#and I didn’t show the spine for a reason lol

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

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[eliotquillon]

We know Chase becomes a dumb whore after Cameron leaves, but how do you think Cameron is doing emotionally for the first year after the divorce?

short answer: NOT GOOD!

long answer: while i think it’s very apparent to the viewer that chase and cameron’s relationship, while maybe not inherently doomed, had some serious unaddressed problems that meant that they were on the track for some kind of breakup (permanent or temporary) regardless of dibala, from both of their POVs this is kind of coming out of nowhere. and for cameron especially, it’s a big deal that the divorce happens—after all, her first marriage literally ended with her husband’s death. she does not take marriage lightly. she wanted to wait until after she stopped working for house/became an established senior doctor in her own right to start looking for another long term partner because she wanted to take it seriously, and when she originally said that there was no end to the fellowship in sight; cameron has always liked to get things her own way, but she was especially not willing to settle or compromise when it came to her next husband. for all that she hedges and hesitates about commitment with chase + has the sperm as her get out of jail card, once she committed to that relationship—to marriage, in particular—i don’t think for a second she ever envisioned backing down from it. i think the divorce absolutely blindsided her.

and yes, cameron was the one who left—but chase was supposed to come with her to chicago. he was supposed to let her ‘redeem’ him from house’s influence and be his emotional caretaker and it didn’t happen. i think cameron absolutely left new jersey thinking, on some level, that chase was going to change his mind and end up following her. because while it’d be toxic and they’d grow to resent each other, if chase followed cameron to chicago they absolutely would have stayed together for the next 20+ years (and probably babytrapped each other in the process). and i can’t blame her for thinking that—this is chase, he of no spine and ‘it’s tuesday, i like you’; so much of his previous behaviour suggests that this is exactly what he would do. but he doesn’t follow her, obviously. and i think while she outwardly owns the fact that she left him and that it was the right decision, there’s probably a not-insignificant part of her that secretly sees it the other way round—that he left her, by being convinced by house to stay and not coming with her. i think she’s probably a lot more hurt about that than she lets on. and while i think there are a LOT of reasons as to why cameron goes out of her way to fly back to princeton and personally make sure chase signs the divorce papers only two or three months after they separate (this is a FAST timeline for a divorce by the way, i’ve said this before but cam and chase going straight for divorce with no hesitations or drawing-out is pretty unusual), i’m willing to bet that at least one of them was that she wanted to give him one last chance to change his mind. she was secretly hoping that maybe the reason he was delaying the signing was because he wanted her back and she showed up to give him the chance to beg her for forgiveness. but obviously that isn’t what happened at all lol.

post divorce, i think she does essentially the opposite of what chase does—instead of having a whore phase, she immediately starts dating For Marriage. a do-over of the do-over, to put it crudely. it fits with her flash forward future in s8 with a baby and new husband—that’s a relatively fast turnaround even with the timeskip between s7 and 8 and accounting for the fact that she’s probably being mindful of her biological clock. even if you don’t like chase and cameron together, you have to admit that cameron was so much happier when she was with him than she was before they got together; this obviously wasn’t JUST down to chase, but when things were good they were good. i think she gets to chicago, determined to have a new fresh start, and is very, very lonely, and tries to fill that hole by moving on as soon as she can. new job, new apartment, new friends, new man. chase got breakup hair and she got a breakup LIFE. it’s not that i think cameron regrets the divorce or her decision to leave princeton—she’s probably do the exact same thing if given the choice again—but moreso that i think she just wants someone else to tell her in that first year that she did the right thing, that she was in the right, that there was no coming back for chase or for their relationship. and nobody ever does tell her that. so it’s easier for her to try and move on as fast as possible and stay on cordial but distant terms with chase and act like the whole thing was a blip. that’s not how she feels about it at all, but i think that’s probably how she tries to present herself. in time this does become more genuine, but that first year? yeah, it’s ROUGH.

all this said: i think she probably does have an easier go of it than chase. unlike him, she’s not surrounded by people who knew them as a couple, people they both worked with for years who went to their wedding. she’s not living in their old apartment. there’s nobody in chicago who knows chase, who knows house by anything other than reputation. she still has both of her parents, and seems to have a decent enough relationship with them and her brother for it not to warrant much detail (unlike foreman or chase). it’s easier for her to move on this way, which i guess is exactly why cameron wanted to move to chicago in the first place.

[creativelyunori]

Fic - 9 ½ Days by the incredible @magpiefngrl !!

I said I might start posting some of the fic binds I’ve done and what better to start with than my all time favorite drarry fic! I’ve read this fic so many times that it feels like coming home, it’s my go to re-read. I love reading when i’m travelling the most, I can just lose myself in this fic so easily,, everyday i’m so grateful that this fic was finished.

I wanted the cover to look a bit like a map that the boys had doodled on despite this never happening in the fic I can just see it so clearly. I wanted it to be full of the references and nods to the story that were stuck in my head. my favorite part of this bind is by far the dried flowers on the final page,, I have no idea why but Draco making the bouquets at the cottage kept rattling around in my brain so i just,, made some in the back. The flowers are not at all accurate with what’s in the story but I was working with what I had

[quarterlifekitty]

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

[notiddygothgf]

2/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: part two! its all smut lol. anyway, like I said, this one shot is finished (just split btw two chaps bc theres 11k words). but if u comment and persuade me who knows! I can always do another. im a whore for ur validation.

★ w.c.; 5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI COOCHIE <3

|  come over tn?

|  i got smth i wanna run by u first

YOU

|  omw.

You stood on Itadori’s porch, finger poised over the doorbell a month after your eighteenth birthday. You had been anticipating to see your best friend, Itadori. But as the door swings open, what you don’t expect is to come face to face with Itadori’s older brother.

Your heart drops, and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his appearance. It felt for a moment as if time had stood still since you last saw him. He had only grown more handsome during your time apart. His dark hair was done back into two messy buns, deep bags residing beneath his deep eyes. 

Choso looked absolutely breathtaking . His fitted black tee clung to his chest and arms, showing off his toned physique, while the baggy black sweats he was sporting gave him an effortlessly cool appearance.

His presence exudes a magnetic charm that takes you back to when you were 17. His half smirk sends a wonton shiver down your spine.

“Hey there,” He says, deep, rich voice sending ripples of familiarity throughout your body.

When his lips pull away from his teeth, forming syllables and words, you couldn’t help but notice a small glint of metal near the tip of his tongue. You realized immediately what had seemed so different about him, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“You pierced your tongue?” You blurt out, unable to hide your shock.

Choso nearly snorts, though his eyes never leave yours. “You’re not surprised to see me?” He teases.

“I am,” You retort quickly, trying to regain your composure. “You’re home for the holidays?”

He nods, gaze still fixed on your red face. “Just came home last night.”

That would explain why I didn’t see you, you thought.

“I’m glad you came, though, I’ve been holding onto your birthday gift for a while now,” He sighed, stepping aside to let you into the house but keeping his arm braced on the doorframe. 

You slide under his muscular arm, doing your best to ignore the way your body bristled with electricity when you brushed up against him.

You set your bag on the ground near the door, kicking off your shoes and neatly pushing them aside while Choso locked the door behind you. 

“It’s in my room,” he said, passing you.

You followed him nervously up the stairs into his bedroom, heart pounding a little louder with every step. This would be the first time you would find yourself alone in Choso’s room, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

As you enter his bedroom, you drank in your surroundings – a rare sight. The room was a reflection of Choso’s personality; band tees all over the walls, sheets laid flat and clean, laundry sitting in a basket in a neat, folded pile – a subtle hint of organized chaos.

It felt both familiar and new at the same time. The air was thick with anticipation, and memories of your whirlwind summer fling with Choso came flooding back.

You brace your hands on the door. “Is Itadori home?” You ask him, hands tracing the doorframe while Choso rummaged through his drawer. You sat on his bed.

“Nah,” he replied casually.

Furrowing your brows, you tried to make sense of the situation. But told me to come over…

“Is he coming?” You tried again, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Choso rose up from the bedside drawer, extending a small box towards you with a slight grin. “Nope,” he said.

The realization hit you like a freight train. This was a fucking setup, and Itadori was the mastermind behind it all.

He wanted you alone with his brother. He knew about your fling with him. 

He didn’t notice when the two of you had disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes. 

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

He knew.

He had set you up.

Your face was on fire. Still, you took the small box from Choso, an awkward smile on your face, and carefully undid the little bow. As you opened it, you revealed its contents – a tee shirt with Choso’s University crest on it, a glace pendant on a fabric necklace, and a box set of your favorite film saga.

Choso had never given you a gift for your birthday before, at least not anything beyond a card. Briefly, you wondered if it was his way of making up for your 18th birthday party, the one he had missed.

“Choso…” You began, a humorous grin on your lips. “Merch?”

He shrugged playfully, his gaze locked onto yours. “In case you miss me,” he replied, tone teasing yet sincere.

With a genuine smile, you leaned over and hugged him. “I love it,” you had told him.

Choso reached into the box for the necklace, gesturing for you to come closer. You leaned in, allowing him to loop the fabric over your head. His fingers brushed against your skin, your neck as he adjusted it.

He froze. You froze.

For a while, the room was quiet. There was an intense stare-off between you two. Choso cleared his throat, seemingly about to break the moment, but you had other plans. Gently, you gripped his chin between your index finger and your thumb, turning his head back to you. 

Gently, you tugged his lower lip down. He stuck his tongue out to wet the corner of his lips in return.

Your breath hitched as your gazes locked, and the air in the room shifted. Choso’s dark eyes shifted beneath your gaze, and you found yourself drawn closer to him.

You swallowed. “How bad did it hurt?” You asked, eyes fixed on the sliver of metal you had caught a glimpse of inside of his mouth.

Choso raised a finger towards his mouth, bringing your attention back to his tongue. “This?” He asked. “Hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie, but it healed up real nice.”

Wordlessly, he stuck his tongue out so you could see it up close. You examined it carefully – it really had healed up rather nicely. There was a small, silver ball wedged into the pink muscle. You wondered how it would feel on your lips, your neck, your body .

Choso closed his mouth. “I got it the first weekend after move-in day,” He explained.

“Why?” You inquired, curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Thought it would look hot. What do you think?”

“I think it looks like a pain in the ass,” You retorted. “Don’t any of the girls you kiss complain about that thing?”

“Quite the contrary,” he remarked, licking his lips. “Why’d you ask?”

You tried to ignore the jealousy that bubbled up inside of you, deep inside of you at the thought of him kissing other girls. You had to remind yourself who you were talking to here. You would have been naive to expect loyalty from a college freshman.

“Looks cold,” you commented instead. “I don’t imagine that would feel very good.”

And his eyes, those dark, beautiful cesspools of emotion, dropped down to your lips, lingering for a moment too long before returning to meet your gaze. “You wanna find out?” He asked.

“Piss off,” You scoffed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. But the blush on your cheeks betrayed the effect his words had on you. “Fuckin’ tease.”

He didn’t move back. No, instead, he leaned in a little closer. “You sure?” He whispered, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear. “I can show you how good it feels, if you want.”

And that’s how you wound up here, with his face buried between your legs. He kissed his way up and down the skin of your thighs. You made quick work of his twin buns, tugging the ties out of his hair.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. He lifted one of your legs onto his broad shoulder, running his tongue along the length of your inner thigh, pressing a kiss right where your ass met your legs. The metal ball on his tongue felt odd against your skin, but not necessarily unpleasurable.

You had never gone this far with him before. You were turned on beyond comprehension, hungry eyes drinking in the rosey hue that dusted his pale complexion while he sucked on your skin – hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough to leave a mark. 

Tenderly, Choso reached for your panties. He appeared to be on the precipice of a decision. 

“Can I…” He panted, trailing his thumb over the thin piece of fabric that separated the two of you. “Can I take these off?”

You nodded quickly, lifting your hips up for him while he guided the panties off of your legs. 

He licked his lips and parted your legs a second time, fully exposing you to his ravenous gaze. 

“You look like heaven,” He breathed out, voice trembling. He took a moment to admire you, smiling at the way you tried to hide your face. “Wanna taste…”

You had never done this before. The one man you had ever dared to hook up with hadn’t bothered. So you swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him get down on all fours and dip his head down between your legs like a man with his head bowed in worship. 

Though you were far from holy, in that moment, you felt like you were God.

His tongue was hot and wet against your skin, licking a stripe from bottom to top. The metal ball of his tongue piercing caught on your puffy clit, eliciting a quiet gasp. 

“Feel good, baby?” He teased, relishing in the way your thighs tensed around his head. His eyes flitted between you and your pussy – spread open for him like a buffet – pupils blown wide with desire. His pink lips parted around his tongue a second time, and this time you watched him.

Watched him press the metal ball against your clit, rolling over it in slow, steady circles.

You felt like you could die here. 

He adjusted his grip on your hips, pulling you down on the bed until you felt his nose pressing in between your folds. He kissed your heat, moaning into you.  Then, without so much as a warning, he began to eat you out like a starved man.

“Fuck, Cho–” You cried out for him, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his inky black tresses. You had never felt so good in your life, like he had been waiting for this as long as you had. You were sensitive, far too sensitive to comprehend the way your body felt, the way his tongue piercing felt as it glided over your hot flesh.

He didn’t slow down. He licked, slurped, and kissed your swollen clit, keeping that unforgiving pace up until your hips began to jump against his tongue.

“Shit,” You hissed,

He moaned into you in response, meeting your gaze with an intense fire burning behind his eyes. His tongue massaged you up to what you know would be the hardest orgasm of your life – that damn piece of metal made for one hell of a stimulant. It felt like it was pressing right up into your pressure points, deeper than his tongue was able to reach.

You felt yourself come apart at the seams, reduced to a moaning mess in a matter of minutes, riding his tongue like your life depended on it. He stopped moving for a moment, letting you grip him by the hair and ride his face. 

You couldn’t look away.

He looked amazing, fire burning behind his eyes, fingertips biting into the skin of your thighs, brows furrowed with concentration. His eyes never left yours, not even once.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, sitting back and allowing him to resume what he had been doing earlier – that thing with his tongue. 

And resume it he did, assuming a more demanding pace this time. It almost made you want to cry – the pace, the ball on his tongue – it was almost too much to bear. It felt so good.

You felt that familiar coil in your abdomen, almost like you were about to cum, then in a moment’s width he had pulled away. 

You struggled to regain your surroundings, vision cloudy and hazy with pleasure. You could hear your rampant heartbeat racing in your own ears. 

Choso leaned back with a stretch, cracking his neck and licking his lips. The entirebottom half of his face was drenched, dripping with an obscene mixture of your slick and his spit. 

He looked gorgeous, even when his face was tinted red. 

“Choso…” You breathed, letting a breathless chuckle slip between your parted lips.

He grinned back at you. “Any complaints?”

You didn’t glorify him with a response, gripping him by the fabric of his shirt and tugging him up and over you. You searched for his lips, locking them between yours in a messy, heated kiss. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, tangy and a little sweet.

“Shut up and fuck me, Kamo,” You panted with a grin of your own.

That was all he needed to push you onto your back, diving back in to ravage your lips again. It was all a rushed, passionate haze – he tugged your tee shirt over your head, you shoved your skirt down to your ankles and kicked it off the side of the bed. He leaned back with a stretch to reach for the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head and flinging it to the side. 

Your mouth nearly watered for him. He was everything you had dreamed of and so much more. Well defined arms, pecs, abs – a few tattoos littered the broad expanse of his chest. His torso tapered down into a thin, slutty waist. You let your hand slide down his abdomen, eliciting a quiet groan from him as your painted fingernails caught on his toned abs, ghosted over the large tent in his sweats that left nothing to the imagination. 

He was big. Bigger than you had anticipated. The last man you were with was about 3 inches (which was probably for the better, because it had been your first time). He felt about three times as big as that. Maybe more.

It didn’t take long for him to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your ass flush against his navel. He reached for a handful of your hair, jerking your head to the side, then uttered against your ear, “G’nna fuck that attitude right out’ta you.”

He left you for a moment while he undid the strings of his sweatpants. You couldn’t watch. You knew if you saw it, you would have doubts. 

But you found yourself looking back anyway, right as he had told you. “Wanna reach into that drawer and grab me a condom?”

“Are you um…” You swallowed. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

You knew you were clean because you were so disgusted by the man you had hooked up with before Choso that you’d taken yourself to the planned parenthood in town the day after to be tested. Even if you had used a condom.

Choso’s brow quirked up at that. “No, I don’t have any STDs. I get tested twice a year.”

Oh. Okay.

Again, you didn’t want to think about how many women had taken his dick before you. 

“Never gone raw before, though,” He mused quietly, hand rubbing mindless circles over the skin of your ass. 

“Really?” You asked.

“Is that a surprise?” He retorted, though he didn’t seem very hurt by your comment. “Can’t babytrap me.”

You thought about definitely didn’t think about Choso being a father. 

“Is there any way for you to, like…” You hummed, trailing off. Your inexperience had never been more disgustingly apparent. “Pull out?”

“You’re talking like this is your first time,” he laughed breathily.

You paused. His eyes widened.

“Is… this your first time?” He asked again.

“I had sex with this one guy from my class a while ago,” You said after an awkward silence. “He was small and, like, really bad at it.”

Choso seemed humored by your honest admission, though it came at the expense of your own embarrassment. “Why’d you go through with it, then?”

“I only did it to get back at you,” You turned your head back to the pillowcase below you. With a pout, you admitted, “Thought for some reason that by me having sex, I was proving something. I was younger and stupider, okay?”

“So… you’ve only had sex once?” He asked. You didn’t realize this was an interrogation. 

You nodded embarrasedly. Somehow this was more humiliating than being spread open for him like you were right now.

“You sure you want this?” He hummed, roaching forward to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was strangely intimate. When you nodded, he sighed. “We’ll go slow, then. I don’t wanna hurt you–”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” You cut him off, finally turning back to look at him. “I can take it, okay? Just answer the damn question.”

Choso leaned down over you, pinning you into the bed, kissing down your spine. “We can… do backshots,” he murmured against your skin. “Want that?”

“Mhm,” You sighed, easing into his touch.

You had waited far too long for this for something like a condom to get in between the two of you. You wanted to feel him. All of him. 

Choso rolled back, slipping his tip between your fold and swiping it through your slick. You watched him, watched the way he bit his lip at the sensation, eyes glued onto the place where you met him . 

He pursed his lips, letting spit fall from his lips. You watched it dribble down, landing right onto your twitching hole. 

That was so fucking hot .

Then, without a word of warning, he pushed the tip in. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling the burn, the stretch of his girth inside of you. He paused for a moment when the tip was the only thing inside of you, brows drawn together, breaths shallow.

It took everything you had not to cry out in pain. You had been waiting your whole life for this.

But, shit, it hurt. He was big. You felt your body struggle to accommodate him.

Maybe some prep should have been in order…

Oh well, gotta see it through.

As if sensing your internal dilemma, Choso reached down, intertwining his fingers with yours. He placed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

“You okay?” He asked you.

No . Yes.

“Yeah,” You bit out. “Just… I ‘jus need a minute.”

“Just tell me when,” he pressed another kiss to your hot skin. “You’re doing so good.”

It took you a few more minutes to adjust to him. Every minute, he would slip in a little further, just enough to make your skin hot and flushed. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, throbbing against your spongy walls.

Eventually, you gave him the green light. And, fuck, it was like something inside of him had snapped. He slid the rest of the way in until his hips were flush with your ass. He drew out, slowly, then thrust back in again.

It felt like he was pulling you apart over and over again, snapping his hips against yours in a progressively harder fashion. 

Choso whimpered quitedly, pausing his harsh movements to change pace. You clenched around him in response, something that made him double over. “Ah, fuck,” He gasped. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He drew back, thrusting into you once more. You felt your whole body jolt forward with a loud moan of your own.

With wild, passionate eyes, Choso pulled out again, leaving just enough room for the tip. Then, he slammed back into you. Again, again, again – he was relishing in the way you cried into the pillow.

“Fuck, fuck,” You chanted, like some sort of sinful prayer. “ Fuck me, Cho– ”

“Might not last long if you keep callin’ my name like that,” He gasped, tangling a large hand into your messy tresses and gripping it tightly. 

You drew your brows together, allowing yourself to be lost in the pleasure, the attention he was giving you. What would Itadori think, you wondered, if he walked in on you like this – face down ass up in his big brother’s bed?

“Choso ,” You groaned into the pillow. It felt like he was scratching an itch deep inside of you – not your coochie, but your soul. It felt like you were made for this. “ Choso, Fuck. ”

Itadori slipped into his house with a quiet sigh. He kicked his shoes off, set his bag down on the floor, and then reached for his scarf. It had been one long, hellish day. He felt bad making you wait for him, but he didn’t doubt that you would have made yourself right at home in his bedroom by now. You were probably sprawled out over his bed, passed out or playing with his PS5.

He froze when he heard something come from upstairs. It sounded like furniture being moved around, or something like that. There were voices, too.

With knitted brows, he walked hesitantly towards the stairs. Was it coming from up there?

“Fuck, Choso,” He heard a vaguely familiar – albeit very muffled voice – moan. 

It was you. You and another muffled voice.

“Choso, Choso!” 

“Right there?”

“Fuck– yes! Don’t stop!”

He quirked a brow. Then, with a sigh and a dejected shake of his head, he hid away in the kitchen.

