over too fast. Sukuna can barely treasure the feeling of your sticky lips and the warmth of your tongue as you shove the bubble gum into his mouth before you already pull away again.

You look at him with a knowing, mean little smirk.

"We both know who the real mess is, Sukuna, baby."

You reach up to cup his jaw and pat his tattooed cheek, adding in a fake sweet voice,

"Now be a good boy and chew it while you are in class. And while you do that, think about how I slapped your balls until you nutted everywhere and how cute you sounded during it. My messy boy."

Sukuna sits in class a while later and chews the gum that was in your mouth only a few minutes ago. He blows big fat pastel pink bubbles the same color as his hair while thinking about that short moment when your lips moved against his and your tongue was in his mouth, and he feels like groaning and burying his face in his hands. What the fuck is wrong with him?

It's another Saturday, another boring party that makes Sukuna want to burn down the whole dorm just to feel something.

He is sitting on the kitchen counter, downing a vodka shot while listening half-heartedly to his brother's excited chatter. Something about a new movie, or was it a manga? Sukuna has no idea. His gaze keeps straying through the crowd, searching for the cause of his sleepless nights and ruined, cum-stained sheets.

Finally, he sees you, and adrenaline instantly pumps through his veins. Excited pleasure pools in his groin and sizzles on his skin when he asks himself what degrading thing you will do to him today.

You disappear in the crowd again, and Sukuna decides to at least wait half an hour before he comes running after you like a puppy. He claps his brother on the shoulder and tells him to go find a pretty girl to fuck before they go home, pushes himself off the kitchen counter, and slowly strolls towards the door leading to the small backyard.

He smokes a cigarette while looking at the night sky and listening to the muffled sounds of the party, thinking how all of this bores him to death. Everything except a mean girl with a liking for strawberry bubble gum and his cigarettes.

Sukuna laughs under his breath and flicks the cigarette bud into some withered rose bush. Normally, he would never run after a girl. But damn, it feels so good to run after you. This role reversal is the most delicious thing that has happened to him since he started college.

He decides it's been long enough. He'll take a quick piss while he's out here anyway, and then he will go back inside and look for you. And when he finds you, he will offer you his cigarette and say something to rile you up, hoping you will punish him for it and chase his boredom away.

He unzips his pants and pulls out his dick, about to start peeing, when a familiar voice speaks up behind him.

"What are you doing out here, slut?"

An amused huff escapes Sukuna's lips, and he looks over his broad shoulder at the dimly lit porch, where you stand and look at him with that dangerous smile on your face. Sukuna isn't a fool. He knows this doesn't mean you are suddenly running after him. You are here to do something nasty to him, and it makes his chest fill with that electric anticipation that makes his head spin.

He gives you a playful glare, feeling the corners of his lips twitch when he asks,

"Geez. Can a guy take a piss in peace, or is that too much to ask?"

You cross your arms in front of your breasts and give him an exasperated look as if he said something dumb.

"Well, no. You can't take a piss in peace, Sukuna. Because you belong to me. Little fucktoys don't get to touch their cocks without my permission. I thought you knew that, you stupid boy."

You start walking toward him, and Sukuna's heart is hammering in his chest. His hand is still wrapped around his dick, not even having time to piss yet, when you stop behind him. Your arms sneak around his waist, hugging him, and Sukuna feels his breathing become heavier.

He can hear the sadistic joy in your voice when you tell him,

"Alright, you can do it now. I allow it."

A strangled-sounding noise reverberates in the back of Sukuna's throat. He wants to laugh. Is he seriously getting flustered like some loser just because you are standing behind him while he is about to piss? Fucking pathetic!

You chuckle, and your voice is dripping with cruel amusement,

"Come on, don't act shy now, baby. Go on, pee. Or do you need help? Does my pathetic little fuckdoll need his cock held while peeing?"

Sukuna's eyelids flutter, and a groan falls from his lips. Your small body is pressing against his back, one of your hands wanders from his waist to his hips, fingertips tracing his v-line for a second, and then your small hand brushes over his that's holding his dick.

Sukuna pulls his hand away, heart beating to his throat. And your small, warm hand wraps around his heavy, flaccid cock, holding it gently. Your lips are brushing against Sukuna's back, feeling warm even through his t-shirt,

"Do it, Kuna. Piss for me, baby. Make it nice and good for me. Can you do that? Can you let me feel how your pretty dick pees?"

He moans even as he lets himself go and starts peeing, his blood rushing loudly in his ears at the feel of your hand on his cock, holding it for him while he relieves his pressure,

"Such a good boy."

The growl Sukuna makes in the back of his throat is fucking embarrassing, but damn, he doesn't give a fuck. He would let the whole party watch how he gets his dick held while he pisses, if it means you will praise him for it.

You stroke him slowly as if milking his cock off his piss, and Sukuna curses under his breath, feeling himself grow hard in your small hand.

"Aww, does this excite you? Are you getting hard from having your dick held? You are so cute, Sukuna. Such a secret romantic, hm? Little, needy slut."

But you don't stop. You just keep rubbing Sukuna's cock, stroking him to a mind-blowing orgasm that makes him shoot his cum and some more piss all over the grass in hot sticky ropes.

You stroke it all out of him and keep going even after his orgasm has ebbed off, forcing him to give you another one. And Sukuna lets you. He just stands there while you pump his cock in your fist and whisper to him how dirty he is for liking this and laugh when he squirts all over the grass, messy and hot with his piss steaming in the cool night air.

You make him cum and squirt until his dick is flushed red and overly sensitive and twitches hotly in your small hand. And all the while, you rest your face against Sukuna's back and kiss him through his t-shirt, murmuring how nasty he is, how fucking dirty. And Sukuna groans into the night as his muscular thighs shake and another milky spurt of his cum drizzles down, making a mess all over his new leather boots.

Afterward, you laugh and bring your hand to your lips, looking at Sukuna as you lick his cum off your fingers, and somehow his chest feels so weird when he sees your tongue scoop up his thick milky cum, even while he sneers at you and drawls,

"Now look at you, princess. All nice and sweet, eating my cum like a good girl. Finally learned your place, huh?"

But you just giggle as if he made the world's dumbest joke and step up to him, press your body against him while his dick is still hanging out of his pants, pulsing from the overstimulation, and kiss him on the lips, pushing your tongue deep into Sukuna's mouth, feeding him his own cum, making him eat all of it.

Sukuna's eyes widen even as he automatically wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. His own taste melts on his tongue, a mix of sweet and salty, and he growls against your lips like a fucking dog.

You laugh when you pull away, swiping a finger over his lips to catch some stray cum and push it back into his mouth,

"No, you eat it all up, sweetheart. Swallow it all down like a good little slut."

You kiss him again, press your small, soft body against his firm, tall figure, and caress your tongue against his almost tenderly, and Sukuna moans. Your small hands are on the back of his neck, scratching and caressing his undercut, making him tighten his muscular arms around you and pull you even closer against his body while he licks hungrily into your mouth until every last drop of his cum is gone.

You tuck him into his pants afterward, pat his cock through his jeans while smiling that devilish smile at him and telling him that it was cute that he squirted for you.

Sukuna stays in the backyard until Yuuji comes to look for him, smoking several cigarettes and letting the night air cool his flushed skin. Fuck, he hopes that one day you will let him push his cock into your pussy!

His wish gets fulfilled a week later. Well, a bit of it.

Sukuna is on his back on a stranger's bed while the muffled noises of the party drift to his ears through the closed door. And you are sitting on him, naked this time, with your pretty tits jiggling in front of Sukuna's face and your hot cunt drooling over his cock, where he is resting between your slick pussy lips.

"Only the tip, Sukuna."

"I'm not stupid. I heard you the first time you said it."

"Yeah, but I don't know if a brat like you can behave. So I have to say it several times."

Sukuna huffs at your snide words, but it turns into a groan when you grab his cock and slowly sink down on him excruciatingly slow. He smirks when he hears the gasp falling from your lips and sees your eyes cross when his fat mushroom head stretches your tight hole open. Fuck, he is proud of his long and thick dick all the time, but especially tonight. Especially when it is you who goes crazy on his fat cock.

You fuck yourself on his thick tip, using him for your own pleasure, moaning from lust as you tease yourself on Sukuna's velvety mushroom head. Your tits press against Sukuna's tattooed face, and he cups them with his hands and closes his warm mouth around your nipples, and teases them with his tongue piercing, making you moan softly.

Sukuna's hips buck, a low groan falling from his lips as his cock pushes further into your tight, hot cunt.

"Come on, princess. Just sit down on me. Just sit on my cock completely. Just use me!"

He sounds like a stranger to his own ears, too breathless, too needy. Begging like some pathetic virgin. And you just chuckle cruelly and yank on his hair.

"Damn it, Sukuna. I told you just the tip. Stop acting like a bitch in heat, you little slut."

You stop moving, and Sukuna stares up at you, horrified for a moment that you will get up and grab your clothes and leave him this riled up and horny. He is about to actually beg when you roll off him. But to his relief, you just lie down next to him and spread your legs, beckoning him over with a finger.

"Come here. Show me you can be a good fucktoy. Make me cum only with your tip. Show me that you know how to be a good boy."

This is fucking torture! Sukuna's pulse is racing, and his cock is leaking angrily all over himself as he stares at your spread legs, at your slicked-up cunt with the cute, puffy clit. Fuck, he imagines he can even smell you. Can smell your pussy's sweet aroused scent, your horniness, your desire for him.

It takes everything in Sukuna to hold back, but he wants to prove himself to you and wants to show you that he can be good. That he isn't some weak little loser who doesn't know how to play a game. All the other guys may lose control, but Sukuna refuses to do so. He will show you that he is the best you ever had! That he is worth your time!

And so Sukuna kneels between your shaking legs and does as you told him, takes his throbbing cock in his tattooed hand and rubs his swollen, leaking cockhead over your clit, before he pushes himself into your tight heat, only fucking you with the tip, pulling out again to rub your stiff clit with it and then tip-fucking you again over and over until your moans become all high-pitched and cute and he feels you tighten around his cockhead.

You cum all over him, pussy grabbing his tip and spasming around it, your juices gushing over him as your body shudders and you tremble violently.

Sukuna growls, tattooed thighs tensing up as his orgasm hits him unexpectedly, his cockhead pulsing his hot seed over your swollen little clit, painting it white.

Sukuna groans loudly at the sight, pumping his cock wildly, making the rest of his cum shoot out in strong heavy spurts over your belly and your gorgeous tits, bathing them in his sticky load.

He is breathing heavily, gaze wandering over the mess he left on your body, and you smile at him with that amused twinkle in your eyes,

"Aww, couldn't keep it in anymore, sweetheart? Did my little slut get too excited? You're always such a messy boy, Sukuna. Come on, clean your mess up with your tongue, baby."

And Sukuna does so with a grin on his face and a racing heartbeat in his chest. Cupping your tits with his large hands, licking them clean, sucking on your nipples while you pet his hair. He basks in the moans falling from your lips. You don't even stop him when he slips his right hand down between your legs and rubs your clit, and then pushes two fingers inside you, fucking you with his middle finger and ring finger until you cum on them, mewling loudly as you shudder beneath him.

He rubs your clit again afterward, slow and tender caresses, rubbing your whole orgasm out of you while you twitch in his arms and moan his name so sweetly. Sukuna feels so proud.

You pull him into a kiss, a real one, pushing your tongue into Sukuna's mouth, licking and caressing him while he still rubs your clit tenderly. He feels you shudder in his arms and swallows your moans with his tongue when you twitch against his fingers and soak them with your creamy arousal.

Tonight you don't get up and leave, but stay in Sukuna's arms for a whole hour, sharing a cigarette with him and snuggling against him and kissing him while his thigh is between your legs, pressed snuggly to your hot wet cunt, smearing your sweet juices all over his thigh tattoos.

You bite his bottom lip and give him a hickey right under his ear as if you are marking your territory, and Sukuna feels his pulse flutter. And it gets even worse when you whisper to him in a voice that leaves no room for doubt,

"You're not gonna put your dick into anyone else, Sukuna. You're only my little slut, you know that, right?"

And Sukuna nods and grabs your chin to shove his tongue into your mouth again, letting you suck on his tongue, piercing and tease his cockhead with only one fingertip until he pulses his sticky cum all over his abs once again.

You're standing next to Sukuna at another party at one of his brother's friend's dorm. You are both leaning against the living room wall, sharing a cigarette while watching the small crowd on the makeshift dancefloor make fools of themselves. The cigarette wanders from Sukuna's hand to yours and back again, sending that fucking nice electric feeling through him anytime your small fingers caress against his.

But you're in a foul mood tonight, Sukuna can tell.

It bugs him. He wants to kiss you right here to make you feel better, wants to push you up against the wall and shove his tongue into your mouth until you moan against his lips. He knows that afterward, you would tell him he is a needy slut for kissing you like that, but he wouldn't mind because, yeah, he is a needy slut when it comes to you.

But he doesn't do it. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow and smirks at you,

"Stop being so grumpy. It really ruins my fucking mood."

