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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

Text

teamwork

kinktober, day twenty-six

a/n: ........I mean, how could i not? it's a classic.

summary: “oh, naughty, naughty you,” Tony crossed his arms with a chuckle, “what were you hoping to get out of this, huh? Sneak in here and seduce the whole team? Is one just not enough for you?” the rest of the men snickered at his mocking quips.

warnings: reader x pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson), smut, slight dubcon, pro athlete au (even though i know the majority of them are american, i’m just gonna say that they play for a team somewhere else just so that i don’t have to say soccer, it hurts my soul), the old oops i accidentally walked into the locker room trope, gangbang, everyone's a hoe, established relationship, kissing, size kink, dirty talk, handjobs, oral, thigh riding, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, bukkake, spit kink, squirting, impact play, choking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

word count: 5400

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masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“You were amazing out there,” you purred between pecks as Steve’s firm thigh, slotted between your own, rubbed against your core, your short skirt flaring out over the shorts of his uniform.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, his lips fluttering down your neck as he uttered, “you know, I think was even better with you in the audience,” nudging his leg more determinedly against you as you melted against the wall he had you pressed against, “like you brought me luck or something.”

Just then, as you felt yourself begin to soak through your underwear and mark your boyfriend’s uniform, someone from further down the hallway poked their head out of a door and shouted, “hey, Rogers!” reeling back from the crook of your neck with a peeved exhaled, Steve cast his glance in the individual's direction, “coach wants a word with you in his office.”

“Alright, thanks,” he nodded before turning his attention back to you, arms firm on either side of your head, cosily caging you in as he spoke, “I’ll be right back,” his leg reluctantly retracted from your warmth, “there is lounge down around the corner there that should be on the quiet side about now if you don’t wanna wait out here,” he offered a vague nod to his left before dipping down to near your lips one last time.

Smile growing wide at his considerateness, you breathed, “okay,” but the kiss you thought he wanted to give to you never came as his nose just ghosted against your own, seemingly savouring the moment before you felt him shift and his finger disappeared below your skirt, “Steve, what are you-,” but the rest of your sentence never saw the light of day as, with a daring smirk on his lips, Steve swiftly kneeled down before you and snatched your underwear down past your knees, keeping his eyes on yours as he methodically manoeuvred your jelly like legs to steal the sodden garment completely.

“I’ll come find you in a bit, yeah?” he placed a playful peck right above your knees before straightening back up.

“Steve!” you hazily giggled as he began to disappear down the corridor.

“10 minutes, 15 tops!” he called over his shoulder as he sauntered away from your stunned form, “then I’m claiming my prize!”

With a breathy chuckle still billowing from your lips, you pulled out your phone and rounded the corner, scrolling through your options of temporary entertainment as you neared the room that you could supposedly wait in.

Eyes glued to the small screen in your hands, you didn’t even glance up as you reached the first door you approached, not assuming there were any other options, you simply pushed it open and strolled in.

Fully expecting that you were nearing a couch or something soon, the room you’d blindly entered turned out to not be the lounge you’d thought it was, but instead, the team’s locker room as you swiftly walked straight into a broad and bare chest.

“Wow, I’m sorry-,” your eyes tore away from your screen to finally discover where you were. Vision growing wide, you stared up at the athlete before you, his golden mane rustling from the collision, “I-I-…”

Blinking up at Thor, your own name even escaped your memory as you found yourself in the very last place you should have wandered into.

From off to the side, you heard the voice of Tony holler, “hey sweetheart, fans aren’t allowed in here,” before leaning closer to the sandy buzzcut beside him and muttering quietly, “I thought they said they had tightened security around here…”

With your feet still frozen to the floor, your mouth hung agape as your eyes glazed over the recognisable individuals throughout the room, all in various states of undress. As Thor’s towering form moved past, walking over to snatch up a towel, someone else dexterously took his place, “wait a second, I recognise you,” you blinked back at the guy who rarely left your boyfriend’s side, “you’re Cap’s new girl, aren’t you?”

“I-I-, yeah,” you stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk in here-”

“Oh, but you did,” Bucky teasingly took a step closer.

“I was, uh, looking for the lounge, and I was just staring at my phone,” you swallowed thickly as someone out of the corner of your eye peeled off their shirt, “I’m so sorry, I'll get out,” but as you whirled around to bolt out of there, you just collided with another individual that had slyly slotted in between you and the only way out of here.