“Please!” You gasped, you fumbled around behind you in search of his hand. He grabbed it, pinning your arm behind your back and thrusting into your sore pussy from a new angle – one that made you feel dizzy. You didn’t know how long the two of you had been going at it. All you knew was that you never wanted it to end, that your mind was a blissful haze.

Your body slid up against the bedsheets – up and down, up and down, clenched fingers leaving wrinkles in their wake. 

“Fuck me harder,” You pled.

And fuck you harder he sure did. His chest rolled against your backside, pinning you into the mattress and holding you right where he wanted you. Then he fucked you a little harder.

You were all but screaming his name at that point. “Choso–” 

The head of his cock was bullying into you, beating against that spot deep within you that made your feet fly up, rubbing the back of his thighs as if to tell him ‘ keep going’.You gripped the sheets with unwarranted strength, feeling yourself drip and clench around him – hearing the obscene squelch you made when the two of you met in the middle. 

“ Fu-u-uck ,” You cried, voice high and weak.

“Quit suckin’ me in like that,” He chuckled, though it was cut short by a deep, guttural groan as you did it again. “ Shit , you want kids or somethin’?”

There was a knot in your stomach. A vaguely familiar warmth that seemed to only grow hotter by the second.

“ So perfect, so wet ,” Choso commended you, licking the shell of your ear, peppering butterfly kisses to the back of your neck. Your name fell out of his pretty lips between a cacophony of sinful noises.

You felt yourself get lost in him, craning your head around to take another look at him. His angelic face, scrunched up with pleasure, mouth hanging open just slightly, pale face dusted with pink. Inky black hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. The muscles in his chest and torso rippled.

“I’ve wanted you…” You gasped, trying your best to articulate despite the stimulation he was giving you – it was almost too much. “Since I was young – fuck .”

His hips stuttered. He pulled your hair away from your neck, kissing the junction where your jaw met your neck. 

He gripped your hair to crane your head back, slowing his thrusts to long, deep strokes that had you trembling. 

“The feeling was mutual,” Choso grunted, trying to keep himself together.

You felt your eyes roll almost all the way back into your fucking head, mouth hanging open, drooling shamelessly on his pillow, his sheets.

You were close. So close.

Those deep, lust-filled eyes of him weren’t doing anything to slow the train that was coming. Each thrust, each slide of his cockhead against your g-spot brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” He growled, and you nearly came right then and there. 

He moved his hands so that your hips were up in the air for him, bringing his other arm around your neck to pin you there. When he picked up pace this time, you felt yourself drip – like, actually drip – all over him.

I wanna have his kids .

Your moans and pleas matched the pace of his sloppy thrusts. He was getting close, too. You could hear it. No, seriously, noises like that should have been criminal.

The feeling of being filled by him was driving you up the wall – almost as hard as he was currently driving you into the mattress. You never wanted it to end. 

But, shit, it was about to.

“Choso,” You whimpered. He didn’t slow down. “Think ‘m g’nna cum.”

“Yeah?” he gritted out, breath fanning over your neck and your cheek. He reached a hand down, releasing your neck to rub slow circles on your puffy clit – a speed that felt foreign compared to the harsh strokes he was giving you, but not entirely unwelcome.

That was all it took to have you hurling towards the edge, ass jumping up and down to meet his thrust in the middle, to take as much of him in as you possibly could.

“Yeah, shit,” He gasped. He was trying to hold on for you, but you were making it realhard. “G’nna cum for me, baby? Lemme fuckin’ hear it.”

You were all but throwing it back on him, mindlessly chasing your release like a bitch in heat. The moment you got the green light, your orgasm snapped. You cried out his name one final time, arching your back all the way into the sheets, spasming wildly around him. The shock tore through you in waves.

Your hips jolted with hypersensitivity while he fucked you through it.

Choso’s hips stuttered. He twitched, like he couldn’t take another minute of this, then he remarked, “That was so fuckin’ hot, holy shit – fuck, wait–”

He slid out of you rapidly, leaving you to gasp at the sudden loss of him. The next thing you know, he was stroking himself to completion. He came with a broken whimper of your name, spurting ropes of warm cum all over your back.

You took a moment to catch your breath. He did the same. A few moments, actually.

The silence that followed was deafening. He groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. You collapsed into the bed.

He had left the bedside at one point, though only for a moment before he returned with a warm wash rag. He cleaned his love paint off of your spine.

Then, tossing the rag into his hamper, he collapsed next to you.

You chuckled breathlessly, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him with all of the strength you had left in you (not much). “Shit…” 

“Shit,” he agreed, licking his lips. “You were great.”

“You were better,” You said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home tonight, though.”

Choso shrugged. He reached down, pulling the covers over the two of you. “Sleep here, then.”

Sleep here.

You recalled many nights of him walking girls to the door. Choso never let girls stay the night.

He wants me to spend the night with hiim.

You laughed, reveling in the irony of it all. Years and years of pining led you here, to this. “What would Itadori think?”

Choso threw an arm over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “Fuck what Itadori thinks.”

Your world went black a moment later.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the aftermath of a steamy evening with the man of your dreams. Choso, your best friend’s brother. The one you had fucked.

His lips were pressed into the slightest pout. You watched him snore, taking note of how peaceful he looked while he slept, taking note of the way his tousled black hair fell into his pretty face.

With a contented sigh, you reached for a shirt that lay nearby – his shirt. The one he had taken off yesterday. You slipped out from beneath the covers, padding quietly out of Choso’s bedroom. Your feet were quiet against the wooden steps.

As you entered the living room space, you contemplated sneaking into the kitchen in search of some much-needed sustenance. It had to have been later in the afternoon at that point – you assumed that you and Choso had been sleeping for a few hours, at least. Your stomach grumbled in agreement.

Just as you were about to step into the familiar kitchen, however, you froze. There, sitting at the table, munching on a Kit Kat bar like it was no one’s business, was her best friend. 

Itadori.

“Hey…” You said rather awkwardly, heart racing. “You’re… you’re home.”

Itadori quirked a brow, looking you up and down curiously. His eyes noticeably lingered on your neck, right were you had a sneaking suspicion Choso had marked you with his lips and teeth. 

“Hey,” He finally said. “You two finally done up there?”

“You heard that. Of course you did,” You sighed, dropping your stiff arms and plopping into the stool next to him at the kitchen island. You faceplanted into the cold surface, groaning, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know my brother’s good in bed,” Itadori took another bite. He placed a heart over his chest, feigning an exaggerated cry of, “ Choso– oh, Choso, don’t stop, I’m cu–”

“He told me you weren’t coming home,” You groaned, even louder this time. You were glad that Itadori couldn’t see the nasty shade of red that had painted your features.

“He lied,” Your best friend chuckled, crumpling the wrapper of his Kit Kat bar and tossing it in the trash bin. He stood off, dusting his hands on his pants, reaching for his phone. Then, like nothing had happened, he said,  “I’m ordering Chinese. You want?”

You raised your head at that, taking a slow glance at the room around the two of you. “I could go for some beef and broccoli…”

You loved the bond you had with Yuuji. Unbreakable, truly. Sometimes a little toocomfortable. This was, undoubtedly, one of those times.

Itadori dialed a few numbers into his phone. He paused, raising his brow again, “I think you’ve had enough meat tonight, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You sighed, though you laughed a bit at his joke. 

Images of Choso flashed through your mind. The image of him spitting on the tip before slipping it in. The image of him tangling a fist in your hair, craning your head back to look at him while he pounded you into the mattress.

With a faint smirk of your own, you remarked. “You’re probably right. I should save room for all of the meat I’m gonna be eatin’ tonight after you go to bed.”

“Please shut up,” Itadori sighed, running the palms of his hands over his exasperated face. With a shake of his head, he held the phone up to his ear. “I really don’t want to think about my brother putting his dick in you. Not while dinner is also in the question.”

You shrugged. Your phone buzzed. Turning it over, you read the new message you had received.

CHOSO    just now

Whered u go beautiful

Your phone chimed a second time.

CHOSO    just now

Steamed dumplings n fried rice plz

You turned the screen over with a grin, telling Itadori. “Your brother wants steamed dumplings and fried rice.”

“I’d say fuck my brother, but tonight’s game night and I don’t want you taking that literally,” Itadori sighed. Still, he unmuted himself, telling the woman on the other side of the phone, “Another order of fried rice and dumplings, too, please.”

Yuuji Itadori really was the best friend a girl like you could ask for.

a/n: hi there my little steamed dumplins <33 lmk what u thought!!! I love reading ur comments and dms. again, this is a one shot, but I would totally drop another part if yall would like -- gotta show papa choso some love. comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

wanna join the ' choso kamo ' taglist?| bfb; chapter index

[wendsky]

I just wanted to start off with saying how much I love your writing !! you do such a great job with showing what's happening and I'm never confused on what's happening or who's talking (I have the second issue often lol) anyways if you do requests I do have one !! Y/N transfers to Nevermore because of bullies and at some point comes in some sort of physical contact with Wednesday where she gets a vision of you being bullied. Wednesday becomes kinda protective over you the way she is with Eugene and Pugsley, but Y/N's relationship with Wednesday developes into something more. sorry for such a long message and again loving what you're doing !!

thank you for your kind words and of course!

protected

wednesday addams x !witch!fem!reader

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The swirling shadows of Nevermore Academy were a far cry from your previous school, where you had endured the relentless torment of bullies. You had hoped that the new environment would be a sanctuary, a place where you could finally breathe and be yourself. But the anxiety that gripped your chest told you that change didn’t come without its challenges.

As you walked through the stone archways of the academy, you took in the gothic architecture that surrounded you—towering spires, iron chandeliers, and dark wood accents. The students that roamed the halls were unlike any you’d encountered before, with their eclectic styles and unapologetic personalities. For the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. But that flicker quickly dimmed when you heard the whispers.

“Look at her,” one girl sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Another weirdo trying to fit in.”

You kept your head down, trying to ignore the cruel laughter that followed you as you made your way to your first class. You had thought you left the bullying behind, but the stares and whispered comments followed you like a shadow.

The first week passed in a blur of classes and isolation. You kept to yourself, determined not to give anyone a reason to target you further. That resolve was put to the test during lunch one day. As you sat at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, trying to enjoy your meal in peace, you felt a sharp shove from behind.

“Oops! Didn’t see you there, loser!” a girl with vibrant purple hair sneered as she walked past, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself. The laughter from her group echoed in your ears as they made their way to the main table, where the more popular students gathered.

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks, and you tried to clean yourself up with a napkin, your hands trembling. You hated feeling weak, hated that they still had power over you. Just as you thought you’d disappear into the floor, a shadow fell over you.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did you spill your drink? Or are you just that clumsy?” The voice was low and smooth, tinged with an unsettling calmness that sent a chill down your spine. You looked up to see Wednesday Addams standing there, her expression unreadable.

You blinked, startled by her sudden presence. “I—um, it was an accident,” you managed to stammer, avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Accidents happen, but that wasn’t an accident. It was intentional,” she said, her dark eyes narrowing. You couldn’t tell if she was angry or simply observing.

“I can handle it,” you replied, the instinct to defend yourself kicking in despite your embarrassment.

“Clearly,” she said dryly, and you could almost hear the sarcasm in her tone. “Are you always this brave, or is it just for show?”

“Whatever,” you muttered, your face hot. You hated that she saw you like this—weak and embarrassed.

“Don’t bother. They’re not worth your time,” she replied, her voice steady. She touched your shoulder and for a moment, went still. As if nothing happened, with a swift motion, she turned to leave, her raven-black hair swaying behind her as she walked away.

The next incident came unexpectedly. You were in the library, trying to focus on your studies when you overheard the same group of girls from lunch laughing and whispering nearby. You tried to block them out, but their words cut through the air like daggers.

“Have you seen her? She thinks she’s so special just because she’s here,” one girl said.

“Yeah, as if we need more freaks around here,” another chimed in.

You clenched your fists, your heart racing as you felt the familiar wave of panic wash over you. Why did they have to make everything so difficult? Just as you were about to storm out of the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You turned to see Wednesday standing beside you, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Stay,” she commanded softly, her voice laced with an urgency that surprised you.

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Stay. I want to see how they handle this,” she said, glancing toward the group with a predatory gaze. You hesitated but nodded, curiosity getting the better of you.

As you watched, Wednesday approached the girls, her presence commanding their attention. “Why don’t you say that to her face?” she asked, her tone calm yet filled with an underlying menace.

The girls froze, the laughter dying on their lips. They exchanged nervous glances, the bravado fading as they met Wednesday’s unwavering gaze.

“Uh, we were just joking,” one girl stammered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Jokes aren’t meant to hurt,” Wednesday replied, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “If you have something to say, be brave enough to say it to her.”

You felt your heart race as the girls shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence shattered under Wednesday’s intense scrutiny. They muttered something unintelligible before quickly gathering their things and leaving the library.

You turned to Wednesday, astonished. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did,” she replied, her expression softening slightly. “You shouldn’t have to tolerate their cruelty.”

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As the days passed, you noticed a shift in Wednesday’s behavior toward you. It was subtle but undeniable. She began to appear at random moments—sitting nearby in classes, leaning against the wall while you walked to lunch, or simply observing from a distance. At first, you found it unnerving. Why was she watching you? Did she pity you, or was she just curious?

But as the bullying incidents continued, you found solace in her presence. Wednesday’s protective nature began to emerge, mirroring the way she defended her friends, like Eugene and Pugsley. It made you feel… safe. You still faced harassment, but it was less frequent, and you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find a place at Nevermore.

The third incident happened in the hallway. You were on your way to class when you overheard a group of students mocking you again. “Look at her, always alone. What a loser,” one of them laughed.

You took a deep breath, preparing to ignore them, but suddenly, a figure stepped in front of you. It was Wednesday, her dark dress billowing slightly as she stood her ground, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice low, but the intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

The students faltered, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. “We were just—” one of them started, but Wednesday interrupted.

“Just what? Making fun of someone who’s already struggling? How brave of you,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

With that, she turned to you, her eyes softening for the first time. “Ignore them. They’re insignificant.”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in her fierce protection. It was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time, and it made your heart swell.

“Thank you,” you managed to whisper, and for a moment, you thought you saw the corner of Wednesday’s mouth twitch in a ghost of a smile.

The more time you spent together, the more your feelings began to shift. There was something intoxicating about Wednesday—the way she moved, the way she spoke with such conviction and intelligence. You found yourself looking forward to her presence, her shadow becoming a constant comfort amidst the chaos of Nevermore.

One day, while working on a school project in the library, you accidentally brushed your fingers against hers while reaching for a book. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of warmth through your body. You froze, meeting her gaze, your heart racing as you realized how close you had become.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Are you afraid of me?”

You shook your head, the words tumbling out before you could think. “No. I’m… intrigued. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

She seemed to consider your words, her dark eyes searching yours. “I suppose I’m not.”

With a sudden confidence, you leaned closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Why do you protect me?”

“Because you’re worth protecting,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words hung in the air like a spell.

The moment stretched between you, filled with unspoken emotions and possibilities. You wanted to reach out, to close the distance, but the moment was fragile.

“Do you want to be friends?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

“Friends,” Wednesday repeated, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered the term. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

As the weeks turned into months, your bond with Wednesday deepened. You shared secrets in the dark corners of the library, and her dry humor slowly chipped away at the walls you had built around your heart. There were moments when her fingers would brush against yours, lingering just a heartbeat longer, and you felt a thrill that was both exciting and terrifying.

But as your friendship grew, so did your feelings. You found yourself daydreaming about her—wondering what it would be like to hold her hand, to share whispered secrets late at night. You caught her watching you more often, and each time your eyes met, it felt like a silent understanding passed between you.

One afternoon, you found yourselves alone in the courtyard, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. You were sitting on a bench, reading, when Wednesday approached, her expression thoughtful.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her tone serious. “I need to talk to you.”

You looked up, meeting her intense gaze. “What is it?”

“Do you believe in destiny?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant.

You frowned, taken aback by her sudden vulnerability. “I suppose… it depends on what you mean.”

“I believe that certain people are meant to cross paths,” she continued, her dark eyes searching yours. “And I believe that you were meant to be here.”

Your heart raced as her words sank in. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, taking a deep breath, “that I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you. You’re… different. You make me feel things I don’t understand.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you processed her words. “I feel the same way, Wednesday.”

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. “Then let’s stop pretending. We can be more than friends, if you want.”

You nodded, unable to speak as you felt tears prick your eyes. In that moment, you realized how far you had come. You had gone from being a scared girl, bullied and alone, to standing here with someone who saw you for who you truly were.

And then she was there, her lips brushing against yours—a soft, tentative kiss that quickly turned into something more passionate. You melted against her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you kissed her back, your heart soaring with a mixture of joy and relief.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, Wednesday looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “This changes everything,” she said, her voice low and serious.

“Yes,” you agreed, smiling through your tears. “For the better.”

And as you stood there together, the shadows of Nevermore seemed a little less daunting, the future a little more promising. In Wednesday’s presence, you felt like you could finally be yourself, free from the burdens of the past. You were no longer alone, and that made all the difference.

[lethalchiralium]

Waiting Room | Happiness Series

a/n: yes, i’m posting twice in the same month! crazy lol (always thanking my lovely @as-is-above-so-below for editing)

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, medical stuff, injuries, simon spiraling

The ICU is bare at this time of night. There are no alarms for nurses to attend to, and the lights are dimmed. The doors shut, and meal trays were taken away hours ago. Triangle lights above the doors are filled in with red or green lights. The only sound in the corridor is of boots thumping against the floor.

Calloused hands gripped the nurse’s counter. Your name prattled quickly off his tongue with a question of where you were. A room named off, and he was already out of sight, running and escaping the nurse calling him to come back. When he reached your room, his hand didn’t tremble as it did the whole way to the hospital. He calmly and slowly pushed the door open.

All he saw was no bed, and John Price sitting on the couch below the window, hunched over and murmuring into the phone against his ear. He looked up and ended the call, standing quickly to walk towards him.

“Simon-”

“Where is she?”

“Still in surgery.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Price stiffened slightly, and the air between them suddenly stifled. Simon’s dry eyes stared him down, and Price could feel his failure crushing him. He promised to keep them safe and sound, yet here they were, barely thirty minutes into emergency surgery before your husband arrived.

“According to Laswell, she made them take Winnie to the park–her and Roach. She was home with Mel and König when they were ambushed.hey shot him, and took the girls.” He looked down at his phone, then pulled up the pictures of the damage to his front entrance–showing them to Simon. “…Your father took them to a cabin in the Lakes District witht he intention of selling her and Melody to traffickers, in a bid to exploit you for money.”

His heart began to race, hard, like a hammer against museum glass. Shattering it into his ribcage, the thumps of his lungs against his liver and spine like an out-of-control wave.

“She escaped with Melody, and uh… well.” Price swiped, and Simon was met with a caved-in face. But, he picked out the silvery scars on his father’s forehead from when he beat him himself, many years ago. “She beat the shit out of him.”

“Is he dead?”

“He is.”

Pride would be the word he was looking for, if not for how intense the injuries were to his father’s face. Your hands must be mush. “Good.”

“She was found in a valley. She tucked Melody in a dense fir tree; she has some scrapes and bruises, and was freezing to the touch, but we found her. She was calling for your wife.” Price slid the phone into his pocket, settling back on his heels. “Only reason we found them was because she was crying. She’s upstairs in the NICU; Laswell and Roach are there with Winnie, whenever you’re ready to see them.”

“Okay.”

Yet, he made no hurry to move from his spot, hovering in the center of the near-empty ICU room, the space left for your bed, the machines that would be attached to you, and the fear that would radiate off of you and permeate the silence like no other sound. Could he leave this spot to check on his children? Could he escape the betrayal he indirectly caused when he failed to protect you? Would he be able to pretend that he isn’t full of rage for his superiors, barring him from keeping his promise? But, should he be able to stay upset with Price, his closest friend, in finding and saving his wife and child?

Could, would, should. All words with no meaning without action.

Simon’s eyes met John’s, and a brief silence fell upon them.

“Go see the girls, Simon.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation, “I can’t.”

John didn’t even breathe before speaking again, “Then stay. I will go sit with them.” He quickly ushered Simon into the chair he had occupied only moments before. Simon practically collapsed into it. His head in his hands, heart torn into shreds of silken fabric, drowning in a sea of despair. The thin plastic chair would do nothing to soothe his aching bones, his body a fresh arrival from London to base an hour ago. Never did he imagine he would have to rush home, in the midst of a panic attack over losing you the way he lost Grace, losing another unborn baby, and his infant. He didn’t dare pretend like he could hold this weight, the fear, the panic, the imagination of the sound of your screams.

There, in the white chair after thirty-six hours of being awake, he watched John leave him alone. And there, leaned over his knees, he let out whimpers that sounded much like the ones that escaped him as a child.

He didn’t wake again until he heard a collection of clicking. His arms tightened across his chest as he heard footsteps fade away. He rolled his head up before opening his eyes - all he saw was the hospital bed, and your figure covered by thick blankets, nodes pressed onto your forehead like thorns on a rose, a breathing tube taped to your chapped lips, and a level of calm on your face that he’d seen only a few times. The sound of the chair screeching across the floor, closer to the bed, closer to the iodine smell that permeated the room from you. His hand slipped under the warming blankets, lifting it to seek out your arm, gazing at the wrapping on your hand before he settled his own on the undamaged skin of your forearm. Covering you again, he silently thanked the nurse for keeping the bed rail tucked away. He leaned forward and settled his head against his arm - listening to the soft wheeze of the breathing machine.

His mind was void of words, but his tongue spoke from the root of his pain, just a gentle, “I failed you.”