You give him a tired look and steal the cigarette from his lips.

"Shut up, brat."

Sukuna's smirk grows bigger, and he leans down, grinning as he licks a wet stripe up your neck and then murmurs into your ear,

"Let me fuck it all out of you, princess. My dick is the best cure. Let me give you a nice fat creampie. That will heal you."

You roll your pretty eyes and huff.

"Oh, don't be silly. You want to cum inside, baby? Then show me you deserve it."

"How?"

The smile that forms on your face is the kind that should send him running, but instead, Sukuna leans closer, brushing his lips over yours, his heart hammering in his chest, making him feel lightheaded.

You pull away, tilting your head to look deeply into his eyes.

"You like tattoos, don't you, Sukuna?"

Your fingers trail slowly over his biceps, tracing the tattooed black rings on them while you grin up at him like he stumbled into Alice's fucking Wonderland and you are the Cheshire Cat. You lean closer, your tits brushing against Sukuna's arm and your breath hot on his skin when you whisper in his ear in a voice sweet like honey,

"Get my name tatted on you. Prove to me that you know your place. That you know who you belong to."

Sukuna leaves the party feeling dizzy.

He smokes cigarette after cigarette on his way home while his head is spinning. He knows this is a bad idea. He knows he should stop playing this stupid game the two of you are playing, but damn, how is he supposed to stop when it feels so fucking good?

This is a challenge, and maybe you think he will be scared off. Hell, every sane person would tell you that you are crazy! Every sane person would say no. But the thing is, Sukuna isn't like anyone else. He isn't like those little, scared boys. He will show you! Will show you that he is worth your time, that he is worth your pussy! That he isn't one of those fucking losers who back down!

He smirks maniacally as he lets the empty cigarette package fall to the ground and kicks it across the rainy street.

You dared him, and he is not going to puss out. He is Sukuna! He doesn't lose! He doesn't back down! You want to play games? Well, he can play too, and the thing is, Sukuna always plays to fucking win!

He comes back to you a week later, grinning like a madman, when he lifts up his t-shirt to show you the small tattoo of your name on his abs.

You lift your head to smile at him, that dangerous smile that screams trouble, and yet Sukuna also sees some real emotion in it. You approve of what he did. You are proud of him. You are happy. It makes him so hard that his cock aches from pressing so much against his tight black jeans.

You chuckle softly as you lean closer,

"You really did it, huh? Are you really that desperate for me, Kuna? So cute."

Sukuna's lips twitch, and he rolls his eyes, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette.

"Don't act like seeing your name on my skin doesn't make you cream your little panties. You want me so bad, that you wanted me to get a tattoo for you, sweetheart. So who is more desperate, huh?"

"Oh, that's easy, baby. Always you, my pretty doll. I only see one idiot who got the other's name tattooed onto himself. And it's not me."

You grin at Sukuna and grab his chin, pressing his cheeks together, making him blow the cigarette smoke out and into your face. There's a fluttery feeling in his stomach when you press your lips against his, capturing the smoke with your mouth, kissing him, and inhaling the smoke he just exhaled.

You pull away again, and you smile at him, all sweet and dangerous,

"Ok."

Sukuna cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at you,

"Ok, what?"

"I'll let you finish inside me."

Sukuna feels a huge grin spread over his face, and his large hands land on your waist, but you shake your head,

"Not now. Next week."

Your eyes sparkle in that way that Sukuna knows means trouble as you get on your tiptoes and whisper in his ear,

"And I forbid you to jack off until then. Save it all up for me. A big fat nut for my pussy."

You press a kiss onto his neck, far too gentle for the nasty thing you just murmured in his ear, and Sukuna groans out loud.

Sukuna is in heaven and in hell at the same time.

You are on his bed. Not some stranger's bed at some shitty party in a dorm that he wants to set on fire. No, tonight you are in Sukuna's bed.

You're under him, your legs wrapped around his hips, your hands on his ass, your fingernails digging deeply into his taut muscles, your head thrown back on Sukuna's pillow, your mouth opening in loud moans and delirious mewls.

Sukuna feels so fucking proud. Fuck, of course, he knows he is good in bed. He is the best fuck anyone can ever wish for! He has been told so by countless girls. But this here, this is better than anything else! Seeing you like that, seeing you enjoying his cock like that, is a special flavor or euphoria. It makes him feel high. It makes his veins sizzle with arousal. It makes his balls so fucking taut.

And that's the fucking hellish part of this. Sukuna feels like busting the fattest nut ever after saving it all up for a whole week just like you told him to, but now he's shooting blanks because you decided to torture him even more.

He should have known. He should have known that you would come up with something cruel again. You smiled like such a pretty little devil at him when you walked into his room, kissed him with tongue, and then sat on his bed and pulled that cockring out of your bag.

You slid it onto his half-hard dick and stroked him to full horny hardness afterward, a twisted smile on your face while you teased him with little kisses on his swollen tip, smearing your red lipstick all over him, driving him absolutely fucking insane while cooing at him how cute he was like that.

"You are such a pretty boy, Sukuna. Really looking like such a doll for me. That's what you were made for, hm? Being a pretty little fucktoy that I can use any way I want."

And then you made him fuck you with the cockring on. Such a fucking farce! Of course, Sukuna complained. Of course, he bared his teeth and glared at you, hissed at you all desperate and pissed off and dizzy with arousal,

"You told me I can nut in you! What the fuck?"

But of course, he still grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. Of course, he pushed his throbbing cock into your deliciously wet pussy. Of course, he let out a loud growl when he felt your tight hot cunt around his cock. Of course, he rolled his hips against yours, even while you sneered up at him,

"Aww, look how upset you are, baby. So cute. Shut up, toy! Put your pretty cock in me and make me cum on him. Look, I have to make sure my pretty little fuckdoll doesn't cum too soon. You are here for my enjoyment, Sukuna. Don't mix things up. Once you made me happy with your pretty cock, I will let you nut. As a reward for being a good fucktoy."

And fuck, he is making you happy with his cock. You are squealing his name when he bucks his hips against you, knowing exactly where to hit to rub your g-spot. Sukuna has already made you cream on his cock two times, soaking his sheets with your squirt.

But all that Sukuna gets are dry orgasms. He is breathing heavily, grunting and growling, shooting blanks into you, his balls aching and his head spinning. He didn't realize it until now, but the wet sobs filling his bedroom are coming from him.

Sukuna never thought he would ever be reduced to this. A sobbing horny mess with aching balls and a throbbing cock that's so fucking useless, unable to cum for real, unable to offer him any relief. But fuck, it feels so good. It makes his pulse race, makes his every fiber feel so fucking alive, and he wouldn't want it any other way. No one else can give him that mix of pain and pleasure that you do. No one else can drive him crazy like you do.

He moans loudly, letting it all out as his bed hits the wall, and you tighten around him again, screaming incoherently as you cum on his cock again.

Your eyes open, and you look up at him, a dazed look in your eyes, fucked to heaven on Sukuna's cock, a little contented smile playing around your lips.

You grab Sukuna's sweaty hair and pull him into a kiss. Whisper against his lips, kiss the tears off his face that he realizes, to his utter horror, ran down his tattooed cheeks, and coo at him,

"Look how cute you can be, Sukuna. Look how good a bad boy like you can be. Such a perfect little fuckdoll. So pretty and obedient. God, you made me so happy with your pretty dick."

You laugh, sounding exhilarated. Your small hands run down Sukuna's buff pecs and his abs, making him shudder. You don't stop until your hand reaches the fresh tattoo on his abs, tracing your name on his firm muscles with your fingertips.

"You can cum inside me now. You earned it."

And Sukuna sobs with relief.

He pulls out of you and sits back on his knees, groaning at the loss of your tight wet cunt around him. But you finally take the cockring off his swollen cock.

You wrap your hand around him, rubbing him slowly, making him growl because he is scared he will explode all over your hand, begging you to please, please let him push back inside you. A desperate mess, with tears running down his tattooed cheeks.

A low, desperate moan escapes his lips when you finally tell him,

"Now, push your pretty cock back inside, baby. You can finish inside. Nut it all into me."

And Sukuna pushes you down and rams his aching hard dick deep into you, making both of you hiss.

You stroke his full balls while Sukuna ruts needily into you like an animal in a fucking rut. He's mounting you with deep, rough thrusts, grunting and moaning, feeling like he is high. Fucking you so hard that your tits bounce wildly, and you moan those breathless moans that drive him insane.

But Sukuna is louder than you. Moaning it all out, probably making his brother curse him on the other side of the wall, but fuck, he is in fucking heaven, and he doesn't want to hold back.

His balls tighten, and Sukuna cries out brokenly, eyes pressing shut as stars explode behind his closed eyelids, and he shudders violently on top of you. Nutting so hard and long that he almost blacks out.

And you are kneading his muscular ass firmly with one hand while the other caresses his heavy balls, massaging them, making him growl while you moan and tighten around his cock again,

"Come on, little fucktoy, give me everything! All that fat nasty nut so deep inside me."

Your words get slurred at the end as your pussy clenches wildly around him, and you squeal again in horny joy, milking Sukuna's cock empty with your wild orgasm while Sukuna moans and whimpers and snaps his hips against you, fucking you deep and nasty and spurting his whole orgasm into your already overflowing pussy.

He can't stop fucking into you, making his milky cum ooze out between his cock and your cunt, making it trickle messily onto his bedsheets until you are lying in a small messy puddle of it.

Sukuna slumps on top of you with a low, satisfied groan. He can feel your small hands running up and down his broad back. Your legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist as if you never want to let go of him again, keeping him right here between your legs, his dick buried balls deep in your hot, creamy and cum-filled cunt.

You chuckle and pet his hair and whisper in his ear,

"You fucked me so good, baby. And your cum feels so nice and warm inside me, do you know that? You're such a bad boy but also such a good toy, huh, Sukuna? Such a cute little fucktoy only for me. Do you want to stay like that for a while? With your pretty dick deep in me?"

Sukuna can feel your mocking little smile against his ear as his hips buck against you again involuntarily, and a needy, wet noise falls from his lips as he tells you that, yes, he wants that. You only make him say "please" once before you grab his chin and kiss him while you squeeze your cunt around him, and Sukuna thinks he might actually be in love.

I MIGHT BE IN LOVE TOO AAHHAHAAAH ;) Thank you so much for all the nice/horny feedback on Part 01!! I hope you enjoyed Part 02 too 💗💗

This AU was SO much fun to write! I love fucktoy Sukuna, and I want to be this Reader so bad! She is truly living such an exciting life, and who wouldn't want Sukuna as their personal little fucktoy? ;) I am glad I could experience the feeling through this AU, and I hope you could enjoy it, too!!

Thank you so much for reading 💗💗 Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #tw dark content #tw piss

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tonycries · 3 months

Text

Match My Freak!

Synopsis. Trying out new kínks? Careful, he might just get addicted.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bondagé, creampíe, bréeding, cúmplay, exhíbitionism (Choso’s), oral (female + male), grínding, breathpIay (Nanami’s), Sukuna is BIG big, with tattoos there, overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. Hope y’all have a great week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Tied up (for now)

“You’re really serious about this, doll?”

And Toji can only look up when you’ve finished tying his wrists to the headboard with a dainty lil’ bow. Pulling back to admire your work, “Dead serious.”

Fuck, this wasn’t his usual scene. Why aren’t you the one that’s helplessly bound and spread so shamefully on the mattress? Why aren’t you the one with your pretty thighs quivering, hips arching up at his mercy? And why is he the one so turned on by it?

“Fine then.” Toji’s biting his lip as your puffy folds start dragging down, down, down his swollen cock so slowly. So utterly torturously. “Ya wan’ it hard or gentle when I fuck ya?”

You bristle at his absolutely smug tone, hissing out a low, “You mean when I fuck you?”

“Heh, jus’ kidding doll.” he chuckles, waiting until you’ve barely just let your guard down before flattening his feet on the bed. Abs rippling, biceps bulging as he leverages his hips up - right along with you. “I’m choosing.”

It’s all that’s said before he juts his cock up to give you one, sharp thrust. Feeling your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head as he expertly hits your syrupy sweet spot in one go.

“You little-” All the breath goes out of your lungs as he repeats the motion. Making you whirl your head down, nails digging warningly into Toji’s abs when you spy the devilish smirk playing at his lips, the furrow in his brow that did not bode well for your poor cunt. “You’re ngh- all tied up, so why can’t you act that way?”

“Whaaat?” he drawls, fucking out whatever retort is on the tip of your tongue with another mean ram of his hips. “S’it that bad if I wanna hah- teach my girl how to do it properly?” This time keeping up a pace of quick, shallow jabs that have the mattress creaking, sweat beading at his focused brow, “C’mon now, if you’re gonna tie me down n’ fuck me then do it right, doll.”

It’s all you can do to spread your legs wider around his toned hips. Toji’s cock too massive, the stretch too much. Too good as his fat head hits at your every bundle of nerves each and every time.