“You’re cute,” you heard Bucky continue as you blinked up at Pietro, his athletic physique now completely blocking the exit, just as Thor's, the team's goalie, would do before the vast net during an intense game, “isn’t she cute, guys?”

Soft echoes of agreeance bounced off the walls before Pietro smiled down at you, “what’s your name, baby?” his accent sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Y/n…” you softly uttered, your heartbeat deafening in your ears, growing and rippling out from where it was still thumping from between your thighs.

“That’s a pretty name,” his eyes washed over your visage, licking it up like he was at a museum.

“So, tell us, Y/n,” you spun back around at the sound of Bucky’s timbre, “did you really just not pay attention or did you perhaps walk in here on purpose?”

“No!” you squeaked, “I swear, I didn’t-”

“Because I think you were trying to catch a little glimpse,” he teasingly cut you off with a soft tilt of his head.

“Oh, naughty, naughty you,” Tony crossed his arms with a chuckle, “what were you hoping to get out of this, huh? Sneak in here and seduce the whole team? Is one just not enough for you?” the rest of the men snickered at his mocking quips.

“No, I wasn’t trying anything, I-,” the rest of your plea got suddenly swapped out with a shuttering gasp as the player sitting on the bench beside you had begun to ghost his hand against the goosebump-ridden flesh of your leg, sneakily twisting his position enough to catch a glimpse as his touch carelessly bushed against your short skirt, making it briefly fluff out enough for him to notice.

“Hey,” Sam boomed to the rest of the team, “she’s not wearing any panties!”

“She’s not?” Thor turned his head to join the festivity entirely.

“Fuck,” you heard Clint curse gutturally, “you came to the game like that?”

From right beside him, Tony bit down on his smirk, “what a little fucking slut…”

“No, it wasn’t-”

But before you could manage to convince them, Pietro pushed your form lightly and sent you directly into Bucky’s waiting arms. With your back arched like a ski slope, your short skirt rose up, covering virtually nothing, especially after you’d had your undergarments stolen, and granted the men behind you a pornographic view of the state Steve had left you in.

Catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Bucky tilted your head up to catch your hazy eye, “why don’t you wait here with us?”

“I-…” you blinked back at him, feeling your chest rise and fall rapidly against his.

“Rogers won’t mind,” he shook his head reassuringly, fingers shifting to gently caress you’re your heated cheek, “promise.”

“Yeah,” Pietro’s voice resonated vibrantly from behind you once more, “we always take good care of his girls…”

Utterly spellbound by his ocean gaze, your head nodded fuzzily, “o-okay,” your breaths came in shaky as you spoke, “I guess if you say Steve wouldn’t mind, then I could probably just hang out in here for a bit till he gets back.”

“Great!” Sam clapped his hands together, the sudden noise causing you to jump out of the burly arms that held you.

Leaning back against his locker, Clint then asked, “so did you enjoy the game?”

“Oh, sure,” with clumsy words flowing from your lips, your eyes traced Thor’s half-naked form as he crossed the room, “it was fun, I mean, you guys played really well, congrats on the win by the way.”

“Aw, thanks,” the man your gaze was locked upon sniggered as he settled in beside Tony, then leaned in to mutter in his ear just loud enough for you to catch, “Cap really wasn’t bluffing about her.”

“Dude, I know,” Tony harmonized lowly before raising his voice, “so, Y/n!” he slyly cleared his throat, “you never did tell us why you came to our game commando. Did you do that for us?”

“Oh, I-…” you averted your gaze, attempting to explain it with an airy laugh, “that wasn’t me, Steve kinda stole them a few minutes ago.”

Counting from behind you, Pietro challenged, “oh, Steve stole them, did he now?”

“Yeah,” you nodded bashfully.

“And just why would he do such a thing?”

“I-…” you redirected your vision up towards the ceiling, “I think it’s easy enough to deduce what he was thinking.”

“Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it,” Pietro playfully stepped closer, tilting his head to catch your nervous gaze.

“Come on, honey,” Sam’s tongue flickered out to glisten up his smirk, “don’t get shy on us now.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you then confessed with an exhale, “…we were gonna go celebrate…”

“Celebrate? Really?” Bucky’s gaze gleamed back at you in amusement, “well, that sounds fun, doesn’t it sound fun, guys?” he didn’t tear his eyes away from you as he countered to the others, their enthusiastic replies swiftly filling the thick air. Slowly leaning in close, he tugged a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, “you know what I think?” your head instantly shook, hypnotically granting him the answer to continue, “I think we deserve some celebrating as well, don’t you think? I mean, it wasn’t only Rogers out there on the field. Don’t we deserve a prize as well?”