In the dim light from above the bed, Simon’s thumb traced warm circles on your lukewarm skin, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember before he left for the hospital, couldn’t remember the mission, only…emptiness. An overwhelming urge to vomit ichor into his lap as he sped through red lights. A softened part inside his stone-cold heart rotted, black like tar, gooey and burning every inch of his injured rib cage.

His lungs filling with warm breaths, fighting to ignore the iodine stench only found him asleep again, body hunched over as if to find some solace in protecting you now - when the void of his betrayal burned harsher than the dance of bourbon on his tongue.

Simon doesn’t greet your brother, and doesn’t dare move his temple from the blanket tucked beside his head, eyes glued to the TV in the dusty corner of the room. Below it hung a whiteboard detailing your name, age, gender, and nurses. Following that was a rotation with the times they would be by for checks, medication, replacing the cold blankets with warm ones, and moving you so bed sores don’t grow on your already fragile skin. The BBC show wasn’t anything interesting, not his favorite but something to do that wasn’t throwing up what little breakfast he had into the trash can.

He’d been visiting Mellie the morning before, brought in by Price after she was discharged. Her one-day hospital stay was officially over, and he had finally seen her - but guilt nestled in his esophagus as he pressed his nose into her scalp, her little body curled as far as it could into his chest. He would have been a better father to tend to her first, but the thought of losing you was more apocalyptic than he ever imagined. He couldn’t leave this room, could barely piss in the bathroom without the door open to keep an eye on you, and barely spoke to anyone who came in; whether it be a nurse or the task force, they were all given silence in exchange for their pleas for him to go home, take a shower, get a fresh set of clothes.

“You smell like shit, dude.”

Jake, your older brother, moved a chair beside Simon on his right, his hand gently patting your ankle as he sat. Your husband may have snapped at him if he wasn't absent from his mind. Simon was nestled in a deep corner of his consciousness, only pretending to be human for his friends and children as he rotted beside you.

He didn’t answer his brother-in-law, eyes flickering from character to character on the screen, as if that was a good-enough distraction from his painful thoughts.

“That Soap guy said you haven’t showered in four days. You smell like it, go take a shower.”

Simon huffed out a humorless chuckle. “Not leavin’ her.”

Jake paused for a moment, pensive for just a millisecond. “The bathroom is right there. Yes, she’s protected at all times with you here, but she’s safe when I’m here too. So go. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to smell your ass when she wakes up.”

“Fuck off, Jake.”

“You have to at least wipe down if I’m going to sit next to you. You reek.”

“Then don’t.”

“Not a chance, bud.”

A gentle but firm hand settled on Simon’s shoulder, and he barely reacted, only a rumble of disapproval from his throat. He wanted to wretch his shoulder backwards, get Jake’s hand off, scream at him, ask him what makes him think he’s right. Ask what made him think he truly knew the answer to Simon’s mistake, miscalculation, the broken promise that lay like glass at his feet. What makes him think that Simon could accept his help at all?

He would’ve fought his brother-in-law off if there was any point, but he had been sitting at your bedside for two days straight and you hadn’t woken up yet - even when they shined lights in your pupils, checked your wounded hand, adjusted nodes on your forehead, checked the back of your head. So Simon found himself standing, Jake’s hands ushering him to the bathroom, but he slammed his hand against the door when Jake tried to close it.

“Leave it open. Wanna see her.”

Jake didn’t make a sound, just gave an understanding nod. “Try to use the curtain. I’d like to avoid seeing your dick, and I’m sure the nurses would appreciate it.”

Simon doesn’t even remember keeping the curtain open, getting under the hot spray, and just… standing there. The water hit the crown of his head, spilling down and over his face, his chest, his stomach - his body ached from the lowest muscles in his calves to the tenderness nestled in the nape of his neck, yet he could feel nothing in between. No tremor of his lungs, no twitch in his bad knee, no rumble of his heartbeat. Even as the scalding water cascaded over his lips, eyes, and cheeks, he felt nothing. No prick in his eye to cry, as if he had already cried everything out and had nothing left to give.

There was nothing in this hospital room shower, just a shell of a man who wanted nothing more than to switch places with you.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Mess with her hair.”

The wrapping around your head was changed this morning, leaving more of your hair visible, and Jake was combing it with the shitty brush he bought down at the gift shop. “She always had a thing for her hair to be untangled. It bothered her a lot as a kid.” He set the brush down by your side, his fingers quickly remembering the braiding motion as he continued to speak softly, “Learned how to braid on her dolls so I could braid her hair for her. She didn’t like Mom or Dad doing it, only me.”

Simon rested his head on his arm again, watching the morning news. “Looks like shit.”

“I’m out of practice. Like you could do any better.”

“I have two daughters. I can do better.”

Jake could only half chuckle, almost lifeless. For a few moments, the only sounds were the breathing machine, the rustle of your hair, and footsteps approaching the door. Simon raised his head, watching over you like a hawk as the door creaked open; his hackles relaxed instantly as Winnie bounded in, followed by Price, who held Mellie. Simon was quick to sit back, allow his child to climb into his lap, and bury her face in his neck - he cradled Winnie close, kissing her hair and reclining back.

Her hair was in a messy ponytail, curls unruly and Simon felt acidic bile creep up his throat when she started crying.

She couldn’t say a word; neither could he, when he truly needed to. He needed to comfort his daughters, tell them that everything would be okay, that the doctors are taking care of Mama. He should be taking accountability with his children for failing to uphold his promises, yet, he kept his lips pressed to his eldest’s hair. His hand rubbed light circles on her shoulder blade, his eyes flickering to his brother-in-law and then his brother-in-arms. His infant was curled identically into Price’s chest, her little fists grabbing at the worn Metallica shirt, curls finger-brushed, onesie covered by a thick coat. Simon’s eyes fell back to you, the braid settled against your shoulder as Jake moved to the side, gently rubbing your bicep for a moment.

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to take care of her hair,” Jake mumbled. Simon didn’t miss the tears that rimmed the man’s eyes.

Simon didn’t make a sound, listening to his daughter’s sniffling as Price spoke, “She’s been taking care of everyone but herself, and we will keep taking care of her.”

Winnie whimpered; Simon kissed her hair again, keeping her close for as long as she’d let him.

12:39 am. Simon could barely make the time out from across the room. The heel of his hand rubbed into his eye, and he flipped up his phone, squinting to see the date. Four days. Four days since you were rushed here, four days since he hasn’t left you alone. A sigh settled deep in his bones as he let his phone fall, his tingling hand gently rubbing your forearm before he leaned up, wiping his face. He flicked the crust from his eye away, turning to look at you before laying his head down again.

His eyes fluttered closed, his stomach churning just a little before he settled again. His chest weighed like a bell, his heart laying limp in the comfort of his cushioning lungs, his mind wandering, pondering whether he would ever see your eyes again-

He sat up instantly; your eyes were staring at him, wide, almost painful. The look made his stomach roar, his hackles raised, eyebrow furrowed, eyes full of tears and concern.

“Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s okay-”

An alarm blared from your heart monitor, and the call button you rapidly pressed with your less injured hand. Simon’s heart clenched as your tears mirrored his, and the sound of you choking on the breathing tube made his stomach acid toss like salad dressing. He stood, and you flinched; he knew what was happening. He scrambled away, found the switch for the blinding overhead light, and flipped it before he moved to you again. The flood of tears in his eyes made it hard to see you recognize him, but you did. You reached for him as the door burst open - making you jerk again, a whine-like cry escaping your throat.

You thought he was Lloyd.

Simon couldn’t blame you. He spent years breaking mirrors because he looked like his father, his abuser.

He stumbled back, his wrist to his nose as nurses flooded your bedside, his eyes never leaving you. The nurse closest to him helped remove the breathing tube while the other injected something into your IV, and the last furiously typed on the computer. Simon could only keep himself a few steps away, listening to the sound of your whimpers and watching your weak attempts to move away from the help. His nails met his teeth, the quick already bloodied as he had chewed them down two nights ago. The emptiness in his chest had surged as if it was a flood, knocking his respiratory system around like a ping-pong ball against his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, his heart felt as if it was beating so fast that it would catch fire, the tears leaking into his mouth were like acid.

Of course, you would think he’s Lloyd, the man humorlessly chuckling in his clouded head. Simon looked so much like him that they could be considered brothers, not father and son.

A deep part of him knew this would happen. The one thing Simon fought the hardest to protect was an easy domino to fall, the most direct way to get Simon’s attention, hit him where it could and would hurt the most. He’s kneeling and bleeding, his heart pouring blood as he has to watch his wife cry out when a nurse even grazes her skin.

Simon would be lying if he said he could handle this.

He doesn’t get frustrated with you when you turn your face a little to the left when he brings the spoon to your lips. He put it back into the ceramic bowl as he softly sighed to himself. You’ve barely eaten all morning since they took out the breathing tube, visiting hours are almost starting and Jake would be here, asking a million questions that Simon would need to answer. If the best you could do was five half spoonfuls of broth, it would have to do. He pushed the rolling table away, moving the blankets farther up on your abdomen and tucking it close to your body. Your gaze felt like knives on him, he was barely strong enough to look at your face when the profound sense of guilt only seemed to take his words. He refused to be upset with you when your hand touched his, even though he felt like he needed to rip his skin off.

Your thumb brushed over his bruised knuckles as he kept his hand settled on your hip, staring at the minute gesture that meant so much before, but now… felt bitter. Simon would have thrown up again, recognizing the way your comfort now felt painful.

“You gotta eat more later.” He mumbled, hunched over your bed, wanting to rip his hand from yours but also needing it to stay there. “You need to sleep too, you have to be tired- Ow!”

He looked up at your face, ignoring the dark bruise on your throat, to see just a little smirk. You had pinched his hand, and he furrowed his brows, confused.

“Was that funny?”

A tiny movement like a nod, and he huffed out a flat laugh. His free hand raised a little, in your vision, before slowly moving to settle on your face. He hovered his thumb along the bruise on your cheekbone, his fingers cradled your jaw like porcelain. Your head only moved into him, eyes never moving from him. He wasn’t sure you’d ever be able to look at him like Simon again, after your reaction a couple hours ago. He wouldn’t blame you at all if you couldn’t. He wouldn’t blame you if you left him after this, take the girls and move far, far away from him and everything that came with him - enemies, lies, pain. He wasn’t even sure how safe you were now and that killed him, destroyed his sense of safety and replaced it with so much fear.

“Mel…ody.”

Simon snapped back into reality where your eyes were narrowed slightly staring at him, and he instantly answered. “She’s safe. Just some bruising, she’s home with Jake and Price and Soap.”

Relief washed over your face, your head settled back on the pillow as your gaze finally moved to the ceiling. It’s at times like this where he wished he struggled to know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. But, he could read you like an open book.

“You did good,” He spoke, your name escaping like the prayer he needed days ago, “Our baby is safe. Mellie’s okay.”

You pinched him again before you looked back at him, and he let his thumb lightly graze your bruise, you didn’t even flinch.

“New one’s okay too.”

A whine escaped your throat, tears instantly falling from your face as relief washed over it. He patted your hip.

“You did good, Mama. Did really fuckin’ good.”

[redvexillum]

@crackrodent I really am using your requests as tribute for my Kinktober/Flufftober, lol. This is my very first Adam ask and I'm sorry, I can't kill Adam! You know how much I love Adam! That's it *rolls up sleeves* imma show you what happens when you mess with the d1ckm@ster! Rawr! 😈

Special thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for being my muse for this story. Bless you. I had way too much fucking fun writing this. 💖

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, reader is fox demon for plot, sinner!adam, d☆ggy style, reader has a potty mouth, adam is the dickmaster, an☆l play, sp☆nking, hair pulling, multiple ☆rgasm (f!receiving), sq☆irting, rough s☆x, bl☆w job, big d☆ck adam, dom/sub undertone, so much f☆cking banter istg please shut up, adam being adam, adam figuratively sucking his own dick, toxic masculinity just oozes out of adam but the sex is hot af tho, adam is kind of a loveable idiot (?), I really went overboard here...sry kit (but not rly ayyy 🤣), CRUFTTY (crack + fluff + smut)

Building a sandwich was fucking art.  

The bread had to be perfect – moist and soft, but not so soft that it turned into a soggy mess under the weight of the toppings. It needed strength to hold everything together, to create a flawless bite.  

Every ingredient was handpicked by yours truly, each one deserving its place. The crispness of the lettuce, the savoury crunch of bacon, and the creamy balance of mayonnaise all had to align just right. Too much of anything, and the delicate flavour of harmony would soon collapse into a desolate heap of failure.  

It was your first day at “Hazbin Hotel,” a place with the dumbest fucking name you’d ever heard. Redemption, they called it. A program to save sinners, to help them earn their way to heaven. So far, all you’d seen was a ragtag crew of lunatics who wouldn’t have spent five minutes together unless they had their own selfish reasons for being here.  

Not that you gave a damn. You were here for one thing: free rent and free food. Your pointy ears twitched at the sound of manic laughter echoing through the halls. Niffty? Swifty? Whatever the hell her name was, you didn’t care enough to remember.  

All that mattered right now was your sandwich.  

Your orange tail, fluffy and tipped in black, swayed behind you as you worked with precision. The smell of freshly fried bacon lingered in the air, and a satisfied shiver ran down your spine. You squinted, eyeing the perfect amount of mayonnaise that dropped onto the bread with a soft plop. A sense of pride bloomed in your chest as you spread it evenly, knowing this was going to be the best fucking sandwich you’d ever made since coming down to Hell.  

Your lips stretched into a grin as you placed the final slice of bread on top, your tail flicking back and forth in anticipation. 

This was it. 

Perfection.  

Nothing could ruin this beautiful moment.  

Until, of course, all hell broke loose.  

As you stepped into the lobby, plate in hand, you barely had time to process the chaos before you. Your feet skidded to a halt, and you almost dropped your sandwich. The sandwich you would’ve committed six counts of murder for. 

“Holy shit!” you yelped, barely saving the plate from tumbling.  

There, right in front of you, was Niffty – or Swifty – going full psycho mode, cackling like a maniac as she repeatedly stabbed the newest guest. The guy was on the floor, writhing in agony, while Niffty giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world. “DIE! DIE! DIE! HAHAHA!” she screamed, her voice high-pitched and sharp.  

The blood splattered in bright red streaks as her tiny form hovered over him, the blade of her dagger glistening with every wild thrust. You watched, half in horror, half in disbelief, as she continued her assault with a grin that could only belong to someone completely unhinged.  

It wasn’t until Charlie – or was it Marley? - rushed in, shouting and waving her arms, that the scene started to settle. “Niffty, stop!” she yelled, scooping up the small, crazed girl with a panicked gasp. The dagger slipped from Niffty’s hand, clattering to the ground, blood still dripping from its blade.  

Huh. So, the girl’s name was Niffty.  

Noted.  

You picked up your sandwich, sinking your teeth into it, and damn near moaned right there in the lobby. The crisp, salty bacon mingled with the fresh crunch of lettuce, all balanced perfectly with the smooth creaminess of mayo. The bread was just the right kind of soft, with a subtle sweetness that tied everything together. It was like biting into a small piece of fucking heaven, even if you were in literal hell.  

“Oh, fuck,” came a groan from the man on the floor, interrupting your moment of sandwich bliss. The shitty guy who’d just been stabbed was slowly getting to his feet, looking dazed. “What the fuck!” he whined, wincing as he touched his back, his fingers now slick with blood. “That fucking hurts, like, real bad!”  

You rolled your eyes. Drama queen. This was hell, he was going to regenerate in a couple of minutes anyhow. You looked at him, and you almost dropped your sandwich, again.  

This guy.  

This fucking guy.  

Why was this fucking guy here, of all places? 

Marley – no, Charlie, fuck, whatever – chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry about that,” she said, flashing a nervous grin. “I, uh, forgot to tell Niffty that you’re not a bad guy anymore and at least she didn’t stab you with Angelic Steel!” she smiled way too brightly, as if that would somehow smooth things over.  

The man groaned again, straightening up with an exaggerated wince. “Ugh, I was never a bad guy,” he huffed, raising his hands in a condescending little air-quote gesture. “I was chosen and ordained by the big man upstairs to do what was right.” His nose shot up in the air like he thought he was some hot shit, and he crossed his arms with the kind of arrogance that made you want to punch him in the throat.  

You didn’t give two shits about the conversation. Hell, it was taking every ounce of self-control not to rip his trachea out right then and there. Of all the scum in hell, this asshole was the worst.  

Before the hotel, you’d made the horrible mistake of matching with him on Vinder, thinking maybe you could enjoy a no-strings-attached fling. 

Big fucking mistake.  

Your eyes twitched at the flood of memories. His obnoxious, open-mouth chewing. His laugh – raucous, loud, and so fucking embarrassing in public. And the way he’d slapped your ass during the first date like he fucking owned you.  

Chauvinistic.  

Pig.  

Every fibre of your being hated him.  

Well, almost everything.  

Your fingers tightened around the plate; the half-eaten sandwich forgotten. You hated him with a passion, but you couldn’t deny one thing: he had a huge cock. And, fuck, he knew how to use it. No matter how many times you swore it would be the last time; you kept crawling back, falling into the same damn cycle.  

One more fuck turned into two, then three, then how the hell did this happen again?

You were a goddamn addict – specifically, addicted to his dick. If you could slap a paper bag over his head, tie him up, and just ride him without hearing his obnoxious voice, that would be ideal. But you had no fucking self-control, and now here you were, in this weird-ass hotel,probably a cult at this point, hoping for a clean break.  

Adam – fucking Adam – caught your eye. His lips curled into a wide grin, teeth flashing like he’d just found a new toy. His red eyes sparkled in the dim light as he swaggered toward you, arms wide open. “Sugartits!” he called out, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. He moved in for a hug.  

You ducked under his arm, shooting him the nastiest scowl you could muster. Your ears flattened against your head, tail dropping between your legs in a stiff, unamused twitch.  

“You two know each other?” Marley – Charlie – whoever, asked, looking between you both with a raised brow and growing curiosity.  

“No,” you said curtly, biting into your sandwich again with more aggression than necessary.  

Adam, of course, couldn’t resist. “Oh, you could say I know her very well,” he said with a shit-eating grin, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot.  

“Ew,” Marley muttered, grimacing without even trying to hide her disgust.  

You groaned inwardly. Of all the fucking people in hell, why did it have to be him? 

Before you could even form a word, Adam’s fingers wiggled playfully, his lips curling into an “O” as he honed in on your sandwich like a predator eyeing its prey. “Aww, babe, you shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, snatching up the sandwich you had poured your soul into for the last thirty minutes.  

“Wha-Wait-” you sputtered, horrified, as he stuffed the sandwich into his mouth in two massive bites, crumbs tumbling from his lips without a single ounce of grace.  

“Oh, hmm,” he chewed noisily, his cheeks bulging with food as he smacked his lips obnoxiously. “Ya know, I think you-” smack, smack, smack – his disgusting chewing noises clashing with the image of your sandwich being annihilated. “You may have put too much mayonnaise,” he continued, crumbs flying as he spoke with his mouth open. “So, I’d give it a 4 out of 10.” 

The low, primal growl that erupted from your throat felt volcanic, like every ounce of rage you’d bottled up over the miserable dates and hollow excuses was bubbling to the surface. 

You were fucking done.  

Every humiliating dinner where he’d “forgotten” his wallet, every time you’d fucked him to deal with your frustration with him – it all flashed through your mind in an explosive torrent. Without thinking, you grabbed his collar and yanked him down to your level.  

“We need to fucking talk,” you growled, teeth clenched, venom practically dripping from your words.  

Dragging him towards your room, your eyes narrowed in disgust as Adam shot a wink at Marley, fingers raised in an unmistakable gesture for “fucking.” Of course, he thought this was just some sort of game.  

No amount of good dick would make you compromise on your self-respect–-

And yet, here you were, kneeling naked in your room, your mouth wrapped around his thick cock, the taste of him flooding your senses. The worst part? You didn’t even remember how the hell you got here.  

“Oh fuck, you missed my cock, didn’t you babe?” Adam groaned; his voice thick with smug satisfaction. His hand gripped the base of his cock while his other fingers curled into your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. “Open that pretty little mouth for me. Say your prayers like the good girl you are,” he crooned, his voice dripping with arrogance.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

You hated him. You hated how he could still make you fall to your knees with just a look. One second, you’d been screaming at him, ready to shove a 21-inch dildo up his ass, and the next, he had his cock out, and there you were – sucking him off like nothing had changed.  

Fuck.  

Your lips stretched painfully around his girth as he pushed deeper into your mouth, groaning as your warmth engulfed him. His soft, pudgy stomach pressed against your forehead as he shoved his fat cock all the way to the hilt. Your throat tightened around him, gagging slightly, but the reaction only made your pussy throb with need. The taste of him was heady, familiar, and it brought back memories of the way he could fuck you into oblivion, no matter how much you hated him.  

“That’s it, babe, suck it nice and deep,” Adam grunted, his hips thrusting forward as he buried himself deeper in your throat. “Bet you fucking missed this cock, huh? It’s been too long since you had a real man inside you.” 

You rolled your eyes, choking back the desire to tell him to shut the fuck up. If he would just be quiet for one goddamn second, you’d probably cum just from sucking his cock alone. But no, he always had to run his mouth.  

Then, his foot pressed firmly between your legs, the top of it rubbing directly against your slick pussy. Your breath hitched as his smug grin stretched wider, his eyes locking onto yours. “Go on, babe,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing. “I want to see you hump like the needy slut you are. Show me how much you fucking need it.” 