“G-good good.” you hear him choke out. “Fix that posture now, arch some more, pretty- jus’ like that yeah-”

You’re wobbling precariously on top of Toji as he greedily scoots down the mattress further, eyeing how your snug cunt was sucking him up so obscenely. Sinking down until your swollen folds were just kissing his soaked balls. A disbelieving little laugh leaves as he watches the way your hips stutter down pathetically to take him in deeper and deeper.

“Oh? Quick learner, huh?” He’s tugging subconsciously on the restraints, “Alright then, doll, see if you can- take- this-”

And God, Toji has never been more thankful for those long hours at the gym. Because he’s bucking his hips up so wildly into your tight pussy, all the way until his tip was nudging your bruised cervix. Dragging against your gummy walls with nothing but the power of his hips and the feeling of you and your perfect cunt and you-

“C’mon now ah-” he groans at the way you’re squeezing him so tight. Angling his head to watch the way the fat of your ass bounces against his thighs, sweet sweet juices trickling all the way down to his twitching balls. “Faster. You can move those hips faster f’me, right?” And fuck, does he wish he could touch you right now. To toy with your pretty, forgotten clit. To move those hips of yours rougher down his cock. “Yeahhh, now spit. Jus’ like I do.”

“Hngh-” you gasp as he makes you spit right onto his awaiting tongue. Once. Twice. Some of it missing, hitting his plump lips. Walls squeezing so hard, stars behind your eyes as you take it so well. “Shit shit shit- too- much-.”

“Aww, what’s the matter? Can’t talk properly anymore?” Toji’s licking lewdly at his now-wet lips, grinning at your strangled moans, “Didn’t you say you were gonna f-fuck- be in charge this time, woman?”

You all but scream with that rough cadence at which Toji’s bouncing you on his cock. Bruising. Powerful thighs smacking against yours, blinking away the big, fat tears in your eyes, you moan, “You’re so mean, Toji.”

And of course, Toji has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh. Letting out a mocking, “S-so mean, Toji.”

“F-fuck you!”

At this, the only response you’re getting is him beckoning you closer with a slow nod of his head. And you barely even realize how you’re deliriously complying before he grazes his teeth across your earlobe. Humming out a ragged, “Who’s fucking who, doll?”

RIP!

He didn’t need an answer - and you didn’t either. Both of you knew, despite those pathetic restraints digging into his wrist - now laying tattered and useless on the floor. Two big arms pin your hips against his own. Ruthless.

“Because I think I hafta teach you that lesson first of all.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “She's My Collar”

It’s around this time that you know your husband has stopped thinking about you. When you know he’s just past pussydrunk that all he can do is lap messy at your cunt, feeling well and fully intent on breaking you.

“Kento.” you whine brokenly around your third orgasm. Tugging on those sweaty strands of blond resting at their favorite position between your legs. Nanami’s hot tongue pooling your sweet sweet juices like he was addicted. “Ken- ngh-” He doesn’t hear, of course.

Your lips wobble, the overstimulation too much. His tongue too mean. Pushing past that feeble resistance, making you pull more forcefully on his hair now, “Ken.”

And fuck, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive. Because that focused little furrow of Nanami’s brow only deepens, letting out a deep groan as he wraps his glossy lips over your ravaged clit. Cheeks hollowing while he sucks like it was his favorite candy - and it probably was.

“Ken!” you yelp, subconsciously gripping at that familiar yellow tie of his. Yanking - hard. “Ken- s’too much ngh-”

You manage to blink away those tears in your eyes as Nanami’s sloppy, depraved tongue finally stalls and shit, you didn’t know if this was better or worse. Because he was so pretty kneeling before your legs - eyes all glassy and half-lidded, neat hair uncharacteristically disarrayed, such a pretty pink blush all over his face as Nanami’s eyes flit down to the tie currently restricting his airflow.

“Oh!” you hastily drop your white-knuckled grip on it, “I-I’m so sorry, Ken. Are you o-”

“Little freak.” And you watch, jaw sagging open, when he’s wrapping your shaky fingers back on the piece of fabric. Tongue darting out, so wet and glistening with your syrupy juices, “Tighter.”

You barely have time for anything else before he’s so happily diving back in. Nose deep in your puffy cunt, tongue lapping so teasingly at your sloppy entrance as he murmurs, “So? Not gonna use that again?”

You don’t know what to say - but to Nanami, that doesn’t matter. And he’s only having the time of his life trying to make you choke him with his tie. Smug smirk obvious against your swollen folds as he bites down lightly on your oversensitive clit.

You’re bucking your hips up, “Fuck!” Pulling on that tie so tightly that he’s almost jerked away from your heavenly cunt. And, unfortunately for you, this seems to be the exact reaction that Nanami wanted.

If you thought the tie would get you some semblance of mercy then you were wrong. So utterly fucking wrong.

Because two hands of Nanami’s are just bruising on your hips, sure to leave neat little marks for him to kiss away later. Reeling himself back to your dripping wet core, “Hah, fuckin’ cute.” Thumbing open your puffy folds to admire the way your entrance is winking and glistening up at him. “So fuckin’ cute. Don’t think you can take this pretty pussy away from me, my love.”

“B-but Ken.” you’re giving him a playful squeeze. Drooling all over the fresh sheets, “Dunno if I can ngh- cum again…”

“Of course you will.”

He’s flashing you the most devilish side-grin as you tighten your hold on his tie, veins popping up along his neck with the strain to make out with your cute cunt once more. Making your knees so weak as he spits. A steady, lewd stream of saliva right on your messy hole. Spying on how it drools down your slit, “M’gonna make sure of it.”

And fuck, if Nanami wasn’t a man of his word.

Making your head spin as his hot tongue bullies into your tight pussy, giving long, steady licks at all those sweet spots he’s mapped out. In and out. In and out - over and over.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

“C’mon now,” Nanami smacks and groans his lips against yours, tilting his head back to look up at you from between your legs. “Pull on it. Use me.” When you can’t let out anything but delirious whines, the harsh feeling of his watch stings into your thigh. Deliciously cool as a long finger is circling around your clit, greedily eyeing how sloppily you were grinding up to meet his frenzied cadence. “Use me- fuck. Use me, my girl.”

“Like- hah fuck- this?”

The tie is now serving a different purpose - and you’re just dragging Nanami around like it’s some leash. Angling his pretty face just right to drag your sloppy cunt all over, nose nudging at your clit. Tongue poking and prodding your gummy walls.

And he lets you. God, he lets you.

“Yeah, use me- fuck jus’ like that, my love.” he spits into your cunt, letting his glasses fog up at the heady proximity. “Fuck- making such a mess all over. Hah-”

“Oh my god- yes. Ken, feels too- good-” Dangerously good.

It was getting so hard to tonguefuck you exactly the way Nanami would like, too. Your slutty walls squeeze him too tight, hips stuttering wildly all over his nose. That tie around his neck only getting more snug, having his head feel so sinfully light. So drunk off the feeling.

You’re gasping, pleading when Nanami fights against the pull of the tie, “F-fuck ohmygod m’so close- hah-”

But not as much as when you finally cum, sending thick, sweet gushes of your slick down Nanami’s chin. Stars behind your eyes, ankles locking so hard around your husbands broad shoulders. Just covering the lower half of his face - all the way until you could catch it dripping down his jawline, soiling his expensive tie.

Yet, Nanami doesn’t mind. In fact, he enjoys it. Enjoys untying the restraint around his neck, leaving pretty red patterns. Swiftly putting it around your own neck, Tight. “Your turn.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Knots

“S’too hah- loose.”

It’s all that’s said before Geto Suguru is pulling on that messy ponytail his long locks have been haphazardly bunched up into. Plopping the dark little hair tie back into your twitching fingers, “Do it again.”

If you were in a better state of mind - you’d probably have snapped at him right now. Given him a piece of your mind, but oh it was so difficult to not listen to what your beloved boyfriend was saying - not when he had you folded in half beneath him in such a tight mating press, swollen cock so meanly ramming into you, spreading the obscene pool of cum forming below you.

And neither of you could bring yourselves to be disgusted by it - not one bit.

“D-do you hah- do you have any idea how fuckin’ gorgeous you look right now, angel?” Geto’s ragged voice is grazing your ear, having you bucking sensitively into his hips. He takes your incoherent whine for an answer, “So why don’t you be a hngh- good girl f’me and tie my hair so I can see you better, hm?”

“B-but Sugu-” you’re sobbing, cunt flexing reflexively around his unforgiving cock. “You said that last time.”

Why would you still talk coherently? In Geto’s eyes, that was a failure. And he’s only giving you a sly grin, trailing a finger down to draw circles on your ravaged clit, “Oh, did I?” He did. “I must’ve ah- forgotten.” He didn’t. “Only once more, pretty, I promise.” He doesn’t.

“P-promise?”

“Promise.”

As if to prove his case, Geto’s gesturing for you to look down at where your poor, overfilled cunt was sucking him so good. Like you were trying to milk something delicious - like it wasn’t enough. Even though your folds were puffy and glistening with his cum, spilling all the way down to his twitching balls.

He’s grunting at the sight of a thick, slow glob of cum running down your thigh. “So p-pretty, right?” Pulling you down across the soaked silky sheets to ram his hips harder. “So gorgeous? Y’know m’gonna keep this up until-”

Whatever sinful little threat - promise - dies in Geto’s throat as your shaky hands strain upwards to bunch the long curtain of his hair.

Hips only stuttering ever-so-slightly at that heavenly feeling of your fingers raking his scalp.

“Mhm, so f-fucking good when you listen.” he lets out a guttural groan, head dipping into the crook of your neck to help his poor girl. “Better hah- make this one be the one, angel - unless ya want me to fuck fuck fuck- fill up this pretty pussy again? And again? And again and again and-”

And you knew - shit, you knew better than anyone how half-jokingly tying your boyfriend’s hair up in the middle of sex had led to this.

So you’re giving him a delirious headshake, feeling like one more bout of Geto filling you up with his seed and you’ll fucking explode. Squealing through tears, “I-Ill tie it- Sugu, ngh-”

Mercifully, Geto lets you tug and angle his head all you want so that you can get to work on trying to fucking make it out alive.

Meanwhile, he busies himself with trailing down on your bloated stomach, eyes widening in wonder as he reaches about halfway down. Five fingerpads pressing down so hard and-

Oh. Fuck. One more isn’t going to be enough.

“God- fuck, didn’t know this hah- tight pussy could even hold that much.” he breathes out. Eyes locked on that steady stream of white dribbling out of your stuffed hole, pushing and pulling with each thrust. Each mean, sloppy thrust. He groans, “Makes me wanna- ngh- give ya more.” Fat tip nudging at your cervix, sending you gripping so searingly onto his scalp. “So ya better hurry up, angel.”

And at this point, all you could do was let out wet whines, bracing yourself with two hands on Geto’s hair while you desperately buck up to try to meet his maddening tempo. Jagged, sloppy thrusts. Only getting meaner. Closer.

“I-I am!” you sob, only having made it past the first loop in Geto’s ponytail. “M’trying so hard, Sugu.”

“Then try harder.”

And, shit, did he grow bigger? Stretching out your gummy walls as much as they;d go. So fucking hard with the way you’re so full with his seed already. So fucking wild as he can’t manage to see that heavenly view without those dark locks falling into his face.

So fucking good and you can feel your release just dancing right in front of you, edging you with each drag of Geto’s veins down those sensitive spots in your cunt. With each twist of your fingers on his hair. Dipping a rough hand down to your poor clit and-

It’s all it takes for you to cum. So watered down and sensitive at this point, merely faint, distant tingles that have you smacking your hips up to meet Geto’s.

And he wasn’t too far behind, either.

Slamming you with one, two harsh thrusts that you think you feel right in your stomach before bestowing you with thin ropes of his seed. Vision hazy, stars behind his eyes with each twitch of his cock. But ah, did he have the perfect view to all this sin.

Hair pulled back in the perfect ponytail to eye the way your greedy cunt happily milks his fucking soul dry. One he’s almost sad to untangle.

Balls clenching dangerously at that adorably betrayed look on your face, Geto hums, twiddling with the hair tie around his finger, “Whoops. It came off~ Guess you have to tie it again, huh?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - DIY

You’d meant it as a joke, you really did.

When your poor, needy boyfriend came up to you when you were in the middle of a work call with your coworker - eyes glassy, cock so rock-hard and leaking angrily all over his fist - you’d just told him to “get off to your panties.” Fully expecting a pouty Choso to tell you to end the call, maybe even sulk until you cheered him up.

What you did not expect was to be splayed out on your living room couch, Choso pressing up from behind. Your shorts pulled down just enough for him to drag his weeping cock all across those panties peeking.

Until they were so flimsy and drenched, until you were frantically hitting the mute button on your phone, looking over your trembling shoulders to whimper out a quiet, “Ch-Cho-”

“Shhh.” he whispers, hot breath hitting your ear. Sending goosebumps down your spine - all the way down to where he was sliding his swollen cock underneath your panties. Just gliding down your sopping wet cunt, “M’jus’ doing what you wanted, right? Jus’ ‘getting myself off’. You just keep going with your call, baby.”