As he cradled your face, all you could do was melt, “I-… I guess so…”

Closing the short distance, Bucky planted a feathery kiss upon your lips before tilting his head back ever so slightly to flash you a playful glance, “yeah?” his words were just above a whisper, “you wanna celebrate with us till Rogers gets back?”

With starry eyes, you blinked back up at the football player and hummed, utterly spellbound, “uh-huh,” before his lips pressed against yours once more, kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

Letting go of your face, his silky touch casketed down your form like a waterfall, flutteringly roaming, up and down, each time carelessly catching your skirt and letting it gather up with his hungry movements.

As you purred enchantedly against Bucky’s lips, Pietro behind you sank down to his knees, his intentions becoming clear as you began to feel soft pecks flutter across the backs of your thighs, his fingertips raking over your tingling skin in sloppy patterns.

But as his caresses danced their way further north up your flesh, I didn’t take long before the greedy man dove head first into what he truly wanted to kiss, rendering you to tear away from Bucky’s lips with a dizzying pant, “oh my god,” and bury your face in his brawny chest.

Lapping against your soppy folds, Pietro let go of your puffy pearl with a pop, briefly pulling back to share, “fuck, she tastes good.”

“Oh yeah?” Thor breathed from the sidelines.

“Like fucking sunshine and rainbows,” he elaborated with gravelly desperation in his tone before latching onto your core once more.

You barely noticed when people stepped closer, scarcely knowing whose hands were exploring your every inch, all you knew was how incredible they made you feel.

Squeezing your boobs through your thin shirt, nipples pebbly and clear through the fabric, you felt Tony’s breath tickle your ear, “you mind taking this off for us, sweetheart?”

Eyes fluttering over your shoulder to find him, you simply raised your arms high above your head and let them yank your t-shirt off and merrily discover how you hadn’t bothered to put a bra on this morning.

Glancing down, you watched as Clint cupped your softness in his wide palms, “damn, look at these fucking tits,” he gave them a little jiggle before dipping his head down low to place a few pecks along them. With the left of your small buds swiftly getting captured by his lips, a different hand took over palming your right as your fingers found Clint’s short hair, your nails scraping gently along his scalp, “you like that, hon?” he blinked up at you as he sucked, friskily nipping at your sensitive skin, “you like having these little nipples played with, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded hazily as someone reached out to pinch harshly the one not getting slobbered.

“What else do you like, huh?” Bucky asked, his radiating form still pressed up against you. Capturing your chin, his thumb extended to brush over your lips, “you like having something in this pretty little mouth of yours?” poking it in, the pad of his finger softly ran across your tongue before your lips enclosed around him, your head blissfully bobbing as you sucked on his digit, “yeah? You wanna suck our cocks?” he retracted his digit, smearing saliva across your cheek as you offered him a foggy nod, “you think you can handle all of us at once?”

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted with excitement bubbling in your belly, “I’ve never been with more than just one person at a time.”

“Oh no, really?” Tony rumbled playfully, “you’ve never been shared by more?” he palmed your tit roughly as you craned your neck to gaze at him, “what a fucking shame, truly, you deserve to be worshipped like a goddess.”

“Don’t you worry, darling,” Thor smirked, “we’ll help you,” before Pietro as the last one distanced himself, letting go of your petals with a pop, as you sank down to the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed before, but now that you were at the right eye level, it became impossible not to take in the team’s enthusiasm. Most of them were already touching themselves and some even had already whipped their cocks out, the vision causing your eyelids to flutter as your brain turned molten at the possibilities.

“O-oh, wow,” your eyes grew to the size of plates as they tugged their shorts down, “I-I-,” lengths springing free all around you, “I don’t know where to start… wow…” a giggle suddenly began to bubble out of you as you tore your stare away from their erections to find their eyes, “h-hi.”

Grasping your hand in his, Bucky then wrapped your fingers around his girth, smiling down at you as he throbbed for you, “hey, baby.”

“You’ll all so-,” your dazed gaze flickered around at them all, “wow…”

Raising your other hand up, you enclosed it around Clint, testing out a gentle jerk to gauge their reactions.