The words should’ve made you furious, but instead, they sent a shudder of arousal through your body. Your hips moved on their own, grinding down against his foot, your wetness soaking his skin as you rode him like you were desperate for release.  

You should hate this. You should hate him.  

You do hate him.  

But goddammit, you don’t hate this. 

“Mmph,” you moaned around his cock, your voice muffled by the thick shaft filling your throat. Your hips bucked wildly against his foot, the pressure building inside you faster than you’d like to admit. The musky taste of his pre-cum sliding down your throat made your whole-body clench in anticipation, bringing you dangerously close to the edge.  

“That’s right, sugartits,” Adam groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Look how good you are, sucking my big, fat cock.” The grin on his face was full of smug pride, and you could practically see the self-satisfaction swelling in his chest.  

The words “fuck you” echoed in your mind, but the moment his foot sped up, rubbing your clit in rapid strokes, your defiance crumbled beneath the weight of pure pleasure. The sharp edge of it cut through you, sending heat spreading like wildfire as your body tensed. Then, the first orgasm ripped through you, crashing like a wave and leaving your nerves buzzing in its wake.  

A muffled moan escaped around his cock, your spit trailing down your chin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hands dug into his thighs for support. Fuck, it felt good. Fuck, it’s been too long.  

Adam pulled his cock free with a wet pop, and you barely had time to catch your breath before your legs trembled, the aftershocks still rippling through you.  

But just as you started to get your bearings, the world spun as he flipped you upside down, blood rushing to your head, disorienting you. His cock was right in your face again, and your brain struggled to catch up.  

“Wh-what the fuck are you doing?” you screeched, grabbing onto his bare hip for balance, your legs flailing helplessly in the air like a fish out of water.  

“Relax, babe. I’m going to eat you out,” he said simply, his breath hot against your dripping folds. He didn’t wait for your reply. “Now, shut up. Either suck my cock or wait your turn like a good girl for your second orgasm.” The condescension in his voice made you want to punch him.  

“Fuck you,” you spat, but your words were cut short as Adam ground his cock against your cheek, the heat of him searing into your skin.  

“You’re not that – ah – ah – fuck!” The insult died in your throat as your knees buckled, legs trembling with the sudden rush of pleasure. His tongue was already working between your folds, lapping at your wetness with obscene slurping sounds, like he was a dog drinking from a fountain.  

“Oh fuck, I’ve had better, you know,” you gasped, but even as you said it, your vision blurred from the lightheadedness, the blood pooling in your head making you dizzy. Your words rang hollow.  

Adam didn’t respond with words. Instead, he shoved his thick tongue deeper inside you, practically fucking your pussy with it. The roughness of his beard brushed against your sensitive clit, sending shockwaves through your body that had you trembling.  

“Fuck...fuck...” you whined, unable to stop the involuntary moans spilling from your lips. Your hand instinctively found his cock, pumping it with desperate need. You fucking jackass. You hated how his scent, his cock, his fucking presencehad this kind of power over you. The desire to ride him until you couldn’t walk for days burned in your gut.  

You hated everything about him – his cocky attitude, his smug grin, his fucking voice.  

But fuck, his cock? His cock almost made up for it. Almost. 

With a loud curse, as his mouth latched onto your swollen clit and sucked with relentless abandon, you felt yourself losing control. Your mouth opened wide, taking him back inside, your head bobbing back and forth as he fucked your mouth in rhythm with his tongue devouring you.  

The pressure from hanging upside down added to the dizzying pleasure, the blood rushing to your head making you lightheaded, while the taste of him hit your tongue. You needed both hands to grip his cock, stroking it harder, faster, desperate for his release – desperate for something to satisfy the ache growing inside you. Every orgasm he gave you left you unsatisfied because you knew the only thing that could truly wreck you was him fucking you senseless.  

As he always did.  

Your stomach clenched tight, thighs shaking as Adam moaned into your cunt, the vibration sending shivers of delight through you. His nose nudged against the base of your folds, his breath hot and heavy. “You gonna cum again, bitch?” he growled, his voice muffled, but the meaning was clear. The vibration of his words only pushed you closer to the edge.  

You hated how right he was. Fuck, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you cum again. You wanted to prove he wasn’t that good, that he didn’t know your body inside and out, that he couldn’t make you sing like a fucking instrument in his hands.  

But it was like he could read your mind, taking your challenge as an invitation. He bucked his hips, pistoning into your mouth harder, while his lips and tongue attacked your clit with reckless fervour. Saliva dripped from your mouth, your face flushed and wet with the effort of keeping up with his pace.  

It was only a matter of time. Your body betrayed you, your ass clenched, your legs spread wider, and with one last pulse of his tongue against your sensitive nub, you exploded. Another orgasm hit you, more intense than the last, your muffled cries of release vibrating around his cock as your body shook in his grasp.  

Tears blurred your vision, streaming down your face as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, leaving you breathless. The world spun once more as Adam laid you down, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud.  

Your chest heaved, breath ragged, and your left leg twitched with the aftershocks pulsing through your still-throbbing core. The only sounds were your gasps and his own laboured breathing, tangled together in the humid air.  

Through bleary, tear-filled eyes, you glared up at him. “Fuck you,” you managed to spit out between shaky breaths.  

Adam, ever the cocky bastard, stroked his cock, slick with your spit, his hand gliding smoothly along his length. “Babe, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.” His smirk was infuriating, and all you could think about was shoving his face between your legs, smothering him with your pussy until he couldn’t talk anymore. God, you wanted to suffocate him with it. Death by cunt? Sign me the fuck-up. 

Why did he have to be such a colossal dick? The thought barely crossed your mind before his knees sank into the mattress, the bed groaning under his weight.  

“It you didn’t - hah – talk so much, you’d almost be tolerable,” you shot back, each word laced with venom.  

He burst out into bright laughter. “Tolerable? Baby, the way you worship my cock, you’re practically my most devout follower.” His sharp grin caught the dim light, and you couldn’t help the eye-roll that followed.  

“Holy fuck, you’re the biggest douchebag I know, I can’t even – ah!” Your words turned into a yelp as he slammed his hips against yours, burying himself deep inside you, aided by the slick remnants of your previous orgasms and his saliva.  

“Feel that?” he huffed, rolling his hips against your oversensitive clit, his voice dripping with smugness. “Look how fucking needy you are, bitch,” his grin widened as he looked down at you, eyes gleaming. “How many other cocks have tried to fill you since me? Any of them as good?” His hips slammed into yours, the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.  

“Tell me, huh? Bet none of them could do this.” He pulled out, teasing you, before driving his cock back in, deeper, harder, the tip nudging against your cervix.  

“FUCK!” you screamed, legs instinctively spreading wider, your body arcing up to meet his. “You’re - ugh – such – a – fucking – ugh – ASS!” Each word was broken by the force of his persistent thrusts, the bed beneath you creaking in rhythm with his movements. It was like the damn thing was protesting as loudly as you were.  

“Good?” he smirked, filling in the blanks for you with every thrust. “Sexy? Amazing? Fantastic?” His pace quickened, clearly getting off on his own damn ego. If there was one thing he’d come from, it was the sound of his own bullshit.  

“All - ugh – you're good for – is your dick,” you growled, strands of hair sticking to your sweaty face, your skin slick with the sheen of your effort. You hated him, hated how smug he was, how cocky – and fuck, how right he was about how good his cock felt.  

Adam pulled out, his cock rock-hard and glistening with your arousal clinging to him. He gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and pressing your face into the mattress.  

Your heart skipped. This was the position that always wrecked you. Every. Single. Time. 

“That’s why,” he lined up, the blunt tip of his cock teasing your entrance, “they call me the Dickmaster.” He punctuated his words by thrusting into you in one fluid stroke, filling you completely, pushing deep until he hit your womb. Your back arched as a shameless moan tore from your lips, your body curling from the overwhelming fullness.  

“FUCK.” You nearly screamed. “Dickmaster? Are you fucking serious?” But despite the sheer cringe of the nickname, your body betrayed you. You moaned, louder, longer, as he thrust into you. The pleasure mixed with the sheer absurdity of it all.  

He was so fucking cheesy. The cringiest man alive. Dickmaster? More like Cringemaster. And yet, here you were, being dicked down by this walking embarrassment, moaning like a bitch in heat. The passion you felt for him, the anger, the lust – it all mixed into a chaotic storm, burning hot inside you.  

“Fuuuck youuu,” you wailed, voice trembling as Adam’s hips resumed their brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, his hand coming down hard on your ass, the crack of skin-on-skin only fuelling the fire that was already burning through you.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you sobbed, the sting from each slap merging with the pleasure, searing through your core as the heat radiated across your skin. You were sure his handprint was branded on your ass, marking you as his.  

The pleasure built and built, his heavy balls slapping mercilessly against your clit with each thrust. It was overwhelming, your body trembling in a puddle of your own arousal, tears, and drool. 

Why did you keep coming back to him? Out of all the sinners you could fuck, you always crawled back to him for a taste of that damn dick.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted mindlessly, your cunt squeezing tight around him as another orgasm threatened to break loose. But just when you were on the edge, he reached for your tail and yanked. Hard. 

“YIP!” you screeched, the sharp, high-pitched squeal erupting from your throat as the flames of your arousal were doused instantly. You whipped your head around, glaring at him over your shoulder. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” you barked, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that you were on all fours, impaled on his cock with your ass still up in the air.  

Adam’s eyes widened, his expression morphing from confusion to realization. “Oh shit, so that wasn’t your butt plug?” he asked, cock still buried deep inside you, pulsing against your fluttering walls that betrayed the fury burning inside you.  

“WE’VE BEEN FUCKING FOR OVER HALF A YEAR, YOU ASSHOLE,” you snapped, baring your teeth in a snarl. “YOU EVEN FUCKED MY ASS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’D BE WEARING A BUTT PLUG NOW?” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his hips didn’t stop rocking gently into you, sending shivers up your spine despite your anger. “Babe, it was an honest mistake,” he said before licking his fingers and sliding one thick digit down, pressing against your ass. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Before you could protest, his finger was already pushing past the tight ring of muscle, sinking into your ass as your tail stiffened in response. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, your resolve crumbling as the pleasure returned full force. His finger curled just right, rubbing the thin wall separating your pussy from your ass, sending jolts of ecstasy through both holes.  

“Remember when I took your anal virginity?” Adam’s voice was smug, but the curl of his finger had you moaning instead of cursing him out. He pumped his finger slowly, in sync with the thrusts of his cock, his breath ragged with excitement. “You told me you hated anal, but look at you now. Begging for more.” 

Your head dropped onto the mattress, your tail wagging unconsciously as he added another finger, stretching you wider. You closed your eyes, trying to block out his annoying voice, but your ass wiggled back against him, betraying your need for more. “Fucking hell,” you whimpered, completely undone.  

He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Told you. After I finish with your pussy, I’ll give that ass some love too. They don’t call me the dickmaster for nothing.” His voice was maddening, but the way his fingers curled inside you made you forget how much you wanted to punch him.  

Your ears flicked back, frustration mingling with desire. If only he would shut the fuck up, you would’ve come already – twice, even.  

“Babe, you want my load that bad?” Adam cooed, his voice breathy as his cock twitched inside you. “You wanna be my cum dump?” he chuckled, fingers and cock working in perfect, relentless tandem.  

“Sh-sh-shut up,” you moaned, voice low and trembling as your walls tightened around both his cock and his fingers. You were so close, teetering on the edge. 

If he would just stop talking... 

He pulled his fingers out of your ass, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. His wet fingers gripped your hips, pulling your ass up higher as he pressed his weight down on you. Then, he started to fuck you hard – exactly the way you liked it – each brutal thrust forcing you down into the bed.  

Your breath came in broken gasps, each thrust stealing the words from your lips as his cock filled you completely, forcing your slick walls to stretch for him. The bed creaked and groaned under you, matching the wet slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic pounding filled the room. Your stomach clenched, thighs quivering as you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing you were about to explode.  

When his cock hit your g-spot again and again, your moan rose low and long, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You babbled incoherently, swearing and pleading for him to fill you.  

And he did.  

He always fucking did.  

Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded your pussy, painting your insides as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave. You were wrecked, ruined, and thoroughly fucked – just the way you wanted it. 

He pushed your body down, rolling you onto your back and stretching your thighs wide apart like he was prepping a canvas for his masterpiece. The thrill of being exposed sent shivers down your spine, and before you could catch your breath, his lips found your aching, sensitive clit.  

His fingers dove into your cum-soaked folds, the squelching sounds echoing in the air, making you feel like a goddamn wet sponge. You were so close to the edge of another orgasm that your muscles quivered with anticipation. Your head tilted back, pressing against the bed, and you gasped as warmth flooded out of you, mingling with Adam’s thick, syrupy load.  

“OH FUCK, FUCK!” you cried out, fingers curling tightly against the bedsheets, heels digging into the mattress like you were trying to anchor yourself to sanity. His mouth continued to suck at your oversensitive bud, relentless and teasing, even as you drenched him with your essence.  

You peeked open your eyes to find him grinning like a kid in a candy store, his face glistening with your juices, and it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your core. The feeling of him latching onto you was intoxicating, pushing you to new heights as your walls pulsated around his fingers, unable to tell whether this was yet another orgasm or simply an extension of the last.  

“ADAM!” you screamed, practically sobbing as your body jolted and convulsed under his ministrations. Pleasure poured over you, and your breath came in heavy gasps, your mind slipping into a blissful haze. His fingers curled perfectly inside you, mashing your g-spot like he was playing some twisted game of whack a mole, keeping you suspended in a state of everlasting pleasure.  

The last thing you registered before the world faded away was Adam moaning your name, his voice vibrating through your very core like a damn choir.  

When you fluttered your eyes open again, your body was still bare and sprawled out like a starfish on the bed. You heard that familiar sound of suckling, and looking down, you couldn’t help but groan at the sight – his familiar mop of brown hair nestled between your thighs, still focused on drinking you up like a man starved for 40 days and 40 nights. 

Pleasure washed over you in soft, slow strokes as Adam continued to eat you out. “How long have you been down there?” you asked, voice hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.  

His head popped up, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. “Dunno, but they do call me the ultimate pussy eater,” he said with a cheeky grin, like he was the fucking king of the world.  

You dropped your head back against the bed, trying to stifle a laugh. “No, they don’t,” you muttered, breath hitching as his tongue parted your slick folds again. “Fuck, we can’t keep doing this,” you whined, instinctively opening your thighs wider to give him better access.  

His fingers gripped your hips, anchoring you as his tongue burrowed deeper into your pussy, pressing against your inner walls, exploring every inch like he was on some treasure hunt.  

Naturally, he didn’t listen to your protests. He continued to slurp and lick, devouring you like a feast, and you should have stopped him.  

You really should have.  

But as a jolt of pleasure shot up your spine, tingling all the way to your core, a soft, breathy moan escaped your lips.  

Fuck, this was bad. You had come to the hotel knowing you had little self-control around him, and at this rate, you were destined to fuck him every day.  

Your body, soft and pliant, refused to budge; instead, you pushed your hips deeper into his mouth. “Fuck you,” you murmured weakly, as he coaxed another sultry moan from your lips. “This will be the last fucking time, I swear,” you insisted, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushed you closer to the edge of pleasure.  

But deep down, you knew you had said it was the last time so many fucking times that you’d lost count of your own vows.  

You hated him, yes.  

But fuck him and fuck yourself. 

You didn’t hate this. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[roseghoul26]

König x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After a long day, König offers some much-needed “stress relief”. Tags: Title From A Sabrina Carpenter Song, Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter, Edging, Not Beta Read, Fem Pronouns For Reader, Bit Of A Size Kink, Porn No Plot, Vibrators, Fingering, Cunnilingus, König Lifts His Mask The Tiniest Amount To Eat You Out, Scar Kink(?), Is That Even A Thing, Doggystyle, Safe Sex, German Is A Fun Language, Kissing, Cuddling Author's Note: My four-and-a-half years of German classes are finally coming into use (but I’m nowhere near fluent, so correct my mistakes lol). Also contains descriptions of what I imagine König to look like. Everyone is free to their own interpretation. Also I'm like a year too late for this but whatever lol and this one is just pure porn guys, so... do with that what you will Explicit content, minors DNI

You felt ridiculous. 

Desperate. Anxious. Ridiculous.

Pacing across your small room didn’t help, your frenzied state unending. Anxiety hammered your heart, your stomach twisted in knots, and your hands ached from tensing them so much. Your breathing wasn’t much better, coming and going in quick huffs of air; you felt like you were going to pass out. 

You were a goddamn soldier, a ruthless mercenary; you shouldn’t be acting this way. You’d faced down the worst of humanity and came out victorious; the idea of König coming to your room shouldn’t render you so… timid. 

You’re not sure why you took König up on his offer for “stress relief”. He’d seen how tense you were all day around the base, the reason for that feeling long since forgotten, your words clipped, muscles tensed. It wasn’t an unusual emotion for you, but he’d never offered his assistance. 

Until today. You weren’t quite sure what changed.

A shiver went down your spine when you remembered his voice as he whispered, large frame pressed up close against yours, but not close enough to touch. “Let me help you, Schatz,” he’d said, and you were certain if you could see his face, there’d be a smirk on his lips. You wondered if he knew how you felt about him. 

Desperate to be rid of the tension in your body, and desperate for him, you’d agreed. It wasn’t until you’d reached your room that it sunk in, what you’d agreed to. It wasn’t that you regretted it, far from it, but now your stress levels were even higher than they were before. 

You wouldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped that something like this would happen. You’d had the biggest crush, which sounded so juvenile for someone like you, on him since the moment you’d signed on with KorTac a few years ago. 

And how could you not? He was tall, almost intimidatingly so, with a broad build to match. And the muscles weren’t all for show, just as deadly with his body as he was with his weapons out on the field. You remember the first time you’d watched him take down someone with his hands, a memory that had ingrained itself into your dirtiest dreams. 

As for the rest of his appearance, you weren’t quite sure. He’d never taken off his “mask” (a shirt, you’d later come to find out) in front of you, even when on jobs together. You never pried, though, respecting his need for privacy. And besides, you didn’t have to see his face to know that he was the most stunning person you’d ever met. His eyes, baby blue, yet torturously haunted, were all that you needed to see to confirm that. After years of only seeing them, you’d gotten good at reading them like you would facial expressions. 

Too caught up in your thoughts, you nearly tripped as your foot caught on the edge of your bed, a small, dingy thing. A mix of a sigh and groan left you, as well as a soft curse as you shook your hurt foot. Glancing at the small LED clock beside your bed, the time read 9:26.

König hadn’t given you a time when you asked, only a teasing, “Tonight.” Which meant, that at any moment, you’d hear him knocking on your door.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this was all a joke, a cruel one at that. Maybe he knew about your infatuation with him, and this was his response. Deep down, you knew König enough to know that he wouldn’t do something like that, but your anxiety-riddled brain couldn’t think rationally right now. 

Before disappointment could set in, there was a surprisingly gentle knock on the door. But to you, it sounded like two gunshots had just gone off in the room, your ears now ringing in response. 

A soft gasp left you, and you swore your heart stopped. Taking a second to take a deep breath, you fixed your hair as you walked to the door, suddenly worried about your appearance. Your hand shook as you grabbed the handle, time seemingly slowing as you opened the door.

There, just like he said he would be, was König, his body damn near filling the entire doorframe, the tiniest bits of light from the hallway sneaking in. He was dressed down, which made sense for the time of day, so it shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you to see his bare arms. He must’ve been feeling particularly cruel, to be wearing a tight, black short-sleeve shirt instead of his usual loose long-sleeves. His hands were shoved into the pockets of some black sweatpants, and it almost felt wrong to see him like this. 

And as his eyes widened the tiniest amount, you realized that he, too, had never seen you in loungewear. Wearing a tank top and some sleep shorts, you might as well have been naked with the way his gaze roamed over your body, setting your body alight. A part of you wondered if this was the first time he’d looked at you like this, or if your attraction hadn’t been as one-sided as you believed. 

You weren’t quite sure what to say; you both knew why he was here. So instead of making a fool of yourself by attempting to talk, you took a step back, wordlessly inviting König into your room. 

As he stepped in, you watched as his head moved around, taking in his surroundings. Your room wasn’t much, but it was a step up from the shared room you had when you first joined. There was a bed, a full size at most, the headboard pressed up against the wall, with standard-issue grey sheets. A nightstand sat beside it, with the LED clock, and a lamp that currently struggled to fight against the darkness of the night as it poured through the lame excuse of a window that resided at the top of the wall. A few other pieces of furniture, a dresser, a desk, and a shelf, were each in their respective spots, leaving not a lot of free room.

So, as König walked in, your room felt incredibly small, nearly suffocating. It didn’t help that every time you saw König your breathing turned labored, which wasn’t the best thing to happen to you out on the field. But your years of suppressing your desires had trained you well, able to put on an impression that you were unaffected. 

“Do you want this?”

You’d barely heard König, your heart thudding too loudly. He had turned to face you, hands still in his pockets, a casual stance. But his eyes told a different story, hooded with lust, and boring into you. 

Swallowing, you failed to notice the way his eyes zeroed in on the action. Nodding your head was the only thing you could do, never feeling so certain bout something in your life. But you were nervous. What if you disappointed him? What if this wrecked what relationship the two of you had? What if this was all still a joke?