Choso knew that contact name - that loser from your department that was too fucking close despite your relationship with him. The one that insisted on extra work calls, just a tad too touchy. A bit too starry-eyed.

And fuck, all it takes is one graze of Choso’s fat head against your puffy folds, feeling the way your sweet slick beads and rolls down his length - and he was in heaven. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, breathing out a ragged, “Oh, baby you feel so good.” Hips moving uncontrollably back and forth between them. Again. And again and again. “How do you feel so f-fucking good when m’not even inside you?”

“Sh-shit-” you wiggle your hips back, addicted to the feeling of his toned abs rubbing against your back. The scratch of those tufts of dark hair, the lewd thump! thump! thump! of his prominent veins against your cunt. “I wan’-”

“No.”

Shit, did you just get wetter? Choso makes a mental note to tease you for how much you loved this mean little tone of his later. But for now, he’s reaching over to the phone still limply in your hand.

Deftly pressing the unmute button, he murmurs, low and dangerous. “Jus’ keep going with your call.”

You don’t even have the time to respond, because a confused voice sounds from the other end of the line. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah!” you wince when your voice cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Torn between moving your hips away and bucking down for more more more- “Perfectly- fine.”

“Oh, well, anyways about that upcoming project…”

“No no no no fuck- hold his pretty pussy still.” And Choso was only pulling your shy hips closer by those slutty panties of yours. Fist tightening around the excuse of fabric, fingers so bruising on you as he grinds his painfully hard cock deeper. “She’s so hah- wet, baby. Leave her with me.”

Trying to run away? Choso didn’t like that, not one bit, as he snakes a hand down to pinch your pulsing clit between his fingers. Rolling the sensitive nub in a way that has you letting out a gasp. A loud gasp.

“What was that?”

You’re so desperately trying to hold back your loud, slutty moans as Choso toys with your pretty clit that you almost miss the question. You would’ve - if it hadn’t been for the way he grunt into your ear, “Answer, baby. S’r-rude to leave someone hanging.”

“Ah- I uh-” you mutter into the phone. Giving your boyfriend a warning sideglance, “S’just my…pet. He’s really needy right now.”

The word “pet” has barely escaped your glossy lips before Choso’s rutting into you harder. So debauched. So sloppy with the way his precum was dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess of your drooling cunt.

“Oh yeah, I have a pet too. A dog, always wantin’ to go out on walks and-”

Your slick just a glossy sheen down his fingers - all the way down his wrist - from where he was just abusing your ravaged clit. Giving a light flick! before groaning, “Yeah. Needy. F-fuck this ‘pet’ of yours is real needy.”

And then he’s ramping up his pace - grinding like he was possessed. Like he couldn’t give less of a shit if your coworker could hear the lewd squelches from down below. Your muffled moans as Choso draws messy lil’ patterns on your clit, simultaneously spreading your puffy folds to slide his cock faster between them.

Rougher. More desperate. Getting off to just the mere feeling of your panties digging into his hand as he pulls on them lazily, and your cunt clenching and trying to suck him up.

In his feverish state, Choso’s angry, red tip just barely slips between your dripping slit and into your sloppy entrance. Having you keen, “Cho!”

And that’s all it takes for him to cum - thick, hot globs of cum to paint your pretty walls white. Pulling out to absolutely soak your panties with his seed, pooling between your legs - your stomach - where was still playing with your clit. Smearing it everywhere, like he was proving a point.

The very same point that has him pulling your limp arm close enough so your phone was right at his ear.

“Hey, maybe you and I can walk our pets together. Then head out for a dinn-”

“I’m the ‘pet’, n’ she’s a bit occupied right now.” he grunts into the phone. Ignoring the flustered bursts of protests from your coworker, “Do it yourself.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X marks the spot

“You can take it, right?”

You don’t even know what broken little response you’re blabbering out, and it didn’t matter either way. Because Sukuna is shoving his fat head into your sloppy hole - just barely. Not getting too far past that first little ring of resistance, after which, you’re letting out a sinful yelp. Which, of course, makes him immediately pull out completely and do it all over again.

“Kuna- oh my god-” you gasp, legs trembling as you grip onto the bathroom sink at this dingy little party. “Not gonna- hngh- fit.”

And it’s true, you needed to breathe. To stretch, to maybe spread your legs more - anything and everything to make up for Sukuna’s massive cock and the pathetic preparation you’ve had.

But he’s only giving your ass a sharp smack! Letting out a dark chuckle when you squeal and scramble to claw at the cool tile. “N’ who was the one that hah- dragged me in here cuz she got too hot n’ bothered seeing some rando flirt with me?”

You’re batting your lashes behind at him so deceivingly innocently, “S’not m-my fault. She was trynna hngh- get your number right in front of me.”

“Right.” Smack! “S’this slutty pussy’s fault, huh? And I say this good girl can take me.” Sukuna’s bending his knees, angling his angry, weeping tip to smear his precum all over your gaping hole. He hums at how glistening wet you were for him, how nicely you were dribbling all the way down your thighs. “See? Be grateful I even wet this lil’ cunt for you. Now, lemme feel how tight you actually are, brat.”

Oh God, maybe this is why Sukuna usually stretched you out - teased you for hours - before splitting you apart on his swollen cock.

And he’ll never admit it, but just one, shallow grind into your cunt and the man feels like he could cum right then and there.

“H-holy shit-” he breathes, eyes widening in genuine surprise at the way your puffy folds were bulging around him. Not even quarter of a way in yet, yet big, fat tears were wetting your cheeks, “Damnn, girl- ngh- fuck. No one else could compare.”

He can’t stop himself - and you can’t either. The stretch too sinful. The nudge of Sukuna’s fat head against your sweet spots too good that you’re fucking yourself back into his throbbing cock. Inch by inch. So agonizingly slow.

For once in his life, he’s awe-struck. Staying so teasingly still to watch the way your ass bounces back against his toned pelvis, trying to bully his too-big cock inside your gummy walls.

“Shiiit- tightest lil’ thing I’ve ever fucked.” Barely even at the halfway mark before you start slowing down ever-so-slightly, “Awww, what happened to my lil’ show? We’re not even all done, yet.”

Fuck, he twitches wildly when you’re turning back with your dewy eyes and it feels like he’s pushing into your lungs. You whine, “I can’t, Kuna- won’t- s’too big!”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, “Not this again.” A large hand coming around your neck, fingernails sharp at your racing pulse as he tilts your head up. “Open that filthy mouth now.” Giving you a dangerous, sickly-sinful grin before spitting a steady stream of saliva. Wiping at the excess on your lower lip so gently, “Won’t have this mouth saying what my cunt can’t do, okay?”

And shit, he’s so big. So unforgiving. So ready to break you apart on his relentless cock. Feeling annoyed at that version of you who’d usually complain about all the stretching out your boyfriend would do.

“Jus’ a bit more-” he’s groaning. Hissing at the way his heavy balls are smacking against your ass. Starting to toy with your neglected clit, “Bit- fuck you take me so perfect- more-”

And it’s all you can do to let out wet, fucked-out groans as he finally moves with purpose. Not as rough as he wants, yet - just calculated, deep grinds just to fit inside.

“She’s gonna take me ah- allll up.” He’s running his mouth against yours now, free hand dancing down to that bulge beginning to form at your stomach. “Gonna feel myself in here, right? Take m-me until-” Just devouring the sight of your folds struggling and swollen around his thick cock - now, not too far from that ring of ink around his soaked base. “-til I can’t see this tattoo anymore, right?”

You’re jolting, “Oh- please!”

“Please what?”

The fat of your ass almost pressing against his sculpted abs, big arms keeping you so close. “Please jus’ stuff me full, Kuna.”

Fuck, do you even know what you’re saying? He doesn’t know - he doesn’t care either.

Because in one, fluid motion, Sukuna is pinning your arms back with one of his, using the leverage to bury himself so deep. All the way until your pretty pussy was sucking up that tattoo at his hilt. heavy balls smacking your clit, your slick slobbering all down his thighs - his abs - everywhere.

“X marks the spot, huh.” he huffs, words strained. Reeling back, back, back - just dragging his massive cock along your walls. Slamming back so mean until you’re pushed further up the counter, until he can’t see his tattoo anymore. “Now…lemme show you why you shouldn’t be jealous of any trash, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Splash zone!

It’s everywhere. Dripping from your burning cheeks to glossing over your swollen lips, dripping all the way down to your blue lingerie. Gojo’s cum was everywhere.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s had enough with the way he’s slapping his angry, spasming head by your cheek. Smearing whatever’s left of his Earth-shattering orgasm, “Yeahhhh, fuck- you’re so sexy.” he groans. Breathing as ragged as his words, “Now, open that f-fucking mouth f’me, sweetheart.”

It’s like on auto-pilot when you do - looking right in Gojo’s crazed, half-lidded eyes when your tongue lolls out. All creamy and filthy with his cum, dribbling down to the hardwood floor in a lewd drip! drip! drip!

“Now now.” You feel a sudden spike of- fear? Anticipation? At Gojo’s tone, dropping to a low hum as he smacks his thighs in a gesture that tells you to come and sit. “Who said you could waste my cum?”

Fuck, you should’ve known better. Should’ve known better than to listen to his goading request. Should’ve known better than to sit yourself down so prettily on his thick thighs. Mewling a little, “But, Toru- You told me to-”

“Did I?” he muses, running a thumb along your bottom lip. Pooling his cum on his fingerpad, “Must’ve been my mistake.”

With a low, guttural growl, Gojo’s then kissing you. No care or concern for the taste of himself on your tongue - running solely on the taste of you and your cunt and you-

“O-oh, Toru.” you gasp away from the sloppy kiss when your boyfriend starts circling your swollen, needy cunt with his dripping wet fingers. Neat fingernails just grazing down your silky slit. “Shit- please.”

He bites down your neck, breath hot and feverish. “Use your words properly, sweetheart.”

Right now all you could do was buck your hips down his long, long fingers, trying so desperately to guide them towards where you needed them the most. Moaning out a shaky, “P-please. Wan’ your fingers so deep inside.” once you finally give up taking things into your own hands.

And, well. Maybe you’re an idiot - maybe you’re a mastermind.

Because you get exactly what you want, Gojo’s fingers bullying their way to roam your gummy walls. Fingertips kissing and prodding at each and every familiar little spot he knew would have you all crying and breathless on his lap.

The only catch is the teasing. Fuck, the teasing.

“Oh. F-fuck- jus’ look at her.” he growls. “That cunt of yours is such a hah- good girl. How come you’ve got such a naughty mouth, then?”

He doesn’t expect you to respond - and you don’t think you can. Not with the way Gojo doesn’t even bother to fucking ease you into it, immediately thrusting his fingers in and out of your sloppy entrance with reckless abandon. So mean. So dangerously calculated with each time he’s pressing your g-spot.

Hard. Sloppy.

The squelches so obscene that it made your face burn. Gojo’s muscled thighs bouncing ever-so-slightly to make you fuck yourself back like such a slut.

“Yeah? Ya like that, huh?” he chuckles when you’re scrambling to grab at his hair, his shoulders, his biceps - anything and everything to keep your sanity intact. “S’only payback.”

You raise your unfocused eyes up at Gojo, whimpering out a teary, “Wh-what?”

“I’m just-” The smug bastard he is, he quirks his index just right to abuse your magical spot. Hard. “-saying. If you wasted my cum, well, m’gonna have to hah- get back somehow, right?”

It’s all that’s said before Gojo’s speeding up his movements. All but dragging his fingers across your heavenly walls, so so sloppy with the way you’re slobbering all the way down to his wrists. In and out in and out in and-

“Hey now, the fuck do you hah- think you’re doing?” You’re snapped out of your lustful little reverie, and so is the hand snaking down to play with your pulsing clit. Not a moment wasted before Gojo is using the same hand that was currently fingerfucking you stupid to thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “This pussy belongs to me n’ I’m in fuck- charge of how you cum, mmkay?”

You’re giving him a delirious nod - but that wasn’t enough.

And soon enough two fingers are being shoved between your kiss-bitten lips. Gojo’s free hand pressing right at the back of your throat as he wiggles his fingers enough to imitate you nodding. “Yeah, thought so.”

Fuck, it makes you so embarrased. It makes an obscene mix of cum and saliva drool down the corner of your mouth, coating Gojo’s palm. It makes your snug cunt clench too tight around the fingers having their way with you. So hard that you wondered how the hell his wrist wasn’t cramping up.

It makes you cum. Hard. Violent.

Until your vision is spotty, nothing but broken moans muffled from your lips. Squirting all over Gojo’s fingers like he’s infuriatingly wanted so badly. Your poor pussy just gushing, a sickly sweet sheen of your slick coating everything from his wrist, to his thighs, to the overpriced sheets that had just been laid out.

Even messier than Gojo had been.

Until your boyfriend is groaning from above, awe-struck, “Hey, sweetheart, I think you squirted more than me so maybe we should try to even out the-”

“Satoru!”

A/N. Think I’m ovulating rn, who’s gonna match my freak HM?

Plagiarism not authorized.