“Yeah, right back at ya,” Clint echoed your compliments as his mouth fell open, utterly spellbound by your tender efforts.

Catching Pietro’s eye, you slowly leaned in and gave his tip a sweet kiss, smile wide as you then licked it a few times as if he was a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day, “oh, shit,” he groaned, the grip he had around his base tightening, “open up for me, baby,” parting your lips, he then slowly rocked forward to fill up your mouth slightly, “yeah, just like that,” you felt his pulse against your tongue, “fuck…”

Head bopping gently at a leisurely pace, drooling blissfully around Pietro’s bulbous head, you shifted your hands, eyes fluttering in an attempt to locate the others, Sam and Thor then instead came to your rescue by seizing your flailing hands and bringing them to what you sought.

When you pulled back from Pietro to catch your breath, his dick falling from your swollen lips with a crisp pop, you barely managed to suck in one whole breath before Tony’s hands seized either side of your face, bringing you close and sliding his cock in past your gasp.

“Here you go,” he groaned as he rolled his hips, instantly going so deep that he tickled the back of your throat. With his fist tight around his base, he reluctantly let you come up for air, pulling back so swiftly as if the lack of your warmth pained him, “show me that tongue, angel,” chest heaving and eyes a daze, your mouth fell open and did as he requested, a hot string of drool promptly dripping from it and connecting to your exposed chest. Grabbing your chin and holding it tight, he leaned down and spit in your mouth, watching only a moment as it sparkled on your tongue before he tapped the weight of his girth against it, playing with it like a rain puddle before he ruthlessly thrust forward so deep that his heavy sack nuzzled against your chin and his tip disappeared deep down your throat, “there you go, honey,” fingers woven in your hair, he kept you still as he fucked your face, “there you go…”

As Tony selfishly made you choke on his cock, Clint then knelt down beside you and reached under the short skirt that still clung to your hips. One hand still pumping himself, his other fingers found your core.

“Fuck, she’s so wet,” he groaned, granting your aching clit a few circles before your pussy practically sucked one of his fingers in from how turned on you were, slipping in with no effect at all. Girth falling from your lips, you let out a shuttering gasp. Pressing his cheek against your own, Clint chuckled lowly, “you like that, baby?” lavishly caressing your walls ever so slowly, “that what you need?”

“Oh, god,” you panted, eyes fluttering shut, “yes!”

As he offered you another digit, he kept up a dizzying pattern of pumping his fingers into you, petting against a spot that made your pussy sing, only to retract them in order to rub your puffy pearl, repeating the dance till your legs trembled against the cool tile floor.

“How about something else, huh?” Thor’s voice cut through your haze, “you wanna get that little pussy stretched out by something else?” your frame then jumped as Clint promptly landed a sharp slap against your soppy folds, forcing your eyes to snap open and your mind to race for an answer.

Eyes training on Thor, a playful smirk bloomed on your lips, “what do you have in mind?” you asked innocently before you leaned in close and swiped your tongue over his leaking tip.

Pumping his cock tightly in his fist, he tapped it against your beaming face and chuckled, “you really want me to spell it out for you?” to which you simply giggled under the weight of his length as a reply, one that swiftly got cut short and morphed into a gasp as Clint beside you plucked you up onto your wobbly feet.

Working as the team that they were, they spun you around so that your backside pressed up against Thor. Hiking your skirt far enough up your waist to render it useless, the blonde athlete gazed down at your dripping mess, nuzzled against him and virtually drooling for him to split you open.

“Look at that…” he briefly swiped his cock through your folds, parting them with his girth, “so pretty,” before his hips snapped forward and buried himself completely, “fuck…”

Eyes fluttering closed, you let out a shuttering moan as he held you there for a moment, savouring the euphoric sensation as your spine melted back against his chest. As Thor nuzzled you close, filling your cunt up so much that your knees threatened to give out, you felt stray hands find your tits, twisting and tweaking your nipples teasingly as some others grabbed your palms and guided them towards their cocks, enveloping their own around yours and fucking up into your touch.

“How does she feel?” you heard Tony ask.

Grip digging into your hips, Thor eased his length out, just halfway, before slamming it back inside, poking a place that pushed the air out of your lungs, “fucking incredible,” his lips ghosted against the shell of your ear.