You hadn't expected König to have moved so that he was right in front of you. Was he always this tall? Towering over you, you felt his fingers, free from their usual gloves, grasp your chin, forcing your eyes onto him. A strangled noise died in your throat at the action, but he felt it, and you watched his eyes crinkle in the corners. He was grinning. 

“Use your words, Schatz.” The endearment, although in a foreign language, made you melt. You weren’t entirely sure what it meant, even after hearing it before, but he said it so sweetly that you didn’t need to know what it meant to feel its effects. 

Your heart was fluttering now, your brain fighting between feeling anxious and exhilarated. König must’ve detected this inner battle of yours, something softening in his gaze. The hand holding your chin moved to your wrist, grabbing it loosely enough so that you could pull away if you wanted to, and he slowly pulled your hand up until it rested on his chest, palm flat against his left pec. 

Once the shock of touching him subsided, you were confused as he watched you expectantly. You went to try to speak but were subsequently silenced by König as he shook his head, pressing your hand down harder. It was then you could finally feel beneath your fingertips his heartbeat, much too fast for the casual stance he had earlier. 

He was just as nervous about this as you were.

He let go of your wrist once he saw you felt it, but you didn’t pull your hand away, quickly gaining confidence knowing you weren’t alone in your nerves. “I want this, König.” You were pleasantly surprised to find that your voice was steady, not even the tiniest bit hoarse. I’ve wanted this for a long time.

Pleased, you could also detect the tiniest bit of relief from him, uncertainty playing a part in his nervous behavior. But that was quickly washed away when his authoritative demeanor returned; you’re not sure why you expected anything else. In every room he walked into, he demanded respect, to be listened to. Followed. Obeyed. You just never thought that it carried into more intimate moments. 

You certainly weren’t complaining. Not when you could feel arousal pool in your gut, a pleasant warmth that flowed through your entire body. Not when every word he spoke made you shiver, his accent thick, voice pitched lower. And now that your nerves had died down, all that was left was excitement, which nearly made you just as jumpy. As he brought his masked face close to yours, you swore your breathing stopped; it almost felt like the anticipation you’d feel before a kiss.

But his destination wasn’t your lips, although his eyes did flick down to them momentarily. No, he stopped before they could connect, mask and all. Resting his head against yours, which took a bit of bending on his part, you felt two warm hands begin to trail down your body, starting right at your collarbones. 

You watched as his eyes trailed over your face, gauging your reaction. When he was met with nothing but desire and want, his touch grew more certain, yet he didn’t pick up the pace. His fingers continued to drag down your body until you wanted to push them down to where you wanted. Something told you that that wouldn’t go over well, but you had to admit you were curious to see what his reaction would be. 

You chose to just shift in his grasp instead of trying to force his touch lower, hoping he’d get the message. You knew he did when you heard him chuckle, a sound that always made you weak in the knees, now especially. “Patience.” 

You could detect the warning well enough, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to it. “Please, König.” You didn’t care if you were begging. All you could think about was how close he was to giving you what you wanted. 

Another chuckle left the Austrian, but this one sounded more cruel. “You are going to have a long night.”

Before you could even think about his words, he was effortlessly sweeping you off your feet, hands having found their way to the back of your thighs. Insticinvly, your legs wrapped around his body, but you knew he didn’t need the extra help, and you also knew that he wouldn’t drop you. With a surprised laugh, you hung on as König carried you over to the bed, eyes never once leaving your face like he was enraptured by it. 

Unfortunately, the walk to the bed was brief, and before you could get comfortable in his arms, he was depositing you onto the bed. So much for not dropping you. It didn’t hurt, no, more surprising than anything, the breath briefly getting knocked out of you. The cheaper bed groaned under the weight, rusty springs a godawful symphony of noises, but you paid them no mind. 

Hungry eyes watched you from the foot of the bed as you moved up towards the headboard, back resting against it. Once you were settled, König stalked over to the side of the bed, his movements nothing but predatory. Yet oddly enough, you felt safe. You both trusted each other enough to watch over the other while out on the field and so you felt that same trust here. Deep down, you knew that if you were to tell him to stop, he would, no questions asked. Yet you knew you probably wouldn’t need him to. 

But he didn’t sit down, rather moving to the nightstand beside you. Your dazed state quickly dissipated once he started rummaging inside of it, but you were too late to do anything. With burning cheeks, you watched as he pulled out a pink device, which looked comically small in his hands. 

You wanted nothing more than to bury your face in your hands and pray for your demise, yet you were stuck in place once his attention returned to you. You just knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face, and if you weren’t so mortified about him finding the toy, then you would’ve made some comment to wipe it right off. 

Finally, König sat beside you, the vibrator still in his hand. With his other, you felt his touch return to your calf, featherlight, and leisurely making its way to the waistband of your shorts. “You use this a lot?”

“König…” Your voice wasn’t as assertive as you’d have liked, coming out more as a breathy whine. 

“Answer my question.” His hand stopped moving, stopping right at your knee. No matter how you shifted or squirmed, he didn’t move.

With a deep sigh, you tried to ignore the embarrassment you felt when you nodded your head. You then remembered his words from earlier. “Yes,” was all you said, but that seemed to be enough for him, as he continued his ascent with his fingers.

But his tormenting wasn’t done there, as after a few seconds you heard him speak again. “What do you think about?” This question came quieter than the first like he was sharing a piece of gossip, not asking you to reveal your deepest fantasies. 

You. 

The word was on the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to say them, to admit to him. How you’d dreamed of moments like this. How you’d imagined him touching you, fucking you, devouring you. So much information was on the verge of being spilled, and you were scared of it happening, too many what-ifs floating in your brain to keep track. 

But any attempt of holding back your words disappeared when König’s hand retracted, and you found the words stuttering out of you, desperate to feel him again. “I think about you, König…” You nearly felt out of breath after, your chest heaving for air, your cheeks now on fire. 

König, much to your surprise, didn’t seem taken aback by your words. Instead, you watched as his eyes darkened even more, which seemed like an impossible feat. “I thought as much,” his voice sounded more like a growl, and you fought the urge to press your thighs together. “And what do I do, when you think of me?”

Now that the cat was out of the bag, you felt less embarrassed about speaking. You were further encouraged when his hand settled on your thigh, pulling lightly at the hem of your shorts. “I… I’ve thought of you using toys,” you glanced at his other hand briefly, “your fingers. Your mouth.” The last one came out more like a whisper; he’d have to take his mask off in order for the last one to be true, and you both knew he wasn’t doing that. 

By the time you had finished speaking, he had reached your waistband, fingers dipping beneath it to brush against your skin. He hummed like he was truly thinking deeply over your words. “In that order?” If it was meant to be teasing, you couldn’t tell. 

Words died in your throat as you struggled to speak, your newfound confidence nonexistent. König, thankfully, took some pity on you, realizing that this was all a bit much. “Would you like me to take care of you?”

That you were able to respond to. “Please.”

An appreciative groan reverberated through his broad chest. “Sehr gut.” You weren’t certain what he was saying, but the infliction sounded like a praise, and your body responded as it would if it had been spoken in a language you knew.

You expected him to continue speaking, so imagine your surprise when in one strong tug, he tore your shorts off your body, before throwing them somewhere in the room. You heard an audible gasp from him when he saw you were completely bare underneath, completely exposed to him. You watched his hands flex from where they hung in the air, momentarily taken aback, his restraint pulled tight. 

He recovered quickly, blue eyes obscured by black irises now staring at you. “No underwear?” It was a redundant question, yet he asked anyway, wanting you to admit to it. Sheepishly, you nodded, your reward being a low chuckle. “Gott, you are trying to kill me.”

That was the last thing he said before he was settling at the end of your bed, right where your feet sat. His unoccupied hand grabbed your ankle, pulling your legs apart so that he could settle between them. With both thighs resting on his shoulders, you could no longer close your legs, unless you wanted to suffocate the man between them. You doubt he would complain, though. 

His face was inches from your center, and you could feel the heat radiating from him with each breath he took. His eyes had left your face, now drinking in the sight before him, and you could tell he was pleased with what he saw. Quite pleased, if the groan he let out told you anything. 

“So wet already,” he murmured as if he was surprised. You had little time to feel any sort of embarrassment, before two wide fingers ran through your folds, collecting the arousal there. You watched, then, as he brought his fingers below his mask, and you were able to fill in the details as his eyes fell shut with a hum of appreciation. 

Very much distracted, you’d momentarily forgotten about the device in his other hand until the unmistakable buzzing noise filled the air. Your breathing was labored as you waited for his next move, where he would touch you next. You, luckily, did not have to wait long to find out, as those two fingers returned, this time working to spread you open. His eyes finally shot up to yours, his desire evident, and there was an unspoken question in the gesture. More?

You would take all that he could give you, greedily. If he gave you scraps, you would take scraps with a thankful smile. If he gave you a goddamn meal, then you would savor every moment, every drop. With a shaky smile, you gave him a nod, not needing to use your words this time. 

The first graze of the toy over your clit made you jump, eliciting an amused shake of König’s head. “Relax, Schatz.”

And you tried. Taking a deep breath, you went through the breathing exercises you were taught when you first enlisted. Either it was thinking about the breathing exercises, or the exercises themselves, but you found yourself relaxing a bit, your muscles not as wound up as they once were. 

So when König once again pressed the vibrator against the bundle of nerves, you still jolted. Not out of shock, but because of the pleasure that action brought. And instead of pulling away like last time, he kept his hand in place, making you squirm. 

Soft whines and gasps of air were heard from you, hands fisting the sheets beside you. You wanted to hold on to him, but you were worried that once you grabbed on, you wouldn’t want to let go. “König…” you moaned, trying to express just how good he was making you feel. Every nerve in your body tingled, that unmistakable tightness growing in your abdomen. You weren’t close, but you didn’t think it would take long with how worked up you’d been waiting for him. 

The hand holding you open ascended, your back arching into his touch as he dragged his fingers over your stomach, your ribs, before encapsulating one of your breasts in a large, warm hand. “Du bist so schön,” he murmured, a glint of something in his eye. It quickly turned mischievous, though, when you just nodded along, his words meaning nothing to you. “Du hast keine Idee, was ich sage.”

When you neither confirmed nor denied his observation, he laughed, much to your confusion, but you were too caught up in your pleasure to care much. “Oh, Schatz.” It almost sounded patronizing, something that shouldn’t have gotten you as worked up as it did. Another plea of his name tore from your lips, the pressure in you building and building. 

Glancing down between your legs, you were surprised to find his eyes already on you. A squeeze of his hand had you keening, König making a noise that almost seemed proud. “So responsive. Nur für mich.”

What could you do besides nod? Even if you could understand him, you doubted you’d be able to process his words. And besides, hearing him speak his native tongue was always a treat, so hearing him like this was melting you, another thing setting your body alight. Your thighs were beginning to shake, something that did not go unnoticed by the man between them. 

“König… fuck, just a lil’ more…” You failed to see the plan he was formulating, your eyes screwed shut as pleasure overtook you. That tension was becoming unbearable now, and just on the verge of snapping. Your hips rocked and twisted, your fingers cramping with how hard you were gripping the sheets. You were on the edge, just teetering. All you needed was a little push, and-

The sound of silence was deafening as König turned the toy off, setting it on the bed beside you. Your eyes flew open, nowhere near expecting him to pull away just as you were about to cum. It would’ve been embarrassing, the frustrated noise you let out, but all you could think and feel was your waning orgasm. You went to try and finish yourself, but a strong hand caught your wrist before you could move. 

“König…” you warned, pleaded. Like sand, you could feel your release escaping through your fingers. “Y-You said you would help me relax.”

“You are distracted, nein?” 

It was true, your mind was far from the stresses of the day. But a new stress was building, one that was being caused by him. “König-”

“Lay back down.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d sat up, and with a sigh, you sunk back against the pillows, hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks darkened at the way he commanded you. You could feel yourself continue to come down from that delicious high, body still strung tight like a string on a violin. König played you so well, that you doubted it would take long for you to reach that precipice again. But would he give you what you wanted, or continue to dangle it above your head, just out of reach? You both loved and hated the game he was playing, but your patience was bound to run out eventually. 

He settled in between your legs again, both hands empty this time. A few minutes passed, König lazily tracing his fingers across your bare legs and stomach, truly letting the embers of your previous orgasm burn out.

After what felt like an eternity, he began to drag his touch inward, making you gasp lightly. Like he did before, you felt him pass his fingers through you. The stimulation was almost too much, but it was the best thing you’d ever felt, a soft whine leaving you. That whine turned into a moan when he pressed a digit into you, aided by your arousal. 

He wasted no time in working his finger in and out of you, setting a slow yet intense pace. Your previous decision to not hold on to him quickly fell apart, desperately reaching down to him. There was a second of surprise before he gave you his other hand, your fingers immediately locking with his. It was a startling difference, the innocent gesture of handholding versus the way he was making you see stars with every crook of his fingers. 

His fingers were wide, much wider than yours, so the stretch burned when he added a second. He gave you a moment to adjust before moving, murmuring soft words of praise. “Gutes Mädchen,” he purred. “Gott, look at you, taking me so well.” Each word was enunciated with a thrust of his fingers, pulling noises from you you didn’t even know were possible. 

As amazing as his fingers felt, you need more. Wanted more. Glancing down at König, you gave him as wide eyes as you could, and he seemed to get the message. “You want more?” Upon your fervent nodding, he shook his head teasingly. “So greedy.”

For a moment, you were convinced that he wasn’t going to fulfill your request. That was until he pulled his hand away from yours, reaching for the base of his mask. Your heart damn near stopped when you realized what he was doing, and with a shocked gasp, you shut your eyes, unsure if he wanted you to see. 

You felt him pause, the rustling of fabric ceasing, before his voice rang out. “Look at me.” For the first time since you’d met him, you’d heard his voice clearly, not muffled by his mask. 

Cautiously, you opened your eyes, still partially convinced that this was a test of sorts. All of those worries disappeared when your eyes landed on him. His mask wasn’t fully off, not like you expected, and a part of you was relieved. You don’t think you were ready for that. 

Instead, it was pulled up just past his mouth, revealing most of his lower face, and any image you’d created of him in your mind was immediately forgotten, replaced with the sight in front of you. He had a wider jaw, with a decent amount of stubble adorning his cheeks. His lips were full, the top smaller than the bottom, and pulled into a small smile that made your stomach erupt into butterflies. He was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men you’d ever laid eyes on, and this was only a part of his face.

But what stuck out to you the most, and would stick out to anyone who saw him, was the large scar that cut upwards on the right side of his upper lip, disappearing under the mask as it continued. The rest of the skin had healed together, except for on his lip, where, similar to a cleft lip but smaller, there was a gap, exposing a sharp canine. It was like his lip was turned up in a constant sneer.

You had no idea how he got that scar, and knowing the job you both did, it was probably quite traumatic. But the scar, alongside the rest of him, had desire churning so strongly in your gut that you nearly felt ill. It felt almost too good to be true, yet here he was, in between your legs, staring at you like you were the best thing on this forsaken planet, his hips grinding against the bed as he pleasured you. 

“Hallo, Schatz.” You were entranced by the way his lips moved as he spoke, and he noticed it, a cocky grin now on display. God, the effect that smirk had on you was immediate, his smugness immeasurable when he felt your body react on his fingers. “You know how to make a man feel good.”

You managed to roll your eyes, not wanting to bolster his ego that much, making König laugh in response. But his playful mood was quickly replaced by one of pure desire, moving forward until you could feel his warm breath hit your center. His fingers had resumed their motions, that tension once again building in your abdomen. It felt stronger this time like your body was punishing you for not allowing the tension to release last time. 

Not once did his eyes break away from yours, not even as his tongue flicked out to taste you, and you could feel his smile, never once dropping. He did it again, this time nudging your over-sensitive clit, making your hips buck. Letting his mask fall on your body to keep it held up, his now free hand splayed across your lower abdomen, keeping you in place, unable to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Even quicker than before, you found yourself careening toward that edge, your nails digging into König’s arm, likely leaving marks. His name replayed like a chant on your lips with each crook of his fingers, each flick of his tongue, every suck from his lips. You couldn’t see him any longer, your head thrown back against the pillows.

“König… please.” You almost didn’t want to tell him you were close, afraid of him taking your release away from you again. But you figured he didn’t need you to tell him to know, with the way your thighs shook and walls fluttered around his fingers. You felt him smirk again, a sense of dread washing over you at its implication. “Please, König… let me cum.”

Forcing your head back down, you watched as he considered your plea, and for a second, you thought you were in the clear. That was until he pulled his mouth away, his lower face glistening, that smirk still there, before the mask fell back down. His fingers pulled away next, groaning when he watched you clench around nothing.

Frustrated was nowhere close to how you felt, tears now prickling your eyes as yet another orgasm was withheld. The torture was delicious, yes, but you were going to lose it if you didn’t get to cum soon. You’d wanted this for so long, to fall apart under his ministrations, and you were tired of waiting. Your voice wavered as you whined his name, but there wasn’t anything either of you could do now, as you felt that almost high fade away again. 

With a defeated sigh, you let your head hit the pillows again, your legs sliding off König’s shoulders. You didn’t get to relax long, though, before his accented voice hit your ears again, unfortunately muffled. “Roll over.”

Without trying to hide your displeasure, you complied, glaring at him as you turned. You hoped he couldn’t tell how excited you actually were, fighting back an eager smile. He chuckled from behind you as you settled on your hands and knees, trailing off when he took in the sight before him. “I will ignore that attitude. This time.”

As you thought over the implications of this time, you felt König stand, followed by the sound of rustling fabric, as well as the crinkle of plastic. Something stirred in you at the fact that he came prepared, meaning he wanted this as much as you did. You’re not sure why you still believed he didn’t, but the reassurance was nice, to say the least. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you managed to catch a glimpse of him, the sight making you nearly snap your head back around. Nearly. He had shed his pants, his black shirt rising enough to reveal a pale, muscular abdomen, created from years of intense labor and exercise. He radiated power, and a part of you wondered if that translated into more intimate aspects like his authoritativeness had. Would he be rough with you? Or would he be more ginger, like his touch had been for most of the night; not gentle, but not on the verge of hurting?

You would take either way, as long as it was him doing it. 

“It is rude to stare.”

His tone was teasing, yet it still pulled you out of your shameless ogling. Caught red-handed, an almost sheepish smile appeared on your face. “You can’t blame me when you look like that. You’re a sight, König.”

For the first time that night, König seemed at a loss for words, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. If his mask was still pulled up, you figured you would see his lips struggling to form words, and, if you were lucky, a blush creeping up his face. It was a beautiful image in your mind, one that made you smile harder. 

Clearing his throat, König shook himself out of whatever daze he had been in, and you pocketed his weakness away for later. Checking you for any last-second hesitations, he let the rest of the clothing on his lower body fall away, effectively shifting the power back into his hands. And despite yourself, a small noise left you at the sight, further stroking his already massive ego. 

As to be expected for someone of his size, he was large, and painfully hard, if the hiss he let out told you anything. He was proportional to his hand as he took himself in it, stroking himself a few times, but you knew you’d struggle to hold him in yours. Just like the rest of his body, he was pale, with an almost purple tip that leaked precum. 

Turning your head back around before you lost your nerve, a few seconds passed before you felt the bed creak again, assumedly to put on the condom. One hand pressed between your shoulders, wordlessly pressing your face and chest into the bed. His other hand grabbed your hip, pulling your ass against him, another small noise leaving you when his cock pressed into you. You let him maneuver you as he wished, surprised with how much you were enjoying him taking the lead during this. 

“Ready?” His voice sounded relaxed, but the fingers digging into your hips told a different story. Still, the sincerity of his gesture made your heart thrum happily.

“Yes.” You’d never been more ready for something. 

A strangled moan tore from your lips as he pressed in, obscured by the mattresses your face was currently being pressed into. Tangling your fingers into the sheets around you, you could do nothing but take him as he sheathed his length into you, inch by inch. Time seemed to slow, your breathing ragged, when it wasn’t interrupted by noises of pleasure. 

The pain wasn’t as bad as you initially thought it would be, and for a moment you were thankful that König had worked you up so much. But that tension returned again, König still not fully in you yet. A whimper of his name had him stilling, an almost painful-sounding breath leaving him as he steadied himself, using every ounce of restraint to keep going slowly. 

The words tumbled out of you then, unable to stop yourself. “I-I can take it… please.”

“Scheiße.” The expletive was not unknown to you, nearly turning smug with the fact you made him lose control again. And just like before, he was quick to put you in your place, any comment dying on your lips when he bottomed out with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You swore you saw stars, unable to make any noise besides a soft oh. König, trusting that you were telling the truth, didn’t wait to give you time to adjust. He set a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping against yours with a slick noise. You could cum just from this alone, still so worked up, and König knew this.

The hands on your body shifted, wrapping around the front of your body and lifting you effortlessly until your back was pressed against his chest. He wasted no time tearing off your shirt, groping and toying with your breasts as he continued to thrust up into you. His voice was like gravel as he spoke, his covered mouth speaking right in your ear. “Du fühlst- Gott, mein Schatz.”

Even though your brain was hazed with lust, there was one thing that stuck out to you when he spoke. Never before had he added the word “mein” before calling you Schatz. You had no idea what it meant, but it certainly sounded like an English word you’d been dying to hear from his lips. Mine.

“Yours?” You knew you were probably connecting dots that didn’t exist, but the idea of being König’s was too appealing. 

König stuttered in his movements, an absolutely sinful moan being pulled from him, a sound that nearly pushed you over that edge. “Smart girl,” he spoke while regaining his breath. “Cum for me, mein Mädchen.”