10K notes · View notes

michaellangdonswhore · 1 year

Text

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

#jonathan crane #dc scarecrow #scarecrow #the scarecrow #batman imagine #the batman #batman #the dark knight #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillain murphy #jonathan crane smut

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sillymercury · 6 months

Text

“What Are You Doing?”

“I… Was Told There Was an Emergency...”

AzrielxReader

Warnings: none other than the lack of proof reading :p

Word count: 5.5k

(meant to be a blurb lol ig idk how to do that)

Summary: Azriel’s shadows have decided that they found someone far more interesting to listen to.

Thank you @kayjayjwrites for this ask, I’ve had a lot of fun writing it. Sorry it came a little later than I said it would but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

A yawn escaped Azriel as he stared down the papers on his desk. He was behind, three missions he put off documenting. He honestly wouldn’t have done it if Rhys wasn’t hounding him saying he wasn’t getting another job until he was caught up.

He didn’t hate his job, he didn’t particularly love it but he took pride in what he did for his court. What he did hate was the bureaucratic end of things, logging his missions in excruciating detail so they can be stored away on the off chance it might need revisited.

He had caught himself nodding off multiple times. The words would blur and his blinks would get slower and slower until his head hit the desk. His shadows, the pestering presence they were, were quick to wake him up.

Finish, finish this,

Keep working,

Sleep after.

At this point it was sheer frustration keeping him awake, weren’t his shadows meant to bend towards his will? The thought of snuffing out the fae light and climbing into bed with his hands over his ears was becoming more and more enticing as the night droned on. Azriels eyes began to close for the umpteenth time and just when he thought his shadows would give up they began swirling around him frantically. He almost groaned at their dramatics until their whispering bordered screaming.

Get up,

Quickly,

Y/n needs you,

Hurry, hurry.

The shadows all spoke over each other and their urgency had Azriel standing up so quick his chair hit the floor. His heart moved as frantically as his shadows at the thought of you. The thought of you hurt, the thought of you in danger, the thought of you scared and alone and needing him.

His feet matched the frenzy as they carried him to the shelf that held the truth teller, his shaking hands sheathed it. Azriel was a composed man, only cracking under severity; and you… you were severe. You had a way of moving him out of his dark safe corner and into the blinding light of day.

Your eyes could move him to tears, your body would make his hands shake, your laugh kicked open every door he used to keep others out. You were a parasite; infecting every part of him and making it your own.

Azriel was ready to punch a hole through his wall and fly around Prythian raining hellfire until he found you and made you safe again. Where? He thought, where is she?

Her house, his shadows answered dutifully before enveloping him and carrying him there. He was ready, ready to fight off whoever-whatever- was hurting you. Whether the demons were mental or corporeal, he would fight to his last breath. You were everything, everything he wanted, needed, everything he prayed for. You just didn’t know it yet, it hadn’t snapped for you. He didn’t care though, he would spend the next 500 years proving his devotion even if you never felt it.

Within seconds his shadows had carried him through space, into your living room. The scent of you was everywhere, gentle overtaking his olfactory sense and filling him with fierce determination.

“Y/n!” The called out as he surveyed the room, everything looked normal, well, for you. Granted things were strewn about, out of order, and placed haphazardly; but not in a way that was alarming.

“Y/n,” he called again and was met with silence, he moved through your house swiftly and silently. He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of you.

Bedroom, his shadows told him. At the end of the hall he pushed open the lightly cracked door and slipped into your room. The room held no sight of you, just thick with your scent. The only noise was light shuffling from your adjourned bathroom. He took a silent step towards the door and in that moment you came out. He froze.

You were fine, you were more than fine. His wide eyes met yours and he tried his best to keep them there but they seemed to have a mind of their own. They trailed to your wet hair that was dripping onto your shoulders. His pesky eyes followed the water from your bare shoulder, to the contour of your breast, to your exposed tummy, around its pretty jewelry, down your hips, before disappearing behind your thighs. Your shocked expression matched his as you stood in only a bra and underwear, clearly fresh out of the shower. He felt the heat climb his face, he wanted to run, hide, avoid any implications. But for some unholy reason he stood, petrified, staring at you half naked-absolutely divine- body.

“What are you doing?” You asked once you finally got over the initial shock of seeing him in your room. Anyone else would’ve gotten a more visceral reaction but this was Az, the only one you wanted to see you like this. You also didn’t mind the way his eyes tracked every curve and dip of your body. You bit your lip to hide your smirk and that snapped his eyes back to your face.

“I… was told there was an emergency…” he shifted on his feet as his eyes darted back and forth from your body to your face.

You bit back your laugh, the feared shadowsinger, spymaster of the night was red faced and nervous. Definitely a sight to behold. “Who told you that?” You crossed your arms under your chest, lightly pushing up the twins. Something he didn’t miss, and you didn’t miss the deeper red his face took. His mouth opened and closed like a fish and he seemed to have lost whatever small grip was keeping his shadows in place. They slithered across the floor before circling up your legs, over your bum, around your hips and waist. You giggled at the sensation, seemingly exciting by the shadows as they made their way up, examining the lace that covered your breast. Their boldness elicited a gasp, one that snapped Azriel out of his trance.

“I am so sorry- I don’t- I should go,” his words were quick as he fumbled over himself. He dragged the shadows away and before you could speak, tell him to stay, he was gone and so were his shadows.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a full belly laugh as you walked towards your bed with a little extra pep. The only proof of the encounter being the goosebumps on your skin and the light smell of his arousal in your room.

Azriel materialized in his room and stood there for- he doesn’t know how long he stood there. Trying to come to terms with what he saw, what you saw he saw, and how horrible his shadows had behaved. “What… was that?” He whispered into the darkness of his room, still frozen in place. He was horrified, completely embarrassed, and confused. His shadows said you needed him, led him there for seemingly no reason. His shadows hadn’t defied him since he was a child, scared of his own power.

The shadows didn’t answer him, just danced around seemingly pleased with themselves. He wanted to go back and apologize but he was too mortified, convinced he wouldn’t be able to face you for a hundred years. He crawled under his covers and cursed his shadows, not even brave enough to deal with the tightness that grew in his pants.

It was hot, Velaris was seemingly boiling. That didn’t slow down the Illyrians, rain or shine they would train. Azriel had taken off his shirt and the sweat flowed through the contours of his muscles, covering his body in a sticky dew. He had just finished sparring with Cass and was wiping the sweat from his brow when his shadows spoke.

Emergency,

Something’s wrong at the south pond,

Get there quickly,

“Cass!” He hollered to his brother, as he grabbed a two swords. He threw one to Cass who caught it coolly. “We’re needed,”. Was all he offered before taking to the skies. Cass followed closely behind as they swooped from the house of wind towards the small forest that was on the south side of Velaris. The boys were already warmed up, ready to face whatever emergency faced them. They circled the sky around the pond and didn’t see any immediate threat, it just looked like some fae had met up for a swim.

Cass landed first and Azriel was right behind him. They surveyed the scene and just as they saw in the sky; nothing was wrong. The only thing they saw were females, everywhere.

“Alright brother,” Cass clapped Azriel on the back with a shit-eating grin. “Not what I expected but you’re right, they do need us.” He tossed his sword on the ground and started making his way to the bank, at least three females came to greet him; he engaged happily.

Azriel wasn’t yet convinced. Still dragging his eyes all across the domain, trying to spot what called his shadows here. His keen eyes took in everything, every person, until they landed on you.

Walking out of the water you looked like a fae from those raunchy magazines Cass used to steal as a boy. An all too small bikini clung to your wet body as you made your way out of the water, toward him. Three tiny pink triangles covered the important parts but the rest was just string, leaving nearly your whole body one display. He watched your hips sway, your wet hair clinging to your face and shoulders, the glittering belly ring, and the small smirk on your face as you too looked him up and down.

“You’re not going to use that are you?” You stopped in front of him, referencing to the sword he gripped with all his strength. He watched as you flipped your hair to one side and began ringing it out. The urge to kiss the sensitive spot between your neck was so intense his lips were quivering.

“No I…” he once again was at a loss for words, “I just brought it.” Lame. He was so lame he wanted to die.

You just giggled, the sound like a cool wave over his hot body. You reached over and gently wrapped your hands around his, pulling it from his hands and discarding it with Cassian’s. His eyes were trained on your face the entire time, you weren’t put off by his scars. Your face wasn’t marred with disgust or pity, just blissful normalcy.

You smiled up at him, “Are you going to join us?” He just nodded, not even considering no as an option. Cass already discarded his pants and boots and was loudly entertaining most of the ladies. But Azriels eyes were trained on your back… side, as he followed you to the water like a puppy. It wasn’t until his shoes were sopping wet at the bank that he realized he should probably strip as well.

When he was down to only his boxers and he tossed his pants and boots back to safety. The way you shamelessly admired him gave him his confidence back.

The two of you spent hours, swimming circles around each other, splashing, pushing the other under. He would lift you high out of the water so you could do flips back in. He would put you on his shoulders so you could take turns playing chicken with whatever female climbed onto his brother; he was proud to say you won every time. He followed you all the way to the deep end and despite his distaste for swimming he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world as you clung to him, telling stories of your childhood in this exact watering hole. He could’ve stayed in the water forever, content to grow wrinkles all over if it meant you would stay close to him.

When the sun had threatened to leave the sky was when you had decided to get out. Your friends were going to a diner to finish of the night with milkshakes and gossip, you offered and invitation and despite being willing to follow you wherever you asked he had to decline. Rhys had tried to contact him multiple times, all of which he ignored. Based on the aggravated tone, Cass was doing the same. He knew staying away any longer would only cause an angry high lord scaling the streets in search of them.

Cass begrudgingly followed his lead, after kissing more than an appropriate amount of females on the cheek, bidding them all goodnight with the promise of seeing them again.

The boys flew home, landing in front of the town house. Before facing the wrath of their in the dark brother Cassian stopped in front of Azriel and grabbed both of his shoulders. With a wide smile he leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, before he could react Cass had kissed the other one.

“I love you brother,” he said with so much sincerity Az rolled his eyes. “I’ll handle business with you any day,” Cass pulled him into a bone crushing hug that Azriel had to use all of his force to get out of. He wiped the wet spots on his cheeks before shaking his head. He pushed past his babbling brother and made his way to the front door. Cass walked in with an arrogant swagger, one that stayed with him for the next week and a half.

The frustration didn’t show on Azriels face, nothing showed on Azriels face, as he trailed diligently behind Mor. Yet another shopping spree he was dragged into with the role of being ‘designated bag carrier.’ He never complained even though he’d rather be doing anything else right now, he didn’t show it. Even though he knew Mor knew that, and even though Mor knew that he knew that she knew that.

“Thank you again Azriel, I swear I’m almost done.” He nodded along, knowing that she was almost done 2 hours ago.

It seemed everyone in the city was out shopping, the streets of the retail sector were jam packed. It was likely that most people were, with a new season approaching all of the soon to be out-of-season styles were on sale. Something that motivated Mor, giving her a much needed excuse for retail therapy.

Azriel kept his wings tucked in tight as he shimmied through bodies crowding the cobble stone. “Okay so we’ll stop at Loraine’s, she has the best Jewelry. Then we’ll have to hit up that new little boutique, hopefully all of the good shoes aren’t gone already. Oh! And we absolutely have to visit Anderson on the end of the block, he’ll kill me if I don’t come check out his sun dresses. He always holds the red ones back for me. Honestly my closet…” Mor continued to ramble on about each and every store that demanded she visit but Azriel tuned it out. Leaving behind the notion of soon as the math of how long he would be out continued to produce a higher and higher number.

Without trying to think about it, he followed Mor into the little jewelry shop that she just spoke about. The shelves were covered in glittering jewels that sat on display behind glass. Nothing caught his interest, he didn’t care for flashy add ons, so he just made his way to one of the plush chairs in the corner. He set the plethora of bags down as he slunk back, enjoying a moment of rest as he knew Mor would be taking her time. His eyes closed but his reaction was short lived when his shadows began of informing him of a situation.

Across the street,

Someone’s not supposed to be here,

Go quickly.

He cracked an eye open and glanced out the window. The streets looked normal enough and he couldn’t hear any commotion over the bustling. Someone’s not supposed to be here? He would have been notified earlier if anyone got through the Velarian wards. He should’ve been notified earlier. He stood up slowly, assessing the street. Just because everything looked normal doesn’t mean it was.

He abandoned Mor’s bags and moved towards the door, when he pushed it open he never stepped out. Instead a shadow slipped across the ground, going unnoticed on the busy street.

He slid under the crack of the door and after clocking his surroundings he determined he was in a woman’s nightwear store. There were night gowns and matching pj’s covering mannequins and racks in the front.

Back,

Behind the curtain.

His shadows informed him of the intruders location and he slid in the corner where the wall met the floor, making his way to the back. The store was relatively empty, only a few patrons; a couple, an older fae, and a young male that looked at the stock like a critic.