When a pair of hands found your face, cupping your flaming cheeks, your eyes dreamily blinked open once more to gaze back at Sam. Briefly pressing his lips against yours, it nearly gave you whiplash when they then manoeuvred your spine to bend, bowing down for your mouth to be aligned with Sam's excitement.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he pumped his cock before you, smile growing wider as your soft tongue began to swipe across him, “don’t forget the nuts,” he lifted his length far enough out of your reach, groaning loudly as you began to drool all over his jewels as he wished, “that’s it, atta girl…”

Feeling Thor’s hands shift, one of them came to clench your skirt tightly, gathering the fabric on the small of your back and holding onto it as an anchor as the other one descended upon your ass, slapping away in quick succession, just hard enough for it to tingle deliciously.

It all felt like a blur, like a dream. A beautiful and intoxicating dream. The kind of dream you’d never wanna wake from.

After cumming all over Thor’s cock, in the hazy daze of it all, it took you a moment to realise that they had all switched out, trading places so that Pietro was now behind you, sliding in and out of your clenching cunt, and Clint was before you, sinking his dick so far down your throat that it left an imprint.

“This how you thought meeting the team would go, huh?” Bucky’s timbre cut through all of the moans, “this what you expected?” his touch was all over you, so hungry that you could barely keep track of it, “you expected us to pass you around and fuck your brains out?” gliding his palm down your spine, he then came to fixate on the little rosebud just shy north of where Pietro was having his fill, “has Cap fucked you here before?”

In between your sloppy pecks across Clint’s cock, you admitted, “a-a couple times.”

“A couple of times,” he chuckled darkly, “really?”

“What a dirty little girl you are, letting your boyfriend fuck you in the ass,” Clint suddenly got down to your level and plucked up your flustered face, bringing you close to his own, “say it, say that you’re a dirty girl.”

The words promptly flowed from you as if you were hypnotised, “I’m a dirty girl.”

Tapping your cheek lightly with his palm, he ordered, “again.”

“I’m a dirty girl.”

Slapping your features harsher this time, “one more time, what are you?”

“A-, fuck,” you whined, brows knitted as your pussy filled the room with soppy melodies of desire, “a dirty girl!

Just then, the door to the locker room burst open and in strolled none other than your boyfriend.

“Alright guys, listen up!” he called out before he truly took in the activities he’d just interrupted, “couch says that-,” but then when his gaze finally trained on your cockdrunk visage, the rest of his important message trailed off, “Y/n?”

“Oh hey, Cap,” Bucky grinned, none of the players slowing down at the appearance of their leader, “thought we’d keep your girl entertained while you were gone.”

Closing the door behind him, Steve took a slow step forward and sighed, “guys, seriously?” his glare found each and every one of them, “I was gonna talk to her first,” stride leisurely, he moved closer to you, peeling his shirt off as he did so. Kneeling down before you, getting on your level, a warm smile bloomed upon his lips as his eyes locked with your hazy ones, “hey baby.”

“S-Steve,” you whimpered, wanting so badly to explain, but unable to do anything other than melt even further.

“How are you doing, huh?” the back of his knuckles softly ghosted down your cheek as his gentle tone washed over you like a warm cup of tea, “you still wanna tell me how well I played today or are you too busy telling the rest of the team?”

“No, please don’t go,” you grabbed onto his tender touch, “please!”

Straightening back up to his full height, he pulled his shorts down and let his cock spring free, slapping his toned abdomen with its enthusiasm.

“You mind?” he offered Pietro a nod before the man complied, easing out, and passing you to Steve’s open arms. Scooping you up, his strong grip curved around your bottom entirely. Pressing your lips to his, you tangled your arms around his neck as he nudged your weeping core against his girth, your cunt already creaming and painting his cock a milky shade.

Carrying you in his arms as if it took no effort at all, Steve raised you up further, aligning you just so before dropping you back down again and letting you sink down onto his dick, the sensation causing a pornographic mewl to escape both of your lips as you let the fevered kiss crumble in order to hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fucking hell, that’s it,” Steve groaned, lifting you up and down in his grip like a precious little cocksleeve, “that what you needed, huh? You needed me to fuck your pretty little hole?” palming your bottom roughly, he them landed a few swift slaps across it causing even more electricity to course throughout you with the sparks of pleasurable pain, “after the team had their fill, you still needed to feel me?” eyes squeezed shut, your drool smeared against his pulse as you felt him extend a finger and rub a few circles over your other hole, all of the other previous activities already slickening it up enough to make his dance molten and his initiative effortless when he plugged it up, “have me fuck you in front of all of them, give them a good view of what a beautiful mess they’ve made of you… Open your eyes, baby,” hazy vision blinking open, the side of your head stayed plastered against your boyfriend’s broad shoulder as your eyes locked on the spectators, “look at them, look at what you do to them, look at how much they want you.”