That was all you needed, reaching your release the hardest you’d ever had in your life, the relief you felt immeasurable. Your head threw back to his shoulder, and because your eyes were screwed shut you couldn’t see the way he stared at you with awe. Every muscle tensed and then released, causing you to go slack in his arms, your nerves buzzing with pleasure. 

Your ears rang too loudly to hear him groan your name as he felt you cum, and a few more thrusts of his hips was all it took to reach his own end. The sensation of him spasming inside of you rode out your waves of pleasure until it became too much. König, thankfully, seemed to realize this, and he pulled out of you, then easing your limp body to the bed carefully. 

Completely blissed out, you didn’t feel as König got off the bed, nor know how much time passed before he returned. All you knew was that suddenly the blanket was torn out from under you, before covering your bare body.

Even though every muscle in your body didn’t want to work, you forced yourself to sit upright and watch the large man, who was currently in the process of getting redressed. “You’re not staying?” You didn’t try to hide the obvious disappointment in your words. 

König stilled at that, turning to face you slowly. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course.” The words came out so easily, so honestly, that you nearly startled yourself with your honesty. 

Something like relief sagged his broad shoulders, and before long he was back beside your bed. You let him lay down first, as he did take up more space, before settling yourself in the crook of his arm. Well, it was more like you were half lying on top of him to keep from falling off the bed, but neither of you were complaining. König certainly wasn’t, his eyes crinkling in a poorly concealed smile. 

A few moments passed in silence, simply savoring the afterglow and the feeling of being in each other’s arms. Then, “Are you relaxed now?”

You snorted at that, lifting your head to look at him, shaking your head lightly. Fondly. “I suppose I am,” you agreed. “Though I am gonna be sore tomorrow for… other reasons.”

It was König’s turn to laugh now, the sound lighter than you expected. “I hope you are not expecting me to apologize. You were the one who asked for it.” You merely shrugged your shoulders in response, knowing he was right, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of verbally admitting it. 

Every part of your body wanted to lay back down, but you had a different idea as you continued to observe König. He tracked every movement of your eyes, and you could see his brow furrow in confusion. Before he could say anything, though, you were speaking, so quietly you wondered if you had merely thought the words.

“Can I kiss you?”

And for the second time that night, König was at a loss, blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. But it seemed he’d already made up his mind, nodding lightly, the mask creasing with every movement of his head. 

Letting the blanket fall off you, you were quick to straddle his abdomen, eliciting a gasp from the Austrian. Tentatively, you let your fingers reach for the hem of the mask, scanning his eyes for any hesitations. When you were met with none, you flashed him a gracious smile, before pulling the cloth up right to his nose, not going further than he had before. 

His hands, which had fallen to his side, now ran up your thighs, before settling on your waist. Blue eyes danced across your face and your body, not able to decide which sight he liked better. You were quick to keep his attention on your mouth, though, as you planted one of your hands on his chest and leaned forward.

Taking your other hand, you let it trail up his neck before settling on his lower jaw, his stubble tickling your hand. He shuddered under your touch, lips parting in a soft gasp. Even with everything the two of you had done tonight, this felt the most intimate. 

When you pressed your lips against his, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged yours when he made another audible noise. A part of you wondered how long it had been since he’d been kissed, been touched this softly. If he’d let you, you’d remedy that. Gladly.

You kept the kiss short, but it promised more to come. Setting the mask back down, you pressed one last peck to his covered lips, unable to help yourself, before laying your head on his chest, keeping any comment about his fast heartbeat to yourself. “I hope you know I’ll be getting my revenge,” you said instead, hoping he didn’t realize it was just another way of saying you wanted this again. 

“I am looking forward to it, Schatz.”

Translations:

Schatz - treasure (term of endearment)

Sehr gut - very good

Gott - God

Du bist so schön - you are so beautiful

Du hast keine Idee, was ich sage - you have no idea what I am saying

Nur für mich - only for me

Nein - no

Gutes Mädchen - good girl

Scheiße - shit, fuck

Du fühlst- Gott, mein Schatz - you feel- God, my treasure

Mein Mädchen - my girl

[ssweetleaf]

graphic nature.

summary: you’re a sex worker, and ray finds you selling your body for time, something he’s told you he doesn’t want you doing again.

raymond leon x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, shit ending be warned, handcuffs, slapping, ray’s in love but he just can’t show it :((

a/n: so this is kinda weird, i don’t know where this came from, i didn’t have the energy to really finish it, so if it seems rushed, that’s because it is lol, maybe I’ll write a part 2 if i feel like it.

˖ ࣪⭑

With not a lot of time on your hands, there was a big reason why you did what you did. And however frowned upon your job description was, it kept you alive, kept you fed— kept you with a healthy wad of time on your wrist.

Roaming in the wealthy streets of New Greenwich offered you countless men to spend the night with, prostituting yourself in exchange for a hefty fee, a couple weeks, hell, maybe months worth of time clocked onto your watch once you were done.

So, like any other night, you waited, clad in a pretty dress and pantyhose, garters showing, all lacey and cute— in no time a patron drove up beside you, window down and sleeves rolled up, making sure the ticking of his years were on show.

You were about to bend down, lean against the door of his car, give him a few of your usual lines, a teasing smile playing on your lips while he offered to take you back to a hotel suite.

But not today, it seemed.

“Can’t begin to count how many times I’ve found you doin’ this, y/n,” the familiar voice sighed mockingly, and you turned to find him, Ray, the most well-known time keeper of the area, and your most loyal customer. “Just can’t seem to get it in that dumb brain of yours that what you’re doing is illegal.”

You turned back to the man in front of you, only to soon have him realise who had caught you, speeding off down the highway in his stupidly flash car, leaving the timekeeper to chuckle from behind you, the leather of his coat squeaking when he decided to cross his arms.

“What’re you gonna do, Ray?” You rolled your eyes, stepping closer towards him as if trying to intimate him in some way, though your attempts were futile. “You gonna arrest me?”

He smirked, cockily running his tongue along his teeth, smacking his lips before giving you a pout, one to mock you, to make you feel small.

“Y’know, sweetheart, maybe I will.” He hummed, slowly moving in closer, faces merely centimetres apart, mouth so mind-numbingly close to yours, your eyes staring dumbly at his pretty lips, all plump and glistening from running his tongue along—

With a sudden harshness, he spun you around, bending you over and pressing you firmly against the hood of his car. Your cheek smooshed against it while he took both of your wrists and pinned them behind your back, the jingle of handcuffs rang through your ears when he opened them up, slipping them over your wrists before tightening them with a sharp click on each side.

The metal dug into the flesh of your wrists, biting raw rings around them when you tugged and squirmed.

“You-” you started, struggling from under his gaze, one of his palms pressed to the space between your shoulders, keeping you in place. “You can’t do this, Raymond!”

Ray chuckled, pressing closer towards you, leaning his face against your cheek when he hovered over your back.

“I’m a timekeeper, honey,” he cooed mockingly, tip of his tongue grazing the shell of your ear and it caused a shiver to run along the length of your spine. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

You whined, huffing out a breath, tugging and tugging at your restraints as if somehow they’d just slip from your wrists with no problem.

“Besides, I thought I told you,” he ran his tongue along his lips, smacking his spit, breath fanning along your neck. “Only I get to touch you, you’re my whore and you work for me, you understand?”

You stayed silent.

He huffed out a breath, disappointed in your lack of participation, spinning you around so your back was against the hood instead, bringing his big palm up to your cheek in a sharp, searing smack, heavy and painful enough to jolt your head to one side.

You whimpered at the sting, feeling your cheek bloom with the welt, the warmth of his handprint still heavy on your skin.

“Let me say this nice and slow for you, sweetheart— I know you’re just too stupid to understand,” he clutched at your throat, fingers closing against the sides of your throat, squeezing almost mind-numbingly. “I said. Do. You. Understand?”

He punctuated his speech with little squeezes to your throat, your breathing laboured from the constriction, wanting so desperately to claw at his wrists, but those stupid handcuffs got in the way.

“Yes,” you choked out, nodding as best as you could, lashes fluttering from the lack of oxygen. “I-I understand, Ray.”

“Good girl,” he pouted, cooing at you mockingly and shaking your head from side to side. “wasn’t so hard was it, dumb girl?”

From the position you were in, you could get a good look at him. You had missed him- missed this, you hadn’t seen him for a while, his mind occupied on chasing down a certain Will Salas, of course he had made you promise to stay loyal, to not seek any men to take you home, to accept any form of touch that wasn’t his, but how were you supposed to agree? Your time was ticking, you couldn’t afford to mope around and wait for him, you had to work, to seek wealthy men and drain them of their time in exchange for sex.

“Missed you,” you spoke, barely above a whisper, eyes flitting over his form watching his jaw clench and nostrils flare. He couldn’t meet your stare.

“M’takin’ you home,” he muttered, pushing you by the shoulders and swinging the passenger door open.

“Will you at least take these cuffs off?” You pouted, turning your head to bat your lashes at him from over your shoulder. His lip quirked up in a smirk, sponging an oddly chaste kiss to your cheek before pressing his mouth against the shell of your ear. Your breath hitched.

“Not a chance.”

-

Raymond drove you to his apartment, it wasn’t the first time you had seen the place, in fact you had become quite familiar with it— little glimpses of Ray’s life littered the space, his taste somewhat minimalistic, but oddly homely.

He pressed you against his front door once it clicked closed, hands still awkwardly positioned and you struggled in a feeble attempt to break free from your restraint.

Ray’s mouth was on yours in an instant, mostly tongue and teeth, spit trickling down your chin at the rough attack of it all. He cradled your jaw in his hands, suckling your tongue between his lips, groaning at the breathy sighs you emitted.

“All mine,” he murmured against your mouth, pulling away to give your cheek a slap, a silver string of spit still connecting your mouths together. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your tongue swiped over your swollen lips, eyes hooded, completely submerged in the will to submit.

“M’yours,” you whimpered. He slapped you once more and your cheek bloomed with heat.

“Again, say it again.”

“M’yours, Ray—” you leaned forward to nudge your nose against his. “all yours.”

He sighed, the sound akin to a whimper when you uttered his name, his lashes fluttered and he pressed his pelvis firmly against your belly.

He was hard. So fucking hard, and your mouth watered, longing for it to be in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum on your tongue, just lapping and suckling for as long as you could handle.

“Feel what you do to me, baby,” he groaned, grinding against you, fingers tangling in your hair and his lips on your jaw. “S’all your fault.”

You bit at your lip to suppress a needy moan when he shrugged his leather coat from his shoulders, hands back on you again in an instant.

“Thought I told you to wait for me, sweetheart,” he spoke, brows furrowing and you itched to smooth the crease out with the pad of your thumb. “thought I told you to stop whorin’ around.”

Ray’s hand slipped to your throat, fingers and thumb pressing against the sides of your neck, leaving your head all swirly and light.

You frowned, choking out your words between breaths.

“I don’t have the time to wait for you.”

He was selfish, too much of a coward to take care of you and settle down with you instead of fucking promises out of your mouth, having you say you’re his when he wasn’t even yours.

It frustrated you.

“Oh, it’s time you want?” He chuckled dryly, “gee, honey, thought I wasn’t just one of your customers.”

He lifted his sleeve, the seconds on his arm ticking downward— tickticktick, until he reached behind you and pressed his wrist against your own.

The seconds, minutes, hours all went down in a blur, transferring to your time, adding on a hefty amount.

You gasped, trying to push him away as his life span quickly became merely hours.

“Raymond-” you struggled in his grip. “Raymond, stop it!”

He pulled away, his clock down to an hour, that was all. Fifty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six, fifty-five…

“See,” he breathed, pushing your hair to tuck behind your ear, “now you have all the time in the world.”

[ovaryacted]

TOUCH

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. Slight NSFW at the end! Kissing. Light Handjob. Just Leon craving your touch because he's a needy softie and he gets clingy.

WC: 1.1k

NOTES: Just a little drabble I worked on at 3 am for absolutely no reason lol. A little inspired by this one post made by @wherenymphsroam that got me thinking about this particular interaction and I wanted to build off on it a bit. I also didn't think of a specific version of Leon, so insert whichever one your heart desires!

Leon is cute when he’s needy, his constant affection a sign of his intensely growing attachment to you. He always needs to touch you, always needs to be near you, both as a form of reassurance and out of habit.

He’d hold your hand whenever he could, especially when participating in the domestic duties that came with being in a relationship, like grocery shopping or heading down to that cafe two blocks down from his place. He liked to gently rub his thumb over your hand, making sure your fingers were intertwined together, and sometimes absentmindedly kissed your knuckles and palm. Something about your hands brought him a sense of comfort that’s convinced him he couldn’t live without feeling them in any capacity.

In reality, Leon is just addicted to you, it’s that simple. You filled all of his senses completely, each in their regard a sign of his everlasting devotion to you and only you. You never complained, knowing that your boyfriend would rather show you his wants and needs over vocalizing them.

When he gets handsy it doesn’t take you by surprise anymore. If he didn’t find you in his bed in the morning, he knows you’d probably be in the kitchen drinking your coffee at the start of your day. He’d come up groggily behind you, head full of bed hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, digging his face into your neck. Placing soft kisses against your skin, you’d merely hum at him, realizing how touching you seemed to be part of his daily routine.

He’s a cuddler, enjoying being in your arms and resting with you when you both have the time to indulge. You don’t think he’d ever admit it, but he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp, his chest rumbling out a deep sigh as his head rested on your chest.

You also noticed how he was rather fond of your chest as a whole, using it as a personal stress ball or a pillow, same with your ass. Wearing a T-shirt in the apartment? He’d slip a hand underneath it just to give you a squeeze or rub. If you wore shorts or any baggy pants, he’d simply squeeze at your behind whenever he could, providing a soft pat when he walked by you.

There wasn’t a time of day where you didn’t find Leon touching you. The consistency of his behavior only warmed your heart more, knowing that if he ever stopped touching you there was something seriously wrong.

But what you loved most was just how pathetic Leon could get when he was desperate for your touch. It would always start the same, with you feeling his presence against your back. He’d start to kiss at any visible skin he could reach, breathing in your scent from behind your ear. You didn’t have to verbally ask him what had gotten into him, you already knew, but you still liked to tease him anyway.

“You need something?”, he’d hear you say, in that same tantalizing voice that would only make his dick throb. With a hum, Leon would softly bite your ear, sending a shiver down your spine at the touch.

“Need you”, it never amazed you how his voice would betray him so quickly, dropping an octave and raspier than before. It always lit the fire deep in your gut when you heard him like that.

You turned around to face him, looking into his eyes and noticing the growing blush on his cheeks. He took your hand in his, placing it on the growing bulge in his sweatpants and exhaling when he felt your touch.

“How long have you been like this?”, a silly question really, fully aware that all it took from you was a glance for Leon to get hard.

“A while. I was just thinking about you”, he muttered, hips pressing into your palm to gain more friction.

“You’re always thinking about me”

“Yeah, and I never hear you complaining”, he said, making you roll your eyes at the grin he had on his face.

You palmed Leon’s hardening cock through his sweats and took a glimpse at his pretty face. His eyes were already growing hazy, nostrils flaring out the slightest bit and biting at his bottom lip the more persistent your groping became. God, you could stare at him for hours whenever he got in the mood, just watching over every reaction he gave you with hungry eyes.

“Always need me to touch you, right?”, you moved closer to him then, one hand on his chest, and the other moving to trace the drawstring of his pants.

“All the damn time”, Leon nodded dumbly, taking your hips into his hands and squeezing gently, moving down to your ass and beginning to knead. You could only call his actions endearing, wanting to be touched so much that he didn’t know what to do with himself when it came to returning it.

Tilting your head up, you kissed him, holding on to the back of his neck and hearing him moan in your mouth. His growing need for you was evident in the way he kissed, eager for more and not satisfied until he felt your tongue against his. You pulled away too soon for his liking, forcing himself to swallow the whimper that settled in his throat.

You smirked at him, sneaking your hand underneath the waistband of his sweats to grasp his length fully, the groan he let out causing your underwear to dampen with your growing arousal. This was why you liked having Leon home, where he could go commando and you’d reap the benefits.

Pumping him slowly, you left kisses on his neck, soft and gentle in contrast to the intense way you made him feel. Leon threw his head back a bit, letting your lips graze over his pulse point and bite, his large hands clutching at your body to ground himself.

“Wanna feel you baby”, you whispered to him in his ear, your tone making his cock pulse in your hand, desperate for more attention.

“Please…”, he said, pulling his head back to look at you once more.

He kissed you again, walking you clumsily until your back was pinned to the kitchen counter behind you. You could feel your lips curl up in a smile as the blonde kissed you greedily, knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger. Not that Leon had any gripes about that, there was no other place he’d rather be than to the mercy of your touch. That’s where he belonged, and that’s where he’ll stay for as long as you’d let him.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[yukimiyaz]

PRETTY LITTLE NUMBER

mina ashido x fem!reader

INCLUDES: thigh riding. use of good girl. mina being hot

NOTES: another old thing i forgot i wrote lol

“you’re so pretty,” mina hums as she pulls back from the kiss, licking her lips to snap the string of spit separating the two of you. “aren’t you?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes cloudy as you chase after her pretty, pink, lip gloss smeared lips.

but mina doesn’t even think you really hear her, thinks you’d probably agree to just about anything right now based off that look on your face. and really, she can’t blame you and she can’t say she minds. you do look really pretty like this; swollen lips and messy hair and clothes half hanging off of you. she’s thankful she decided to leave that gala early after all if this is what was waiting for her when she got home. you; in her t-shirt you’ve claimed as your own and her favorite pair of panties. you; waiting on the edge of the bed with your lip tucked between your teeth. you; jumping her the second she’s within reach with a love drunk gaze and needy hands like you’ve downed some kind of potion.

yeah, you’re so pretty.

she wants to fuck you up.

“missed me, hm?” she asks, and you hum, and she smiles—because you’re still trying to chase after her, settling for her neck instead of her lips when she turns her head at the last minute. “just couldn’t wait for me to get home.”

“you looked so hot in that picture. couldn’t..couldn’t not think ‘bout you.” and you’re panting, so out of breath already and you haven’t even done anything. mina doesn’t miss it, the way your hips twitch. how they jerk down ever so slightly like they’re searching for something.

so she supplies you, as she always does, and slips a thigh between yours. she grins when she feels your moan ghost against her throat as your hips roll down this time, relishes in it like the warmth of a shower’s steam. she slides her hands up the expanse of your thighs, thumbs at the crease where they bend before settling at your hips. you sound so needy, so wanting, that she just can’t help but help you.

after all, this is her fault, isn’t it? she’s the reason you’re so worked up.

it had been an accident, honestly. an innocent mistake. you got off work late tonight and wouldn’t be home to make it to the gala. mina didn’t want to go without you, she told you walking in without her pretty little arm candy was pointless. but you’d convinced her, told her to go have fun with her friends, that you’d be home by the time she got back.

so it was innocent; when she snuck off to the bathroom about an hour in to the bummer of an affair and snapped a picture for you. it was just her in her dress, a sleek red number that was cut and curved in all the right ways that showed off, well, everything good about her. it had a simple caption, “so boring without you babe :(.” nothing special.

but honestly you weren’t too focused on the caption.

no, you were focused on the way her dress cut all the way down to the bottom of her sternum, the curve of her breasts filling out quite perfectly and giving anyone who’d dare to look a nice view. you were focused on how it really was a little number, hardly going under her ass, with a slit on the side clean up to her hip—no underwear in sight. you were focused on the way that she angled the picture so you could see her back, the entirety cut out and showcasing the expanse of her smooth, pink skin until the ink at the base of her spine. ink that spelt your name. ink that was there for everybody to see.

that warmth that had rushed between your thighs pooled up embarrassingly fast, and you couldn’t even think straight enough to conjure up a text back. which is what so happened to prompt mina to leave early, because it wasn’t like you. you’d always text back. always respond. especially when it was pictures. so she ditched; used you as an excuse when she gave kirishima a kiss on the cheek goodbye, waved to her friends. said you weren’t feeling good.

when in reality, you were apparently feeling the exact opposite.

“ashi!—“ you gasp as she guides your hips down, drags your dampened clothed cunt across her thigh with a purpose. you’re so wet already, she wonders if you were touching yourself before she got here.

“what, baby? what does my pretty girl want now?” she coos, and it’s a little condescending, a little titled at the edges. a tease disguised with adoration.

“i just.. i want..” and you’re so fucked, so out of your pretty little head that mina can’t help but laugh as she forces you to grind faster, harder, closer. she soaks in the cries you let out like rays of sunshine, basks in them like radiation from a space heater. you want her and she wants you to lose your fucking mind.

and it seems you’re pretty close to it.

“f-fuck,” you preen, throw your head back on your shoulders as your thighs twitch on either side of ashido’s. you don’t know how you got so close so fast but the pace is nearly dizzying. “please, i’m- i-“

“you’re what?” the wolffish grin on mina’s face is involuntary, she swears. you just bring out the absolute worst in her, and that isn’t her fault at all.

“hm? close?” she tugs your hips.

“right there?” her perfectly manacured nails dig into your plush skin.

“gonna cum?” and she bounces her thigh beneath you just as she grinds you down and the heat you’ve been drowning in is finally bubbling up to the surface all in one go.