Slipping behind the curtain that separated the front from the back he was faced with three small dressing rooms. He materialized and placed his hand on the truth teller that rested on his upper thigh. It was quiet back here, the only shuffling came from one of the dressing rooms. He heard a click and a voice; your voice.

“Mav!” You called out as you stepped out of one of the rooms. He moved, trying to run, trying to get out of there. Realization of the stunt his shadows had once again pulled, dawned on him but it was too late.

“Az?” You questioned. The nickname had him stopping before he could escape sight. His heart beat like a war dum against his chest and he felt his hand dampen on the curtain he was holding. For a moment he contemplated winnowing away, saving the embarrassment for another day.

His turn was slow and painful, when his back was against the curtain he looked down and regretted not running. You were clad in a lace nightgown that barley covered the curve of your bottom. The top was push up, covered in shined lace while the bottom was layers of baby pink sheer material. If he looked closely he could see the diamond jewelry on your belly button and your matching shiney underwear shining through. He attempted to swallow the lump that was sitting in the middle of his throat but it didn’t budge so all he managed was a straggled gasp.

A devilish smirk, the one that tempted his knees, took control of your lips. You leaned against the stall, popping your hip out with a hand resting lazily on top. You tilted your head and looked him up and down, “Don’t tell me there’s another emergency.”

His eyes almost jumped out of his head and pink brushed from his neck, to his ears, and all across his face. You knew, of course you knew, you were the one he was barging in on. He tried to speak but that was impossible, seeing you in something so intimate, something he’d only dreamed of seeing you in, he could only shake his head back and forth.

“Okay so I also found that in this pretty blue-oh!” The young male from earlier had pushed through the curtain and was standing rigid as he looked between you and Az. He was only stuck for a few seconds before a smile that matched yours in mischief graced his face. “What do you think shadowsinger?”

His sultry voice took Azriel back, and the heat in his face doubled, “I- it’s,” he cleared his throat as he looked at the tiny blue dress. Cobalt blue, it was the same hue of his siphons. The thought of seeing you in that…

“It’s beautiful,” you finished for him. You pushed off the stall and moseyed over, closer to Az’s still frozen stature. “I absolutely love this color!” You took the thin fabric in delicate hands, feeling the material. “I’ll put it on,” you took the small thing from your friend before looking Az directly in the eye. You just smiled before walking back into the changing closet.

Azriel let out a low breath before bringing his hands up to drag the course of his face. This had to stop happening.

A snicker came from next to him and he looked over to, Mav, who had his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing glint in his eye. Az briefly wondered if you had told your friend about his little appearing act. The way Mav was looking at him, he’s sure you did. “You gonna stay for the final result?”

Yes, yes, yes! His shadows chanted in his ear and he shook his head roughly to keep them out of his ear.

“No, I gotta- busy!” He practically ripped the curtain with the force he pulled it open. He cleared the store in a few long strides before pushing himself free. In his daze he ended up colliding with a smaller frame.

“Az!” Mor yelled, straightening the dress he rumpled. “What are you-“ he eyes narrowed before glancing behind him, Jaim’s Nightwear was painted in delicate cursive on the windows. “What the hell were you doing?”

Az glanced once back at the shop before at Mor, “Embarrassing myself apparently.”

Mor clocked his flush demeanor before looking back at the window. She squinted her eyes again, tilting her head. She pondered doing some shopping at Jaim’s and Azriel’s speedy ‘no!’ only intrigued her more. She moved to step around him but Azriel’s hands clapped on her shoulder, turning her around and directing her back to the jewelry store across the street.

A low hum left the shadowsinger as he climbed up the ramp of the library. He scanned the isles looking for ‘Fiction- Rac.’

He had attended Nesta’s monthly book club with the priestesses, a guilty pleasure only the attendees knew of. He had offered to carry the books back to their rightful spot, an offer he was now regretting. The isle that held the thick fiction books had evaded him, and he had been walking back and forth for a half an hour now. A few priestesses had offered their help but he insisted they return to their work, that he could do it himself.

He decided to try the ‘Rab’ isle, keeping his wings tucked as his presence filled the narrow space. He almost cursed, debating throwing the books on a rack and letting someone else deal with it. His eye had just caught the beginning of ‘Rac’ when his attention was diverted.

You are needed,

Go now,

He ignored the shadows, pushing on towards his destination. He wasn’t about to fall into their trap again, he didn’t think he could handle another awkward encounter.

She needs help,

She needs you.

They insisted but Az just shook his head, looking for the correct author. “I’m not doing this again,” he whispered back. His luck she’d probably be in that little blue get-up and she’d have to clean up the puddle he’d melt into.

Go now!

Or regret it!

She will get hurt!

He groaned as he leaned his forehead against the cool self. The thought of you being hurt, even though he doubted you were, trumped his need to protect his ego. With his shadows whispering in his ear he had to see you were safe, and when you inevitably were he would come back and finish his job.

“Fine, but if she’s in her underwear again-“ the shadows cut him of chanting go, go, go! “Okay,” he was defeated, a slave to the torture his shadows were hell bent on putting him through. “Where is she?”

Home,

Her house.

“Good gods- I’m winnowing outside and if she’s half naked I swear I’m never listening to-“ he was cut off again by his shadows. This time it wasn’t a whisper, the seemed to bellow, angry at his reluctance.

Now!

With the urgency from his shadows he dropped the books on the floor, leaving them for whichever poor priestess found them first. After moving through space in the blink of an eye he landed on your front porch. He lifted his hand to knock, he wasn’t going to barge in and show up in the middle of your room uninvited- again.

Before his fist could connect with the door the sound of you screaming had him stumbling back. “Get out!” Followed by breaking glass. Your voice was shrill and panicked and it lit a protective fire inside of him.

He blinked again and he was inside your living room. Shadows were let loose across the space, crawling from his body to every corner of the room. You were there and so was a clearly unwanted presence. You were pressed against your mantle, gripping a vase like a weapon while the male staggered a few feet in front of you. He didn’t need his shadows to inform him about the alcohol that reeked from the man. His blood boiled and metaphorical claws were bared, he was going to kill the male that intruded on your space.

“Crazy bitch! Where’d you go?” The man slurred out as he waved his hands wildly in front of him; desperate to clear the opaque mist and find his target.

The name you didn’t deserve to be called had snapped Azriel into action, like a tensed spring he shot in front of the man. “I’m right here,” he whispered, mere inches from the drunk. The man made a shocked sound, startled by the new voice and its proximity. The man threw a pathetic punch, a low chuckle left Az’s lips as he caught the fist.

With a skilled spin he was behind the man, pressing his wrist between his shoulder blades in an uncomfortable contortion.

A straggled scream left his throat and Azriel cleared his shadows, wanting a proper look at who he was dealing with. The male was nothing special, skinny and pale with dull brown hair. His blue eyes looked hollow and glassy and the stench of alcohol absolutely assaulted Azriel’s senses at the proximity.

“You’d be wise not to try that again,” Azriel’s dark voice met the shell of the man’s ear. His eyes flickered up to you, wide eyed watching the scene play out. “What are you doing here?”

“Let me go! I just want to talk to her!” Azriel pressed his wrist higher and the male made a noice between a grunt and a scream. “Please!”

Tightening the grip on his wrist Azriel let out a low growl, this male was already too close, Azriel was never going to give him a chance to get closer. “I don’t think she wants to speak to you,” his low voice was eerily calm, steady as he leaned down to speak in the stranger’s ear. “Do you, Y/n?” His eyes moved back to you and watched as you viciously shook your head back and forth. “Well,” the grin in his voice was audible, “that settles that.”

Azriel gave the man a hard shove to which his shadows caught him, they carried him off to somewhere Azriel could deal him later. His eyes scanned the room once more, checking for any lingering danger, any hint of another threat. His shadows scowered the rest of the house, closing and locking any window that could be used as an entry point.

“Az,” you breathed before dropping the vase. The tough glass didn’t shatter, instead it rolled away while you ran. Within seconds your arms were around his neck with your face buried in his chest. He relished in your closeness, arms circling your waist with his nose finding your shoulder. A greedy breath reminded him you were safe, in his arms where no bastard would touch or even talk to you unwarranted. “I’m so glad that worked, I was worried that it wouldn’t, that I pushed to hard with it when you took awhile to get here but-“

“Wait what? What’re you talking about?” He pulled back to look down at you. Confusion had knitted his brows together and pushed his head onto an axis.

“Oh- I well… nothing,” you pulled back and turned away, red dusting your cheeks as your eyes fought to hide from him. Usually he was the flustered one, looking like boy whose hand had been caught in a cookie jar. But the roles were now reversed, you looked like you were dodging trouble of your own creation.

Azriel grabbed your wrist, delicately, turning you around to face him. He caught your chin in his other hand and angled your head to face him, “What did you want to work?”

You turned your eyes down but he just lifted your chin higher, your pink cheeks turned positively rosey and you shook your head. “Fine,” you breathed before pulling away from him completely. He watched as you moved around the glass you had previously thrown and made your way to the couch. “Well,” you started, drawing lines in your the cushion to keep from looking at him, “remember when we met? At that monster exchange?”

He nodded, “Of course.” He would never forget, catching a dove in an underground tavern full of monsters and the beats they aimed to sell. He had been tracking the traveling convention all across the night court, attempting to find who was running the trade. It was a highly illegal exchange and when he’d found you, you had begged to not be arrested, claiming curiosity brought you there. He let you go, told you to run while he dealt with the others.

“Well when I got home I noticed I had a little friend,” she held her hand out and to Azriel’s surprise, a shadow fell into her hand. It had danced out of its hiding spot in your hair and looped around your fingers, stuck to you like it was your own to wield. He just stared, mouth agape, to caught in his own shock to respond. “I started talking to it, they’re great listeners.” A giggle fell from your lips as you wiggled your fingers and the shadow weaved and bobbed through your digits. “And for some reason whenever I spoke of you, of wanting to see you, you would show up.”

You looked up tentatively, worried to see an angry Azriel. Instead you were faced with pure shock, he looked so lost so you felt the need to go on.

“I didn’t know it would tell you to come, not originally. Then after that first night, your shadows told you it was an emergency and I started taking advantage of that. Telling it to fetch you so I could see you again.” You looked back down, clearly ashamed of your admission. You couldn’t see the smirk that was growing on Azriel’s lips. “I know you’re busy, and-and it’s unfair to pull you away from your work like that. I shouldn’t have used your own shadow against you- gods- I’m so sorry. I’ll never-“

Your words were caught off by a laugh, a loud belly laugh. Azriel was practically doubled over. The realization had his face crinkled and his hands gripping his stomach as he gasped for air. You laughed nervously, adding him, “Your not mad?”

He stood up, still laughing but controlling it. His dimples were on full display and you melted a little, feeling ease wash over you.

“No, no I’m not mad,” he moved for the couch, “I’m glad I finally found out why my shadows are so willing to lie to me. It’s because they’re in kahoots with you.” He sat down and took your hand, your full smile matched his, “Never apologize for wanting to see me, I’ll come whenever you call.”

You blushed and nodded, laughing some more yourself. You stuck out the hand that held his shadow, “Here. You can have this back.”

He just shook his head with a smile, pushing your hand back. “Keep it, you can use it to get ahold of me.”

You looked back to him, the look on his face was one of pure ease, happiness and bliss, you loved to see it. You two sat there smiling at each other like idiots when you felt a tug on your heart. The tug got stronger and stronger until it snapped. With a gasp you threw your hand over your heart, as if the bond was tangible, something you could grab with your hands.

“It’s you,” you whisper leaning in slightly.

“And it’s you,” he whispered back after following you in.

You felt a tug on the bond, like he was pulling you towards him, you tugged back with a smile. You had always wanted to find your mate and you wouldn’t admit it just yet but you had wanted it to be Azriel since you met him underground.

You threw your head back, it was your turn to belly laugh. “Good gods! No wonder you always came running!”

He narrowed his eyes and let out a playful growl before pulling you into his arms. You giggled and wrapped your arms around him, looking at him in his eyes. “I’m glad it’s you,” was all you said before offering him a peck on the lips.

He beamed back, “I’m also glad it’s you.” He pulled you down for another kiss which you returned passionately.

“Soo..” you drawled pulling back, “Would you like to see that little blue number?” He responded with a low growl and nip at your ear. You laughed at his answer before jumping off the couch, you grabbed his hand and he happily let you drag him to your room.

A/N: My first request🥰🥰🥰 this was so fun, literally send more I live live live for them. I rlly hope my requester enjoyed this 🥲

Also I’m still working on ‘I’m Not Crazy, She is!’ Pt. 2 but it’s gonna be a long one so give me some time with that🙏🏽

As always if you made it this far I LOVE YOUUU<3<3 thank you so much for reading yall I love doing these.

Masterlist

Tag list: @gorlillaglue25

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alltheirdamn · 3 months

Text

Lilies | dom!joel x sub!f!reader

Song Inspo: Lilies by Ethel Cain

Summary: Joel gives you everything, but you’re beginning to crave more. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k (sorry lol) Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, a teeny tiny bit of Stockholm syndrome, lingerie!kink, reader has long enough hair to braid, brat taming, jealousy, angst, names (little flower, sir, whore, slut), degrading!kink, anal play, anal sex, orgasm denial, oral (m!receiving), throat fucking, ball-sucking/worship, rough sex, creampie, slapping, spanking, aftercare, joel is kinda a meany but also kinda sweet A/N: this just kind of tumbled out of me and yeah… here we are lol very far out of my element with this dynamic, so hopefully i did it justice. (i am very horny for dom!joel right now, please don’t perceive me)

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The rules were simple:

You were to be at Joel’s home at exactly four pm every Friday and stay with him until Sunday evening

Your hair must be in a braid at all times

You could only wear lingerie (selected and purchased by Joel)

That was your routine.

You had been Joel’s submissive for half a year, and nothing had changed. You submitted to everything he asked without question. Yes, there were safe words in place and long conversations about wants and needs, but none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was Joel’s unwavering attention every weekend.

As time passed, though, you started wanting more. Three days weren’t enough for you. The rules weren’t enough. You wanted all of Joel. Not just his commands. Not just his cock. You wanted him to be yours in every way.

Nothing within Joel’s rules explicitly stated you could only see one another. As far as you were concerned, he only tended to one submissive at a time, and you had been with him the longest. Pride swelled inside you when you thought of that; Joel kept you because he wanted you. He enjoyed the pleasure you brought him, and in return, he cared for you deeply. But you wanted to see how deeply he cared about you and if he was as committed to you as you were to him.

That's when you devised a meticulously thought-out plan to prove Joel’s possessiveness. The desperate need to make him realize there would be no one else to make him happy.

You clicked the door open at precisely four pm and entered Joel's home. He kept it spotless, an immaculate representation of his attention to detail. Nothing went unnoticed, and everything had its place and purpose. Within his home, you had your purpose as well.

Tip-toeing through his kitchen, you brushed your hand over the marble counter, the stone cold to touch as you walked into the living room. Floor-to-ceiling bay windows compromised the room's side wall, looking out onto the brick terrace. Joel’s view of the city was the best money could buy, and you spent most Saturday mornings curled up on the patio sofa, watching the sun rise over the skyline.

The plush, gray couch in the center of the living room faced a large flat screen, one rarely used when you stayed on the weekends. Joel insisted on being present with you, whether it was fucking you into oblivion inside his bedroom or dotting over you with aftercare and affection. The lines blurred between strict rules and faltering emotions. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the feelings expressed through actions were enough to make your heart grow fonder.

Joel was to arrive home in less than thirty minutes, giving you enough time to piece yourself together in the new lingerie he had purchased. Wandering into the bedroom, you looked over the sight of his king-sized bed, covered in a white down comforter and scattered with an array of luxury pillows. The sheets beneath the comforter were silky soft and cool to the touch, but the press of Joel’s body against yours during the night kept you wrapped in a blanket of warmth.

The master bath was beyond beautiful, with its white trimmed crowning and alabaster bathtub under the window. Two sinks were carved into a marble counter: one for Joel and one for you. Countless times before, Joel bent you over the counter, forcing you to watch him through the bathroom mirror as he ruined you from behind. You came to learn that was one of Joel’s favorite activities: making you watch him while he fucked you. You loved it, too.

You loved everything he did.

Setting your overnight bag on the counter, you laid out your lingerie piece by piece. The white lace bustier was practically see-through, with a detailed pattern that left little to the imagination. The only part of the top that wasn’t fully transparent was the fishbone wiring that traced the underside of the bust. The matching underwear was no better; your neatly trimmed sex would be fully seen under the lace that comprised the tiny bodice. In Joel’s words, he wanted you to look “angelic and ethereal.” Once again, the thrumming in your heart increased knowing he saw you as such. He worshiped you head to toe, and you were so eager to give him anything he wanted. Slipping the garment over your body, you worked on your hair, plaiting the strands into a perfect braid you had mastered over the last several months. You secured it with a silk bow—just as Joel had requested—and settled it between your shoulder blades. Admiring yourself, you smiled into the mirror. Joel would be pleased with you.

But first, you needed to do something.

Reaching into your purse for your cell phone, you adjusted the camera to capture your lace-clad body in a teasing portrait. The photo wasn’t for Joel. Scrolling through your phone, you found the contact of your latest man of interest—well, not a genuine interest, so perhaps, the latest victim? You were only using him as part of your plan, and you hoped it worked in your favor.

As your finger hovered over the send button, you heard the unmistakable sound of the front door lock sliding open. A thrill of anxiety rushed through your body; you would do this. Pressing send, you ran to the bedroom and placed your phone on the nightstand. The ringer was on, which Joel did not favor during your time with him.

His large frame shadowed the bedroom door as he stepped into the room. In all his glory, Joel Miller was yours for the next seventy-two hours. But if you had it your way, he’d be yours forever. Clad in his usual work attire, his broad shoulders and chest stretched out his business suit, the white button-down peeking out beneath the jacket. His thick thighs were covered in well-tailored trousers, and his shoes were pristine and polished as he liked. Gazing up, you drank in the neatly trimmed scruff along his jaw, the silver patches thickening as they neared his ears. The mustache over his upper lip was just as clean, the edges dipping close to the curve of his mouth—which was currently tipped up into a satisfied grin.

“Hello, little flower,” he greeted.

Little flower.

That had always been his preferred name for you. “You’re so delicate, like a little flower. I could marvel at your beauty but crush you in my hand in seconds.”

Such a sentiment shouldn’t ignite something so visceral inside you, but it sounded so sweet when it fell off his tongue in honey-drench syllables.

“Hello, sir,” you smiled, your body situated on the edge of the bed.

You watched as he shed his suit jacket, folding it carefully and draping it over the dresser. His eyes stayed trained on you, the rich brown of his irises boring into you with a softness so tender it toppled something inside your stomach. Working at the cuffs of his shirt, Joel rolled them in perfect sections until they hugged the thick muscles of his forearms just below his elbows.

“You look radiant in the new set,” he said, his eyes dragging over your body.

You preened at his compliment, a blush crawling over your chest and neck.

“Thank you, sir. I love anything you pick out for me.”

Joel cracked a wide grin, pleased with your response. He curled his pointer finger at you, beckoning you closer. You obeyed his command wordlessly, stepping into his warmth. Rough, calloused fingers trailed over your bare skin, trailing higher up your arm until his hand came to cup your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed a thumb over your cheekbone, the touch you craved when you weren’t in his presence. You craved tenderness at all hours of the day; you lay awake sometimes at night yearning for more. Always more.

You craned your neck to kiss his lips softly, gently. If you could choose how you’d die, it would always be in this moment, where the world dissolved around you, and it was just Joel’s body against yours.

The moment shattered away as your phone shrilled from the nightstand, the vibration rattling the wood. Joel broke from your lips, his eyes set ablaze and swimming in darkness. Disappointment washed over his features, the crease between his brow forming and his lips set in a thin line. Without a single word, he strode to the nightstand and stared at your phone screen, no doubt flooded with texts from the man you had sent the photos.

Your heart thudded in your ears, the sound pressurizing inside your head. On bated breath, you waited for him to say something.

“Kneel,” he ordered, his voice cold. He didn’t even glance at you as he said the word.

You did without hesitation, your knees dropping to the carpet floor without a sound. The tension in the room was palatable as Joel walked into your line of vision. He held the phone in front of your face, his fingers tight around the edges.

“Read.”

Your eyes scanned the words on the screen, a slew of text messages… each more vulgar than the last. You didn’t want to say them aloud.

“Read,” he repeated.

“I—I don’t want to, sir,” you whispered.

Joel’s body was foreboding, a shadow swallowing you whole as you sat perched on your knees before him. He could do anything he wanted to you, and the truth was that you’d let him. You’d let him do anything because you wanted it. You wanted him so desperately.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to read it,” he said. “I am telling you to read it.”

You swallowed thickly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you began to read off the text thread.

Damn, I need to know what your pussy looks like.

Let’s meet up tomorrow.

Send another picture. I want to see your legs spread wider.

Bet you would let me cum inside you.

Line after line, word after word, you were embarrassed. Embarrassed and afraid, neither settled well inside your stomach as it churched together.

Tossing the phone to the ground, Joel crouched to meet you at eye level. It was the first time you felt terrified by the way he looked at you. Several times, he had been rough—almost always, as it was what he enjoyed—but there was always a glimmer of softness even when he hurt you.

“You did this for a reason.” Joel didn’t ask; he said it like a calculated realization.

You bowed your head, too ashamed to meet his eye. Oh, but he didn’t like that. Gripping your chin with merciless strength, Joel lifted your face to meet his. A breath apart, but so far away.

“Explain yourself, little flower. I’m growing rather impatient.”

“I wanted to see you jealous, sir,” you admonished. “I wanted to know what you would do.”

“Jealous,” he echoed, rolling his tongue over his teeth.

He ripped his hand from your face, letting your head fall between your shoulders. You started at the polished tips of his work shoes, the black leather shiny and without marks. No detail went unnoticed.

“Undo my belt,” he instructed, stretching himself back to his full height.

Straightening your spine, you reached up to his belt and began to unclasp the metal, holding it tight around his trousers. Joel continued to stare down at you unamused. You worked at pushing his pants down his thick thighs, shoving them far enough to reach his kneecaps.

“Take out my cock. Let’s see how well I’ve trained your throat.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, giving them a good tug until his thick cock sprung free. It bobbed against his stomach, the reddened tip weeping with precum. Your hand came up to grip the girthy base, but Joel tutted in protest.

“Hands behind your back, little flower.”

Clasping your hands at the base of your spine, you peered up at him with an eager expression. Joel arched a brow, waiting for you to comply and give him his request. Shuffling your knees forward, you dragged the tip of your tongue over the slit, lapping at the salty precum that dripped down. You peppered him with kitten kisses, your tongue tracing the veins on the underside of his cock. Joel rewarded you with a satisfied hum, bucking his hips forward until the head of his cock parted your lips wider.

Dropping your jaw open, you welcomed each girthy inch of his cock into your warm mouth, the faint smell of his body wash mingling with his musky scent as you took him deeper. The moment the head of his cock brushed the back of your throat, you sputtered softly and felt the tears begin to well in your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

Joel ripped himself from your mouth, his hand coming down to squish your cheeks together.

“Keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir,” you said sheepishly.

He released his grip on your face and adjusted himself back at your wet lips. Sucking in a deep breath, you wrapped your mouth around his cock once more. Joel jerked his hips forward, sending his cock to the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, keeping your tongue flat against the underside of his cock. Your nose brushed against the trimmed curls that framed his pubic bones, the hairs tickling your nose as he held you there.

“I’m going to count to ten, little flower. Be a good girl, and show me how well you can take it.”

You nodded, your mouth suctioning tighter around him. Joel’s eyes darkened, his lips parted as he readied himself to count.

“One,” he barked.

You blinked away the tears springing in the corner of your eyes. You could do this; you had done it before.

“Two.”

You unhinged your jaw, your senses invaded by his scent as you pressed further into his pubic hair. Somewhere between breaths, Joel counted three and four with a loud grunt, and you continued to focus on exhaling through your nose.

“Five,” he gritted.

The urge to gag around his cock grew harder to ignore, and the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your chin was coated in drool as you anticipated the next count, your eyes foggy as you stared up at him. Joel tilted his head, admiring how he stuffed every crevice of your mouth.

“Six.”

“Seven.”

More saliva pooled in your mouth, and you hollowed your cheeks to avoid sputtering around him. Joel’s lips curled into a devilish smirk, and he nudged his pelvis closer until your nose smashed into his skin. You coughed around his length, the corners of your mouth dripping saliva onto your neck and chest.

“Almost there, little flower. Doing so good for me,” he crooned.

Joel brushed a finger over your throat, tapping the bulge protruding against your aching flesh. Eight and nine were a blur, your eyes barely staying open. Every flutter of your lashes garnered a dissatisfied tut from Joel, his body tense and throbbing with anger.

“Ten,” he sighed.

You tore away, coughing violently as you sucked in jagged breaths. Twisting your hands behind you, you squeezed your eyes shut to push the remainder of the tears down your cheeks. Joel wrapped a large hand around the base of his cock, stroking himself slowly and lazily.

“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered.

The words he said were far and few, which terrified you. Deep within yourself, you knew you had enraged him with your little act. It garnered no affection as you hoped, but he still gave you the attention you yearned for. Good or bad, you would take it. You would take anything he gave you.

A trail of saliva, salty and thick, dripped from the point of your tongue as you did what he instructed. Joel rested the velvety skin of his balls against your mouth, the weight of them heavy on your tongue. You didn’t need his commands as you slipped one of his balls into your mouth. Above you, Joel shuddered and clenched his fists at his side. You worshiped each with equal measure, alternating between gentle caresses of your tongue and sloppy suctions of your mouth.

“That’s it, little flower. Just like that,” Joel cooed.

A desperate moan left your lips as you lapped up the salty wetness covering his silken sack, swallowing down the remnants of your drool. Joel pumped himself faster, the sound of his jagged breathing mixing with the lewd noises of your mouth. His release was nearing; you could sense it in the way his thick thighs flexed around your face.