“ashi, fuck!” you cry out, cling to her with your arms around her neck and claw at her shoulders as your hips jerk and shake and tense. you arch beautifully, such a pretty curve as you press your body into hers, dipping off with your head thrown back in a way that looks nearly painful. god you’re so pretty.

mina continues the gentle push and pull of your hips as you come down, rolls you along her thigh just to feel the twitch of your panty-clad pussy against her leg. she swallows down the whimpers you let out with drawn out kisses, letting every sound roll off your tongue and onto hers as you slowly but surely ease up.

with one last peck she pulls away from you, presses her thumb into your spit slicked bottom lip before pulling it down and letting it go to trace her hand down to your throat.

“good job, pretty baby,” she smiles, completely genuine and addicting as she slips her hand from your throat to your shoulder. she shoves it gently, forces you down little by little, until before you know it you’re stomach down on the mattress and face to face with her hips.

she hikes her dress up with a practiced ease despite the tightness and unveils her pretty pussy to you—no underwear underneath. you think for a second, about how your suspicions were just confirmed, but a second is all you get before a hand in gripping the back of your head and pulling you towards her perfect cunt. you look up at her and are greeted with hooded eyes absolutely dripping with desire.

“now be a good girl and return the favor.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Okay. I absolute love ASW serie. And i have a request about the boy’s holiday concert and knowing what Eddie thinking when she arrived. 🥰

I love see you in my notifications. You’re the best 🫶

Ooh I’ve been so excited for this one! Been chomping at the bit for it to be Christmas time so @munson-blurbs and I could write it lol. Eddie’s mentioned before how pivotal of a moment this was in regards to how he feels about reader, so I’m very glad and thankful you requested this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Words: 4.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

4:56. In four minutes, Eddie is supposed to take Ryan to school. The concert doesn’t start until 6, but kids have to be there early to warm up. He’s not quite sure how much a vocal warm-up will help second graders harmonize, but he’s not about to be the parent whose kid shows up late. 

His wife apparently does not share that same concern. 

4:57. 

Brittany was supposed to be home to watch Luke; Eddie knows better than to drag him along any earlier than he has to. Ryan is nervous enough about his solo, and he certainly doesn’t need his little brother incessantly asking questions that will only fuel his anxiety. 

4:58. 

“Daddy?” Ryan comes down the hall with you following close behind. “Can you tie my tie?”

Eddie nods, tongue poking from between his lips as he kneels down and fixes his son’s tie. It’s still a bit crooked—there are minimal opportunities for him to wear one as a mechanic, and even fewer now that he and Brittany rarely go on dates—but it will have to suffice. 

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at Ryan’s outfit, the red tie completing his white button-down, black slacks, and shiny shoes. “You’re so grown up!”

4:59. 

You catch Eddie glancing worriedly at the clock. He’s changed out of his coveralls and wears a maroon button-down shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and pants that match Ryan’s. He’s absolutely delicious; the thought of being the one to unbutton him has sweat prickling under your arms. 

“Ry, why don’t you go and get your brother?” Eddie says as gently as he can. Vaguely aware of the tension growing within his father, Ryan nods and heads off to do as he’s told.

As soon as the boy is out of earshot, Eddie mumbles, “shit” under his breath, and rubs his hand across his forehead. 

“He has to be there by—” you start to ask but are cut off by Eddie’s exasperated sigh.

“Yes, we need to leave. Now.” Eddie takes a deep breath and his eyes trail over to you. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you assure him with a shake of your head. “I completely get it. Brittany’s late, you need to get going, it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, Brittany’s late,” he murmurs more to himself before addressing you. “There’s no reason for me to take anything out on you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.” His words send a pleasant tingle down your spine. As he takes a step closer, you look up at him beneath your eyelashes. “I’m sorry I snapped, sweetheart.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.” Your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, trying to emphasize your point. All it does though is leave both of you on pins and needles at the touch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Ryan?” you offer, reluctantly bringing your hand down. “I’ll bring Luke by for the start of the show. This way you don’t have to try to wrangle the little monkey while you’re getting Ryan where he needs to be.”

Eddie’s brow furrows together and he eyes you warily. “A-Are you sure? Because I don’t have a problem taking on both of them. I’ll use a spare tie as a leash for Luke if I have to.”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image that conjures. Luke would manage to get a foot or so away and Eddie would reel him back in like a catfish. 

“I don’t mind. Really. Cross my heart and all.”

Eddie takes another moment to consider it and concedes as he nods his head. “That would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say with a dismissive wave. “I enjoy the talks Luke and I have when we hang out. I always end up learning something new.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a breathy chuckle. “Has he told you that one milliliter of ocean water can contain about 10 million viruses? I got that one at dinner the other night.”

“He has,” you say with a soft giggle. “And yet, he still says going to the beach is what he always wishes for when he throws a coin in the fountain at the mall.”

“Are we going?” Luke’s booming voice precedes both boys as they come into the room. The younger Munson brother looks more annoyed than anything. He probably knows he’ll have to stand around and do nothing before he is forced to sit in an uncomfortable seat and made to listen to his schoolmates unwittingly butcher Christmas Carols. 

“Nope, you’re coming with me,” you tell Luke, poking him on the top of his head as he walks by. “Daddy’s taking Ryan to school now and I’m gonna take you for the show.”

“Oh, good,” Luke says with a sigh of relief. Even Ryan looks a bit relieved; he knows it’s hard to corral his little brother. 

Eddie’s also noticeably calmer as he prepares himself to leave the house. He pats his pockets, and the jingling of keys lets him know he’s got them. Another pat to his back pocket confirms he’s got his wallet as well.

“All right,” he says, looking to Ryan. “You got everything? We ready to go?”

“Uh, I think so,” Ryan says. He looks down at the secured tie around his neck and can’t come up with anything else he might need. 

“Then let’s hit the road. We’ll see you guys later,” Eddie says, nodding at you and Luke.

“Bye, Daddy! Remember, don’t drive on black ice!”

Luke’s warning makes you giggle to yourself as you wave Eddie and Ryan out the door. Once the sound of Eddie’s truck has faded out of the driveway and down the road, Luke turns to you and places his hands on his little hips.

“What’re we gonna do?” he asks. 

“Hmm.” You pretend to ponder over his question as you walk to the other side of the room and pick up your purse. “What about, we go up and get your nice clothes for the concert and put them in your Scooby Doo backpack.”

“Why?” Luke asks, wrinkling up his nose. The small boy has a lot of adorable quirks, but you’re pretty sure that one’s your favorite.

“Well, I was thinking,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing goes better with a Christmas concert than some cookies and hot cocoa. I thought you and I could go grab some at the cafe near my apartment. And I know you, you’ll end up wearing half the snack, so it’s better we don’t get you into those nicer clothes until you have to.”

Luke’s big blue eyes light up at the idea of the sugary confections. His head nods so quickly that, with his small shoulders, he looks like a Munson Bobblehead. 

“Good idea!” he calls behind him as he races towards his room, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’m okay!”

The auditorium buzzes with excitement as you and Luke make your way down the aisle. Eddie sits in the front row, easily spotted by the mess of curls tucked into a low ponytail. His brown eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees you. 

“Oh, wow—I mean, you made it!” Eddie can’t help but gaze at the way your green velvet dress hugs you in all the right places. It’s flattering without even teetering on inappropriate for an elementary school concert. He recovers awkwardly but quickly, reflexively pulling at his collar to give himself more room to breathe. “Here, um, you guys take a seat…”

Luke bounds over to his dad, plopping into the chair between the two of you. Better off, Eddie thinks wryly, before I do something I really shouldn’t. He glances over at the handmade Naughty and Nice list propped up on the stage; if anyone could read his thoughts right now, he knows exactly where his name would be written. 

“Daddy, I had hot cocoa and cookies! And the cookies had chocolate chunks in them. Not chips—chunks,” Luke clarifies, underscoring the importance of differentiating between the two. 

You shrug guiltily. “Sorry, I needed a way to get him out of the house on time,” you explain. 

Eddie laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair before turning to you. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to negotiate with terrorists?” But above Luke’s line of vision, he mouths thank you, the inaudible movement of his lips sending sparks to your lower belly. 

Someone slides into the seat next to Eddie; you expect him to say that it’s taken, but he barely notices. Neither does Luke, and that’s what breaks your heart. Both he and Ryan are so accustomed to their mom missing important events that they no longer bat an eye. 

The lights in the auditorium dim and the audience breaks into polite applause as the spotlights click on and teachers usher their small students to where they’re supposed to stand. You have no doubt this is part of what they practiced with the children being here so early, but there’s a handful of kids who still don’t seem to have a clue of what they’re doing. 

Ryan is easy to pick out of the crowd. He’s one of the taller boys in his class so he stands up on the back rafter, a spotlight hitting his hair just so to make it look like a honey brown waterfall. Quickly, he catches sight of you as well and waves to you, his father, and brother as the rest of the kids are reaching their intended destinations on stage. Both you and Eddie acknowledge Ryan with small waves, but Luke whips his arm up in the air and waves it back and forth like he’s trying to signal a helicopter where to land. 

Feedback crackles over the microphone on center stage as a teacher steps up to it. She clears her throat and shields her bespectacled eyes from the bright lights aimed her way. She taps once, twice on the microphone before she leans in to speak, short blonde curls falling in her face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening for Hawkins Elementary School’s Festive Fun Holiday Concert.” There’s a small smattering of applause before she continues. “I am Mrs. Pierce. My class, along with the classes of Mrs. Lopez and Mr. Abrams, have been practicing very hard to bring you all a Christmas treat this evening.”

Luke has already tuned out the talking, his head on a swivel to take in all aspects of the small auditorium. He looks from the speakers to the light fixtures adorned with green garland, back to the kids on stage, then down the rows of the audience to see who all is there. You gently take his littler hand in yours and give it a soft squeeze. Just to ground him back in this moment from wherever his mind wandered off to. He smiles when you shoot him a wink and, now that the teachers are done talking, finds it easier to zone back into the show. 

Tinny music begins to play over the speakers stationed around the space and it takes you a moment to place the song as Let it Snow. The initial singing by the children is jarring, but not nearly as off-key as you were expecting. Some of the songs are a bit rough, but some are surprisingly pleasant as well. 

As the music transitions to the next song, you see Ryan take a step down from his rafter and make his way towards the front of the stage. He goes to one of the two microphones low enough for the children to access and waits. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts with all the children, but by the look of how nervous Ryan is, you’d wager that he has a solo coming up. His small fingers twist against one another as he does his best not to look out into the crowd. Though he’s naturally a shy boy, you can tell there’s some stage fright in there as well. It’s evident that his part is fast approaching when you see his little chest swell with breath, then release it slowly. Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as Ryan takes half a step closer to the microphone and opens his mouth.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

‘Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

A look of relief washes over Ryan’s face, but you can also see a bit of pride in the way that he smiles. And he should be proud! His small solo was excellent, and you can’t wait to dote on him over it later. 

You glance over at Eddie; his grin stretches across his face so widely that you wouldn’t be shocked if his cheeks hurt. He catches you looking and turns his head slightly, one eye winking as if to say, thanks for being here for my kid. Thanks for being here with me. 

And maybe it’s the way you giggle, or the way you make sure Luke is comfortable before easing back into your seat, or the way you cheer for Ryan like you’re at a stadium concert, but something shifts within Eddie. He’s always found you beautiful; tonight, you were downright stunning in that dress. It was the oldest cliché in the book: dad crushing on the hot, young babysitter. That’s how he’d managed to brush it off all this time. He was a man with needs, you were an attractive woman. Simple biology. 

What he’s feeling now is anything but straightforward. He doesn’t just want to sleep with you; no, he wants you by his side at every school function, every birthday party, every moment of his life, big or small. And not as the babysitter; as his girl. 

No, this is not a crush, and it’s not a cliché. It’s love. 

After the concert, both you and Eddie are excited to greet Ryan and gush over how well he did. The unspoken fear that you both have though, is that the seven-year-old will be heartbroken when he finds out that his mother didn’t attend the performance. While Luke fidgets where you wait outside of the auditorium for his brother, you and Eddie trade nervous glances as the kids start coming out.

“Where is he?” Luke bemoans after the third student comes out and it isn’t the one he wants. 

Ryan comes barreling out of the red double doors, laughing with a group of his friends. The moment he spots you and his family, he waves goodbye to the other kids and dashes over to you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie holding his breath, waiting on pins and needles to hear what the first thing out of his oldest son’s mouth will be.

“I did it!” Ryan cheers.

Eddie sags in relief and even you feel unburdened of a weight you weren’t aware you were holding. The smile on Ryan’s face is pure glee and he’s practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“I’m so proud of you!” Eddie tells him, throwing one arm around the boy’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with the other. “You were the best one up there.”

Ryan’s cheeks turn pink at his father’s praise. Of course, you just pile on top of it, relishing in the way he gets embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time. 

“My little George Michael!” you say as you pull Ryan in for a hug. His nose wrinkles up at your comparison but the smile on his face only grows.

Luke looks up at his big brother. “Y’know, I always thought it was froggy Christmas Eve.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie asks, “bud…why would Christmas Eve be froggy?”

“I dunno,” Luke shrugs, “maybe Santa was delivering a lot of frogs. Or the reindeer got tired, so he had frogs pull his sleigh. Or—”

Eddie puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders and laughs. “All right, Frog Boy. What do you say we get home and celebrate Ryan’s rockstar moment?”

Everyone agrees to that, the four of you walking through the double doors and into the parking lot. Ryan takes Eddie’s hand, and Luke takes yours. 

“Where’d you park?” Eddie asks you, and you realize he wants to escort you to your car. Heat creeps up your neck at his small act of chivalry. Part of you suspects that if you shivered, he’d offer his jacket. 

Maybe if you were more courageous, you’d test that theory. 

“Oh, um, over there.” You point towards your car, leading the way. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you; protectiveness with a hint of possession. It’s lust with something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You dig your keys out of your bag, smiling triumphantly when you find them quickly. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow?” You laugh kindly, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ry. You’re brave and talented.”

A blush settles into Ryan’s cheeks. “Thanks. Um, I’m glad you got to hear me sing. You’re the best.”

“Me, too,” Eddie chimes in, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you got to hear him sing, too. Not that I think you’re the best. Not that you’re not the best, because the kids love you, and you, um—”

“Hey, look what I found!” 

Eddie has never been more grateful for one of Luke’s interruptions. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe!” The little boy holds something that is certainly not mistletoe above his head. “See?”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s a leaf.”

“And a very dead one at that,” Eddie muses, plucking the stem from Luke’s fingers. 

A pout puckers Luke’s lips. “You gotta use your imagination!” he insists, taking the pseudo-mistletoe and jumping up and down between you and Eddie. “Now…you…gotta…kiss!”

“No, we don’t,” you and Eddie blurt out in unison. 

“Yes, you do,” Luke indignantly sighs. “It’s the law.”

Before he can wimp out, Eddie swoops in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where his lips brushed against it, and you’re left speechless. 

Luke, however, remains unimpressed. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not real mistletoe,” Eddie retorts, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Eddie was hoping that the ride home would help lull the boys to sleep like it used to when they were babies. Ryan still has adrenaline going through him from the concert though, and Luke is feeding off of that energy.

They’re both talking a mile a minute and neither one of them quiet, but Eddie doesn’t hear a word they say because his mind is so focused on you. You offering to bring Luke to the school later when he had to bring Ryan. You in that curve-hugging dress. You showing up for Ryan when his own mother didn’t. You, with the softest skin when his lips brushed your cheek. 

Realizing that he’s in love with you should make Eddie feel worse than it does. The guilt that’s gnawing at his stomach is somewhat abated by the fact that Brittany’s been screwing a litany of men for years. Does it make it worse or better that she probably had no feelings for any of those men? He’s not sure it’s possible for her to truly love anyone besides herself.

Eddie can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about his feelings for you, though. The way you make him happy is something that he hasn’t experienced in years—if Brittany ever truly made him this happy at all. Everything about you brings joy to Eddie. Well, other than when he thinks of how much younger you are and how you’re surrounded by college age guys who must be tripping over themselves to go out with you. That provides him with a sickening feeling that leaves him dizzy. It’s much easier to focus on the fantasy of being with you, not the reality of where or who you might be headed home to tonight. 

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, the boys are decidedly less quiet, though they’re still chatting away. Brittany’s car is parked there as well, sitting idly next to where Eddie’s truck now is. Eddie wordlessly gets out of the car and lets the boys keep talking about whatever it is they’re talking about as he walks with them up to the front door, the light dusting of snow floating down kissing their cheeks and noses. 

“It’s late, I want you boys to head to your rooms and put your pajamas on, okay?” Eddie says as he unlocks the door. Both boys agree—begrudgingly, on Luke’s part. 

Brittany isn’t in sight when they first step into the house, which has Eddie breathing a sigh of relief. He really shouldn’t be feeling that way about seeing his own wife, should he? Oh well, that ship sailed a long time ago.

The boys head down the hall and as Ryan passes the kitchen, he skids to a halt and does a double take. 

“Hi, Mom!” he says with an enthusiastic wave. Eddie’s prepared for his oldest to launch into the story of how great the concert was and how much fun he had, but he just continues down the hall towards his room. Luke didn’t even stop to greet his mother. 

Eddie drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It’s slightly wet to the touch from the flurries that landed on him between the truck and the house.

If Brittany had just missed an event of his, Eddie wouldn’t give two shits or make a big deal of it. But this was Ryan’s big night, something that she should have wanted to and made sure to attend. Now Eddie feels the need to make a stink about it.

He wanders into the kitchen and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. As soon as he steps inside, he sees Brittany leaning against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, absolutely glaring at him. The look takes him aback. Why in the hell is he getting that look? She’s the one who has to explain herself. 

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany says, further shocking her husband. 

“I…what?” Eddie asks. He almost feels too dumbfounded to speak. It quickly crosses his mind that maybe she somehow figured out the epiphany he had about his feelings for you tonight, but if Brittany could read minds things would have gone downhill a lot sooner in their marriage than this. 

“You left without me. You couldn’t even wait until I got home?” Brittany slams the glass of water down on the counter and takes a step towards him. 

Eddie quickly checks to make sure the boys haven’t stepped in behind him before he raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I did wait, Britt. I waited until the last goddamn minute. But Ryan had to get to the school, and I wasn’t about to make him late just because you couldn’t be bothered to be home on time.”

The sneer Brittany gives him could curdle milk. 

“So now my son is going to think that I don’t care because I didn’t go tonight,” she seethes.

Eddie toys with the idea of telling her that he didn’t seem to care one iota that she wasn’t there, but he doesn’t want Ryan to catch even a smidgen of her wrath. 

“You have a car. You know where the damn school is. Why didn’t you get your ass over there when you got home?”

“That isn’t the point!” she snaps. Eddie now knows that this argument has moved from rational and logic, to whatever bullshit straws Brittany can grasp at. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, knowing full well he’s already fighting a losing battle. “What is the point?” He crosses his arms over his chest and Brittany mirrors the action, as if annoyed she didn’t think of taking up the offended posture first. 

“That you didn’t wait for me. Your wife. I had to come home probably five minutes after you left!”

“And I told you why we left when we did. I also provided you with what you could have alternatively done, but that would mean admitting that you’re wrong and God forbid you do that.” Brittany opens her mouth, but Eddie shakes his head and cuts her off before she can say anything. “Fucking forget it. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eddie goes to turn down the hallway towards the master bedroom when he realizes he never took off his boots. He stalks back to the front door and kicks them off, using the wall for balance. When his eyes flit back up from his feet, they catch sight of his jacket—and Brittany’s next to it. He narrows his eyes as he looks at them side by side. His is still wet from the melted snow coating it, but Brittany’s is wet as well. It’s not just the side where his jacket is brushing up against it, either. Eddie reaches for the arm of the jacket on the opposite side and feels that it’s just as wet as his own. If Brittany had really come home just after they’d left, there’s no way it would still be wet.

Dropping the jacket sleeve and letting out a huff of unamused laughter, Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Brittany is no stranger to lying. She probably got home about five minutes before they did, but in typical Brittany fashion, had to spin everything so she’s the victim even when she’s the one in the wrong. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He rubs at his eyes as he walks back down the hallway. He’s way too tired to deal with any of this bullshit. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. I’ll just get ready for bed and then I can lay down and think about the woman who actually shows up for me and my boys—and try to imagine she doesn’t do it purely out of the goodness of her heart, and that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I do her.

He can hear Brittany talking on the kitchen phone, prattling on to her friend about how her awful husband cruelly abandoned her at their son’s holiday concert. Looking over at the empty half of the bed, he pictures you sleeping there. His arms would wrap around you as you whisper about how proud you are of Ryan or relay a funny tidbit from Luke. Eddie would kiss your forehead as you drift off to sleep, reveling in your beauty even as you slumber.  His own eyelids soon grow heavy with the day’s physical and emotional exhaustion. Before he falls asleep, he manages to eke out a wish to dream of you tonight. 

[talaok]

Hey. I have an idea for pedro and reader

The reader's ex calls her in the middle of the night begging her back to him and the reader gets out the bedroom trying not to wake pedro up and avoid any fight but he wakes up and gets jealous and angry

Jealous Pedro is my own personal curse lol, I genuinely don’t get why you like him. But for you? Anything babes. Also, happy ending won in the poll, but thanks to an anon I've decided to write both endings bc I'm an asshole

warnings: jealousy, angst

Pt.2

Oh fuck please not again.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you didn’t even need to look at the caller to know who it was.

Only one person would call you at 4:45 am. the same one that had been flooding you with texts and calls for a week now.