“Please,” you whined, your words muffled into the hair around his balls.

Joel’s hand slowed around his length, his thumb brushing over the slit as more precum leaked out. Staring up at him helplessly, you waited for his release to paint your tongue. He gave you a stern look, nodding toward the bed.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

“But—,” you protested.

Joel smoothed his palm over your cheek before pulling back and delivering a sharp smack against your face. You jerked at the sting of his touch radiating through the layers of your skin. He undoubtedly left behind a reddened mark across your cheek and jaw.

“You’ve already angered me once,” he warned. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Your knees scuffed against the ground as you scrambled onto the bed, situating yourself in the position he commanded. The unmistakable sound of the leather unsheathing from his pants ignited a new wave of fear through your body. Joel discarded it beside your face before coasting a hand down the center of your spine.

“I’ll give you another chance to explain yourself,” Joel said.

The bed dipped under his weight as he pressed a knee into the comforter beside you. You glanced over your shoulder, watching through teary eyes as Joel quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Dark chest hair scattered over his broad chest, spattered lower until it tapered into a thick trail down his pelvis. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over his golden skin as he discarded his shirt carelessly onto the ground. Careless…it wasn’t something you were used to with Joel.

“I just wanted your attention,” you muttered, your head hanging between your shoulders.

Joel tugged your braid, forcing your neck to crane backward. Despite the harshness of his words, his touch, his demeanor… your body throbbed with an unavoidable need. It throbbed at the apex of your sex, the lace rubbing against the slick that pooled between your thighs. Joel paid no attention to the way your legs shifted side to side, his unwavering stare penetrating you.

“Do I not give you enough attention?” He questioned.

“You do, sir,” you nodded, the strain on your neck growing uncomfortable.

“Perhaps you don’t deserve attention at all,” he mused.

He released his grip on your hair, your head falling forward and hanging low between your shoulders. Joel moved behind your body, his thick fingers tearing apart the lace hugging your ass. You yelped at the sheer force of it, the chill of the room skating up your bare sex. Joel’s fingertips traced over the back of your thigh, lingering close to the outline of your weeping pussy. Just one touch. That’s all you wanted—just one.

His touch disappeared, leaving you whining and frustrated. Joel huffed a laugh before bringing two fingers to your mouth.

“Suck. Get them nice and wet for me.”

You obliged, rolling your tongue over the thick digits as they pressed down into your mouth. He pulled them away, a web of drool connecting from the tip of your tongue to the pads of his fingers. Joel knocked your legs open further, and you waited in anticipation for his fingers to give you what you needed. Except, he didn’t.

A gasp left your lips as he pushed the calloused skin of his fingertips against the tight ring of muscles above your slit. With one hand gripping your ass, Joel spread you wider, humming at the sight of you fully exposed.

“Maybe you don’t deserve the attention you want. You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll thank me.”

“Please,” you whined.

“No,” he growled. “Desperate little sluts don’t get what they want.”

Joel’s finger dipped into your clenching hole, prodding you open despite your whines of protest. It wasn’t the first time he used this way, but it felt different. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t meant to be focused on your pleasure. He was determined to prove a point, and you would comply because you were so greedy for anything he could give. He pressed the second finger to your hole, stretching you wider as he pushed them to his second knuckle. Wider and wider, he stretched you, uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

“I see how wet you are, little flower. I know how greedy this pussy can get, but you know what? You don’t deserve it. This pussy doesn’t deserve my attention at all.”

“Sir!” You cried.

“You’re going to take my cock in your ass like the pathetic whore you are,” he growled.

Joel curled his fingers inside you, slipping them deeper until they were fully seated inside you. If you felt full now, it would be nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open. The sheer thought of it sent a shockwave to your clit, the aching bud pulsating painfully. Joel laughed at the way you squirmed underneath him, rewarding your cries with a jarring smack against your ass. Fuck, it hurt.

Tearing his fingers from you, Joel disappeared from the bed and riffled through his nightstand drawer. You heard the familiar sound of the lube squirting into his hand and the rough breath of Joel as he realigned himself with your loosened hole. The initial intrusion of his cock sparred stars into your vision, the tip of his cock tearing you open. Even in his angered haze, Joel was slow—careful.

“Breathe, little flower,” he urged.

You barely managed a full gulp of air before Joel bottomed out entirely. A scream erupted from your lips as you adjusted to his size, each inch of his length stuffed inside your tightening hole. Your body flexed and tensed under Joel’s touch, one hand pressing into your lower back, the other looping a finger through the plaits in your hair. Beneath him, you were helpless, entirely at his mercy for whatever he wanted.

With a slow retraction of his hips, Joel snapped his hips forward hard enough to send your upper body into the comforter. The rugged momentum of his thrusts tore you apart; piece by piece, Joel diminished you into nothing but a hole for his use.

“Greedy fucking whore,” Joel grunted, each thrust weighted and heavy inside you. “How’s it feel, huh? You love being used like this?”

“I love it, sir,” you cried.

Joel pulled out to the tip, a heavy breath expelling from your mouth. He ripped into you again, resolving you into a heap of tears and shallow whimpers. His finger in your intertwined hair tightened, pulling your neck back until you had no choice but to connect with his piercing stare. With blown pupils and curled lips, Joel was the epitome of carnal rage. You did this. You spurred him into this embodiment of anger.

“Is this enough for you, little flower?” He demanded.

Arousal dripped between your legs, the snap of his balls against your clit radiating pleasure through your body. You writhed under his hold, a pleading cry leaving your mouth as you stared at him helplessly. Usually reserved and stoic, Joel’s emotions washed over his features, speaking louder than his words. You didn’t just anger him; you hurt him. You questioned his role as a dominant, which was an unspeakable thing to do.

“Answer me!” He raged.

“It’s enough!” You sobbed.

Joel fucked you into abandon, your asshole sore and pained with every cantation of his hips. He was tearing you apart from the inside out, unrelenting and punishing. Your safe word balanced on the tip of your tongue, yet you withheld. You knew Joel would stop the moment you said the word, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to prove you could be everything and more. You wanted to prove yourself until he wanted no other but you.

The pulse between your legs was unbearable. You were stretched out and gaping around his cock, void of any chance of release. Joel knew how your body responded; he was aware of how your hole contracted and flexed around him. Yet, he gave you nothing. He wouldn’t.

“Taking my cock so well, little flower,” he muttered between labored breaths. “Swallowing every inch of me.”

“Please, sir. Please, I want to cum,” you babbled.

The sting of his palm against your ass was his response to your pleas, a simple gesture to shut you up. You took it, though your body buzzed with pleasure in every limb.

“I know you do,” he crooned softly. “But you don’t get what you want. Only what I give you. So fucking take it.”

The world was caving around you, your vision blackening at the edges. Joel wound your braid over his fist and quickened his thrusts. Your body sagged into the bed, limp and pliant. Guttural sounds fell off Joel’s lips as he fucked you into the bed. Your ears deafened to the noise, your mouth hanging open and dripping spit into the soft bedspread beneath you. The erratic drive of his cock was the only warning you had to know he was close. Jagged, deep thrusts speared into you as Joel toppled over the edge with an animalist growl as he pumped his release into your fucked out hole. You twitched under his body, your knees slipping lower as your body gave out.

Despite the haze inside your mind, your lips tipped up into a satisfied grin. He used your body just as he wanted, and you proved fealty to him—ardent, unwavering submission to the one man who wove his way into your heart.

Joel pulled himself from you, slow and gentle, until the roll of his release was falling between your slit. You clenched around nothing, the tight ring of muscles aching painfully. He reached up to undo the silk bow holding your braid together, his fingers working through the soft waves as they floated over your back.

“Little flower,” he whispered, kissing your sweat-coated spine.

You flinched at his touch, not out of fear but of shock that still radiated through your muscles. You hadn’t fully returned to your mind, and Joel took notice. Working you onto your back, he roamed a hand over your breasts; his hand pressed firmly against the thrumming pulse of your heart. You stared up at him blankly, the tears now dried against your cheeks. What had been the face of cruelty only moments ago had now morphed into the soft, longing gaze you always yearned for. Joel’s pupils had returned to normal, the flecks of amber and rich chocolate boring into you with a look of concern.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered.

He bent over you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered close, relishing in the softness of his lips on your skin. You wanted this. You ached for it fiercely but could not form the words to beg for it.

“Stay here a moment,” he said.

You lay against the bed, your limbs twitching as you rolled onto your side. Curling into yourself, you fought off the tremors still wracking through your muscles, a steady pulse rhythmically beating within your clit. Joel denied you your orgasm, which he never did. It was your punishment for wanting too much—a miscalculated attempt at proving your worth.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom, followed by Joel’s heavy footsteps nearing the bed. With a quick unclasping of your bustier and a firm hand under your knees, Joel lifted you from the bed. You became weightless in his arms, cradling you to his sweaty chest. Wrapping a shaky arm around his shoulders, you rested your head inside the crook of his neck and exhaled an exhausted sigh.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly.

The pungent aroma of lavender and vanilla tinged your nose as Joel guided you into the bathtub. Immediately, your muscles unwound in their tension, a relieving groan expelling from your lips. The heat of the water soothed your tender flesh, the bubbles running over your bare skin in small clusters. Joel was dedicated to aftercare, especially after rougher sessions with you. This was no different. He always remained beside the bathtub, soothing you with praise as you tipped further into its warmth.

You blinked up at him, giving him a tired smile. He gave you a silent nod, then motioned for you to slide forward. He never bathed with you. It wasn’t a rule, per se, but he never granted it to you. This was different—foreign.

You slid your body as far as it could go, your knees pressed to your chest as Joel dipped into the water behind you. Hooking a strong arm around your abdomen, he pulled you flush with his body and dropped his mouth below the shell of your ear.

“You chose to anger me today,” he muttered. “I need the honest truth as to why you did it.”

You twisted your face around to meet his steady gaze, your bottom lip quivering while you debated if the truth was worth voicing.

“I wanted you to be possessive,” you admitted. “I wanted to know if you cared for me the way I care for you.”

Joel’s eyebrows raised slightly, the words shocking him.

“Of course, I care for you. Do I not show it well enough?”

“No—no, you do, sir. I just…I want to be the only one you care for.”

“You have been, little flower. There’s been no one else the entire time you’ve been with me,” he insisted.

You turned your body around, your knees bruising against the tile as you cupped his face. Never had you been so vulnerable with Joel, but you needed him to see your desperation. You needed him to see how committed you were to your role in his life.

“I want to be the only one,” you repeated. “I don’t want you to have another.”

Joel’s hands rested at the curve between your waist and hips, prodding your flesh soothingly.

“Is that what you want, little flower?” He questioned.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, sir. What matters is if it’s what you want.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, creases forming near his temple as he shut his eyes. Silence fell between you, so loud it fractured your heart. No answer was an answer. You failed in your attempts to prove yourself. You failed to make him want you more. He didn’t want you, no matter—.

“My sweet, little flower,” he sighed.

Fresh tears slipped down your cheek, and you made no effort to swat them away. It was useless when you knew you lost the one thing you wanted the most. Joel brushed his lips against yours, and you let a muffled cry escape.

“Rules can be rectified,” he started. “If this is something you wish, I’ll happily oblige.”

“Really?” You asked, pulling away.

You studied him for any sign of doubt, any stolen glance that may prove his words a lie. But he looked at you with complete devotion, irrevocable certainty.

“I want you just as badly. All you had to do was ask. There was no need for defiance or jealousy.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I think you’ve proven yourself more than enough today, little flower. Turn around so I can care for you properly.”

You slipped back into his warm embrace, your legs widening and pressed against his. Joel smoothed a hand down your stomach, his fingers tracing the swollen lips of your sex. You bucked into his hand, chasing the orgasm that still swam within your stomach. He drew slow, tantalizing circles over your soddened clit, muttering soft words into your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed. “I know what you need. I’ll take care of you.”

“Yes—yes,” you panted, arching into his touch.

The pad of his finger pressed into the throbbing bud, the surging pleasure inside you growing agonizing. Bathwater sloshed around your body is rivulets, the push and pull of the waves crashing into the space where your skin didn’t touch. Closer and closer, he drove you to the edge until a delicious rapture tore through your body. Every muscle beneath your balmy skin seized upwards, a wail of relief echoing around the empty bathroom as you caved into your climax.

“That’s it, little flower. So beautiful when you come undone for me,” Joel mumbled into your ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe.

Shockwaves trembled over you as you slumped against his solid frame, your head falling back onto his shoulder. You had what you wanted. Body and soul, Joel granted your wish. Ecstasy wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the swelling inside your chest.

“Stay with me. More than just the weekends. I’ll have your things brought here, and you can stay permanently,” Joel offered. “This house is rather lonely without you in it, anyway.”

“Okay,” you submitted, a grin stretching across your face.

He was yours.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #dom!joel miller #sub!f!reader #dom/sub #joel miller x you #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut

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moonlinos · 7 months

Text

Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back.

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday.

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

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