You had been ignoring him, telling yourself that “It’s just a phase” and “it’ll pass”, but god, had you been wrong.

You and Jason had broken up two years ago now, and casually, just when you had finally made your relationship with Pedro public, he felt the need to connect with you again.

That's not how Jason had always been, he was once caring and fun and everything you needed... until he wasn't.

He hadn't taken your breaking up with him well, and you tried to be understanding of it, god knows you had been in the same position too once or twice, your heart broken, your mind confused- but then when after two months he'd still call you crying, you decided to give him a little tough love by texting him something that could be summarized in "I know you're hurt but this is getting kind of ridiculous at this point" and by blocking him.

Somewhere after that, for some godforsaken reason, you had decided to unblock him, and to really show off your decision-making skills, you even answered the phone when he had called you last week, finding him in tears, begging for a second chance.

If you were anyone to judge, this call wasn't gonna be much different, but this story had to end at one point, and as you got up from the bed, sneaking out of the room as Pedro breathed soft snores into the air, you decided the time had come.

"Jason?" you whispered, tiptoeing to the living room.

"baby? Oh my god it's really you, I've been trying to call you"

"yeah I saw" you stated, not short of sarcasm

"Oh t-that's ok, you were busy I jus-"

"no Jason I wasn't busy, this is inappropriate"

"Wha-what are you talking about baby, I love you" 

there went the tears again

"Jason I'm sorry alright, but I don't, I have a boyfriend, I'm happy"

"no you don't understand babe I can't live without you, I love you more than life y/n, more than anything... I- I need you"

"Jason we broke up a long time ago. It's over. It has been for a while now"

"you don't mean that baby, we love each other, remember how good we were together? I know you do"

"stop calling me baby and stop calling me in general Jason. I don't love you and I don't want to get back together" Your voice raised to a whispery-yell as you got more frustrated.

"Why are you whispering- Is he there? Let me talk to him"

"why would I do that? What would you even want to tell him?"

"I'm sure I can make him understand, man to man y'konw-"

"oh shut up" you rolled your eyes "Jason stop calling me"

"but bab-"

"No. No buts, it's over. we're never getting back together. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep, and I suggest you do the same"

"y/n please- I love you, I need you I-"

"goodnight Jason. Don't call me again" You didn't give him time to finish as you hung up, throwing your phone on the couch and closing your eyes as you took a very well-deserved deep breath.

Fuck this shit man.

"Who was it?"

You jumped on your feet, a shiver of fear running down your spine as you turned towards the ominous voice.

"Pedro-" you sighed, taking in his sleep-filled expression.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you" he apologized, with a soft chuckle "Who were you talking to?"

shit

"uh- don't worry, it was no one"

"I don't think it was no one if you got up at 4 in the morning to answer, did something happen?"

"no-no nothing like that, it's stupid, don't worry"

He frowned as he studied your expression, clearly confused at your secrecy.

"Who was it?"

Your eyes focused behind him at the glimpse of your room the opened door granted.

Everything was fine just 10 minutes ago...

"It was Jason"

Pedro paused a moment, taken aback by your answer

"Jason as in your ex-boyfriend Jason?" he asked "And why exactly was Jason calling you in the middle of the night?"

"it's not what you think" 

This was why you didn't want him to know.

He had a history with unfaithfulness, the woman before you had cheated on him multiple times and left him hurt and bruised, and it was hard for him to fully trust you - or anyone for that matter- after that.

you didn't want him to close off again, you trusted each other, and you feared this would have given him a reason to get back to old habits.

"It's not? 'cause it sure looks like it"

"no, let me explain-" you got closer to him.

"I'm so fucking stupid" he huffed, not listening to you 

"no you're not, just-listen to me" you said, putting a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down

He watched you, hurt and anger in his eyes, but he took a breath, nodding as he grumbled a "fine"

"He's been calling me for a while-"

"is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Baby, let me talk" you reminded him, and he gave you another non-enthusiastic nod "He's been calling me since I made our relationship public, saying that he wants to get back with me and that he loves me..." you paused, glancing at the way he tightened his fists by his side "and I've been ignoring him because-" your lips turned into a soft smile as you reached for his hand "...well because I've got you, and I don't want anybody else in the world except you"

You intertwined your fingers with his and brought his hand up to your mouth to leave a quick kiss on it.

"and the only reason why I answered tonight is because I was sick of it, and I wanted to tell him once and for all that we're done because I love you, and only you Pedro" You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek "I promise"

You saw the way your words affected him.

And as much as he tried to fight it, you were always the only one able to calm him down, even when his worst fear came to life. Because he loved you, but most importantly... he trusted you.

"are you telling the truth?" he finally asked, as if in his mind he wasn't praying for you to be doing just that.

He didn't want to lose you, he couldn't.

"I am baby. I swear" 

His eyes left yours for a second as he took a deep breath

"why didn't you tell me? I would have done something, I would have gone have a talk with that asshole"

You let out a small laugh

"yeah, a talk" you teased, raising your eyebrows "And besides it didn't matter, it was just a stupid thing not worth your time"

he took your other hand in his, shaking his head

"if he, or anybody else, does this again you tell me, ok?" 

As much as you wanted to joke about how many crazy exes he believed you had, you decided this wasn't the time.

"ok" you smiled "I promise"

"good" he nodded, bending down to ghost your lips "Now let's go to bed so I can remind you of a few things I'm sure I'm better at than Jason"

__ __ __

or... (angst with no happy ending)

__ __ __

"It's not what you think"

"It's not? 'cause it sure looks like it"

"It was just a phone call Pedro, just let me explain"

"A phone call with your ex-boyfriend"

"yes, exactly my ex-boyfriend"

"This is unbelievable," he huffed, passing a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture "I fucking trusted you. You made me trust you, and then... then you go screw that fucking asshole behind my back"

"I'm not screwing anybody"

"sure you aren't" he turned to walk away, but you grabbed his arm.

"Listen to me"

"To what? more lies?" he snapped 

"No Pedro I can explain if you just let me talk"

"I don't need an explanation, I know exactly what's going on, just- leave me, I'll go"

"Just like that?" you questioned "You don't even wanna hear me out for a second? You so easily lose all the trust you had in me?"

"Can you blame me?" 

"This is ridiculous, I've answered the phone to tell him to stop calling, that's the only reason why! I'm not cheating on you" you spoke, your tone getting louder "And the fact that you came to that conclusion so quickly is fucking insulting"

"right" he snickered "so you answered the phone at four in the morning to tell him to stop calling, very believable y/n" he shook his head "and to think you're a fucking actress"

"fuck you Pedro" you spat out "You know what? I deserve someone who trusts me, who lets me fucking speak and explain myself, not someone who at the first mistake throws me out like trash"

"And I deserve someone who's not a cheater. Guess we both deserve better"

"I guess we do"

[shokosmokes]

﹒◌﹒hockey au﹒✧﹒

hi! so this is super self indulgent based on this post i made hehe n im super excited to write this, i hope u enjoy (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

this is probably gonna be super lengthy so this is just part one lol

copy-pasted from my notes app so sorry if there’s any errors

masterlist

———————————————————————————————————

megumi x reader x yuji love triangle

tooth rotten fluff with a bit of angst

The music is loud—too loud for your taste—but you don’t really care. You’re not here for the party, not really. You’re here because you promised some new friends you’d show up. After all, that’s what people do when they want to feel like they belong, right? Pretend to be interested in house parties with thumping bass, cheap beer, and sweaty college students pressed together like sardines.

You tug at the sleeves of your sweater nervously, trying to blend into the wall, regretting not bringing a drink. At least it would’ve given your hands something to do. You scan the crowded living room, your eyes flicking over the mass of people, mind wandering until you spot a familiar face—or rather, two.

Yuji Itadori is hard to miss. His bright pink hair stands out against the dim lighting, and he’s laughing at something, his wide grin infectious even from across the room. Next to him, Megumi Fushiguro looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his expression as unreadable as ever. The complete opposite of Yuji’s playful demeanor.

It’s funny how they balance each other out like that. Yuji, the bright, silly one who lights up every room he walks into, and Megumi, the quiet, brooding one, always watching from the sidelines. You haven’t known them long, but even you can tell they’re close in a way that most people would envy.

And yet, here you are, watching them, unsure of where you fit into the picture.

“Hey!” Yuji’s voice suddenly cuts through the noise as he jogs over to you, his face lighting up when he sees you. “You came! I didn’t think you’d show up.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his excitement wash over you. “I almost didn’t, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” His grin widens, and he turns, waving toward Megumi, who’s still standing by the drinks table, looking completely out of place. “Megumi, come over here! She’s finally here!”

Megumi’s eyes flick over to you, and for a moment, your gazes lock. His expression softens slightly, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he gives a small nod and walks over, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low but steady.

“Hey,” you echo, feeling your pulse quicken for no good reason.

The three of you stand there for a moment, Yuji’s energy bouncing between you, while Megumi’s silence settles like a blanket over the noise of the party. You feel the tension immediately. Not in a bad way, just... tension. The kind that makes your heart race for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on.

“So,” Yuji begins, clearly trying to break the silence, “have you been to any of our hockey games yet? We’ve got a big one coming up next week.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden change in topic. Hockey? Right. They’re both on the team, something you keep forgetting since you’ve never actually seen them play. It’s not really your thing, but the thought of seeing them on the ice—sweaty and focused—sends a strange shiver down your spine.

“No, I haven’t been to any yet,” you admit. “But maybe I’ll come to the next one.”

Yuji’s eyes light up like you’ve just made his day. “You should! It’s gonna be great. Megumi’s an amazing defender. You’ll love it.”

You glance at Megumi, who shifts uncomfortably under Yuji’s praise. “I’m not that great,” he mutters.

“You’re amazing, dude,” Yuji counters, playfully nudging his friend. “Don’t be so modest.”

You find yourself smiling at their dynamic. It’s hard not to get swept up in Yuji’s enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come,” you say, laughing a little at how easily you’ve been convinced.

“Awesome!” Yuji’s grin is infectious. “I’ll make sure you get a good seat.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you, something quiet and unreadable flickering in them. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it makes your heart race in a way that you’re not sure you’re ready to acknowledge.

You’re not here for hockey. You’re not here for parties. But somehow, being here with them feels like it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.

---

Later that week, you find yourself sitting in the cold, buzzing arena, clutching a cup of hot chocolate as you watch the players take to the ice. You have to admit, there’s something captivating about watching them skate, the fluid motion of their bodies gliding across the rink. Your eyes keep wandering back to two figures—Yuji and Megumi.

Yuji is in his element, grinning even through his helmet, waving to the crowd every chance he gets. His energy is infectious, even from the stands. Megumi, on the other hand, is focused, eyes narrowed in concentration as he defends the goal like his life depends on it. The contrast between them is striking.

Your stomach twists when Yuji skates by, throwing you a playful wink. He’s just so... Yuji. Bright, carefree, and completely unaware of the effect he has on people. On you.

And Megumi... God, Megumi.

Every time you see him on the ice, you feel that strange pull in your chest again. There’s something about him—something quiet and intense—that makes your heart race in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t as obvious as Yuji, but there’s a warmth to him, hidden beneath that cool, stone-faced exterior.

---

After the game, you’re surprised when both of them ask you to hang out—separately, of course.

Yuji wants to go to the arcade. Megumi invites you to a quiet coffee shop he likes, one tucked away from the busy part of campus.

You don’t know how to say no to either of them.

---

Megumi’s fingers brush yours as he hands you a book he thinks you’ll like, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he pulls back. “This one’s good,” he says softly, almost shyly. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you take the book from him, your hands barely touching. “Thanks,” you whisper, feeling the weight of his attention settle over you.

Megumi is so... subtle. His affection, if it’s even that, comes in quiet gestures. A brush of fingers here, a soft look there. It makes your heart race in a way that feels... different. Dangerous, almost.

But then, there’s Yuji.

---

“Gotcha!” Yuji laughs as he beats you—again—at one of the games at the arcade, his playful grin lighting up his whole face.

You can’t help but laugh with him, your heart soaring at the pure joy in his eyes. Being with Yuji feels easy, like the sun has come out and everything is just... fun.

But it isn’t just fun. Not for you.

You’re torn. Between the boy who makes you feel safe, like a warm hug on a cold day, and the boy who sets your heart on fire, unpredictable and thrilling.

You don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you don’t feel anything for either of them.

———————————————————————

end of pt. 1 /).(\ pt. 2 coming very soon

[cherrybyunss]

Ship: Park Jisung (NCT) x female reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption, Smoking, Dirty Talking, Oral (M receiving), Fingering, Protected Sex, Nipple Play.

A/N: This is the first scene of the new fiction I'm working on called "Make Me Feel Lightweight", which was inspired by the song "Streets" by Doja Cat. And by inspired, I mean I was listening to the song an started writing. The entire story is a little angsty but this excerpt is just pure smut, so till I'm done, please go ahead and enjoy whatever smut excerpts I post on here lol.

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), not proofread, protection is important, this is purely fictional and has nothing to do with the real idol.

cheryybyunss Masterlist

________________

“Hey.” 

Courtesy of the flashing lights and loud music of the club, combined with the alcohol in your system, you’d barely heard yourself, but you were sure you had the attention of the man you’d whispered to, with the lingering touch, and the dangerous eye contact – his body language matching your own flirtatious one. 

“Hi.” 

Jisung was a junior in college. He was a part of the brother fraternity of the sorority you used to be in. Part of the same social circle, you’d talked to him enough over the past couple years, quantitatively and qualitatively, to occasionally be considered close. 

You showed him the cigarette in your hand. You wished to smoke with him alone, and he seemed to love the idea, for he took your hand and led the two of you to a secluded corner where the bass from the sound system didn’t feel like your own heartbeat. 

“Say,” You spoke as Jisung took the last puff. “Are you single?” Just to be sure. 

“Yes.” Jisung breathed, exhaling the smoke. Damn was he hot. 

But you knew that. “Do you do hook-ups?” 

“Yes.” His eyes got darker, in spite of the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. 

“And...” You stepped in front of him as you spoke. “Do you...” You moved in closer and spoke against his ear. “Hook up with people you might have to see again...” You made your way down his ear, your lips ever so slightly tracing the skin. “And again...” You breathed against his neck, as if waiting for his permission. “And again.” 

You felt him snap as he turned you around and slammed you against the wall, and his lips against yours. You felt your soul leave your body from how fucking good that felt in your tummy. Jisung was hot. 

His hand grabbed your waist under your top, and you gasped, clutching his back and shoulders for support. The longer you kissed, the more desperate you grew, and Jisung was the same. 

He pushed your chin up with his thumb as he frantically moved down to kiss your neck with the same heat, and you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back. 

Ah yes. Just what you’d wanted. 

He found a weak spot, and sucked, and you positively lost your mind.  

He pulled away, catching his breath, mercifully letting you do the same, and looked at you with eyes that made chills run down your spine. 

“You sure like dangerous games.” He spoke, not looking away even for a second. 

And you smiled playfully in the drunken haze, as you took his hand, slowly bringing his fingers up to your mouth, and his eyes turned dark with anticipation. 

You licked a stripe up his fingers, looking him straight in the eyes, before closing in on two, and taking your sweet time pulling them out as you sucked in. 

You were making your own case worse if you were being honest, for his hands were the fucking epitome of sex appeal, and the reason you’d first gotten off to the thought of the younger boy fucking you. 

But you could see him gradually lose his mind as his breathing got heavier, and reveled in the effect you were having, pressing your legs together for your own sake. 

Jisung was hot.  

You leaned in, whispering into his ear again. “You wish you were privy to the games I like, sweetheart.” 

And he grabbed your hand and made his way across the club. 

You were sure some of your friends had seen you. And maybe you weren’t supposed to fuck Jisung. But it was way past you to care. You had nothing to lose anymore. 

The restroom would’ve been a nuisance, so you ever so discreetly snuck the two of you into the staff-only restroom, which turned out to be way cleaner and more spacious than you’d imagined. 

But that thought could only last so long when Jisung pushed you up against the counter in front of the mirror, using his own arm as a shield from the impact as the other circled your waist so your back was pressed up against his chest. 

He nuzzled into your neck as the two of you stood face to face with your reflection, before licking a strip up to a sensitive spot, and sucked again, tightening his grip on your waist. 

You gasped as your eyes rolled shut, and your head fell back onto his shoulder, giving him access for more. But you needed to see. See how bothered you looked at his mercy.

“Allow me,” He looked your reflection straight in the eyes as whispered against your ear, and you felt yourself lose your mind as you felt impossibly turned on by him. 

His hand moved down, making you burn in anticipation, before he pulled your skirt up and ran a couple fingers between your legs. 

You shuddered, your legs almost giving in. 

He pushed the cloth adorning your core to the side, and exhaled as his fingers massaged the slit, making your breath come out in broken moans. 

“So fucking wet...” Jisung spoke before biting onto your ear. 

“Aah–”  

He teased the clit and entrance a little, simultaneously leaving hickeys on your neck and shoulders. 

But you groaned in desperation, and he bit down onto your skin as he pushed a finger inside and curled it onto the sweetest spot, and you saw stars. 

Not allowing you fall forward, he propped your chin up with his thumb. “Look at you, so pretty.”

He hummed in satisfaction, a dark smile appearing on his face when you clenched around his fingers. His compliment had a condescending tone but you loved every bit of it.

He found the perfect rhythm as you screamed in ecstasy, your back arching away from him and legs closing in, but you were no match for his strength, for he continued to assault that one spot till you were clenching around his fingers and begging him not to stop.

“Jisung–” You were cut off by your own moaning. “Oh my god, that feels amazing!” You managed to exclaim.

Jisung smiled, and you caught the sight of him just in time as he licked a strip up against your ear and breathed, “Cum for me.”

You felt your soul leave your body as you came all onto his fingers, and he knew exactly how to let you ride that wave out. It was the best fucking orgasm you’d had in a long time.

And looking at the mess you called yourself in the mirror through and after it – with your flushed out cheeks and teary eyes, made you feel butterflies in your stomach – a feeling you knew you wouldn’t be acknowledging ever again.

Jisung only waited till you’d caught your breath before turning you around and kissing you like a man starved. And not yet having recovered completely at all, it made you lose your balance.

One of your hands latched onto his shoulder, as you supported yourself up against the slab with the other.

His tight grip on your waist, combined with the heat he kissed you with was starting to make you dizzy, when you felt his hard on against your abdomen, and of all feelings, it made you blush.

Never breaking away from him – for it felt like you never could, one of your hands travelled forth on its own, and you heard Jisung gasp when you bit his lip at the same time as you gave his length a stroke.

Jisung pulled away and looked at you with shadowed eyes, and breath heavy. And you felt your walls clench around nothing.

“Do you have a condom?” You spoke.

And Jisung wasted no time before pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, and taking out the condom before discarding the wallet onto the counter.

He watched you as you unbuckled his belt and lowered yourself onto the floor.

Jisung was big.

The initial shock wore off as he caressed your hair, setting your skin on fire, before holding all the hair back so you had none in your way.

You’d had guys acting like this all the time, but Jisung was driving you haywire for some reason.

He was hard already, standing bigger than anything you thought your already sensitive core could take at the time but you couldn’t help but give him a couple of strokes, meeting his eyes every now and then, before taking the length into your mouth, and sucking.

Jisung took  sharp breath, his grip on your hair tightening.

You continued to work your mouth in ways you knew would drive him crazy, and his groans and sighs felt like music to your ears.

Saving yourself from getting carried away, you pulled away and stood up. And thankfully, Jisung needed no instructions, for he grabbed your waist and slip you onto the counter top before pulling your panties off and discarding them.

He rolled the condom on, lined his cock up against your entrance, and with a singular nod from you, he rammed into you, making you grab onto him and scream.

Oh my god! It was absolutely outrageous how amazing Jisung felt.

“Aaah–” Your screams came out in broken moans with every thrust as you felt yourself get consumed by pleasure in lieu of sanity.

“You like that?”

“Fuck yes! Jisung– Aah! Please don’t s-stop!”

“Of course, baby.” He spoke in a harsh voice, and bit your ear, increasing the force he was using, and you positively lost any semblance of grace you’d ever felt.

One of Jisung’s hands went behind you, and he undid the clasp your bra, before pulling your top down, and exposing your breasts to him.

He grabbed one of them, still fucking into you like an animal, and sucked onto your nipple. And your back arched as your primitive self practically took over with how loud you allowed yourself to scream as you came.

Jisung fucked you through your orgasm, the way you clenched around him triggering his own, hands desperately gripping onto the other as waves of pleasure washed over the two of you.

Both of you stayed in the same position till you caught your breath, and then looked at each other, before a smile made its way onto both of your faces.

Jisung carefully pulled away, discarding the condom, and getting to cleaning up after the two of you.

“Fuck.” You said, and grinned as you sat atop the slab.

“What?” Jisung smiled softly himself.

“I needed you to be good at this so bad.” You said, covering your face sheepishly.

And Jisung chuckled. “I’m assuming I was.”

“An understatement, if I may.”

Jisung walked over in front of you, cupped your face with one of his hands, and kissed you.

Your eyes fell shut, and a familiar feeling returned.

Jisung kissed your jaw, and then neck one more time before pulling away.

“Should I be looking forward to getting used to this?” He smiled.

And you felt the sinking feeling deepen till it clutched your brain.

You shook your head, plopping yourself up on the floor with your hands.

“It was a one-time thing, Ji.”

Jisung looked like a mix of puzzled and disappointed. Rightfully so.

“I have someone I love.”

________________

cheryybyunss Masterlist