Trembling in his arms, so violently that you convulsed off his cock completely, it wasn’t till Sam excitedly pointed out, “oh, she’s a squirter!” that you noticed the gushing waterfall your high had showered Steve with.

“Damn right she is,” Steve smiled proudly, realigning his tender hold as he pressed a soft peck to your temple, “my girl is full of many talents,” with long strides, he then walked up to the bench in the middle of the room and slowly laid down upon it, securely holding your molten form close as he shifted, your body completely plastered on top of his as he cheekily spoke, “in fact, Buck, come over here, help me stuff her a bit more, yeah?”

Glance swiftly washing over Tony, Bucky asked, “hey, do you still have that-“

“Yep, of course,” Tony didn’t need any more to understand, hastily rummaging through his gym bag before tossing his teammate a small bottle of lube, “here!”

After liberally slickening himself up, you perked up a bit as you felt Bucky’s skin press against your own, your back arching up against his chest as he teased you, nudging his tip against your farmost entrance and rendering your form to yet again give into the ecstasy and recover in a flash.

But as soon as he confidently sank in at slow and steady pace, a gasp escaped your lungs, “oh my god!”

“What?” Steve smirked beneath you, catching your wild eyes as he teased, “what is it, babe? What’s he doing?”

Mouth agape and brows tightly knitted, you uttered, “he’s fucking my ass.”

“Who’s fucking your ass?” Steve’s mockingly sweet tone washed over you.

“Bucky,” you whimpered as he eased back out till just the essence of him remained.

“Why don’t you look back at him and say thank you?”

Twisting your head, you found his gaze and hazily managed, “thank you, Bucky,” the sensation of him sinking back in and splitting you apart made it nearly impossible to complete the task.

“Thank you, what?” Steve fished.

“Thank you for filling up my ass, Bucky.”

Capturing your face, Bucky cradled it in his hands as he smiled, “you’re so fucking welcome,” before dipping down to steal a sweet kiss, “any time, doll, any time…”

With your nose nuzzled against Bucky’s, your boyfriend’s low voice once more found your ears, “hey baby? Why don’t you slide my cock back in, huh? Stretch that little pussy out as well?”

Reaching down to seize it, you hummed fuzzily, “mhm,” before slipping it in, your eyes promptly fluttering shut at the ecstasy.

Their thrusts were slow but immensely intense, with a roughness hiding behind the pace that made you tremble between them.

“Fucking hell, if you don’t marry this girl, Cap,” you felt Bucky’s boorish fingers wrap around your delicate throat, “one of us will.”

Fighting to peel your blissful eyes open, you first caught sight of Steve’s adoring features beneath you, gazing between your fuzzy expression and your stretched-out holes as if you were some mystical goddesses. But then your vision glanced across the crowd of professional football players, all fixated on you and nobody else, stroking their cocks to the exact pace your holes got filled.

“I-I-, fuck-…” you whimpered as felt yourself once again near the edge.

“What, are you gonna cum again, sweetheart?” Steve moaned, rolling his hips up into you in a synchronized rhythm, “I can feel you-, christ, you clench down so fucking tight when you’re all stuffed like this,” he snaked his fingers down to strum your aching and overly sensitive clit, your frame nearly bucking away from him as he bullied the painfully puffy pearl.

“It’s too much, fuck-, I don’t think I can take it anymore,” you heard yourself cry, feeling as if you might actually pass out.

“No, no, baby, you can, you can,” your boyfriend declared determinedly, not slowing down one bit at the sight of your pout, “you can take it, you can cum with the both of us inside of you.”

“B-but it’s so much, I-”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you, don’t we, Buck?”

“Right here, doll,” Bucky’s warm palm slid down your front and grasped your left tit, his whole arm curving over you like a seatbelt holding you upright and close to him, “just fall and we’ll catch you.”

And with that, your pour pussy poured out everything it had, tears spewing from your eyes at the intensity.

“Aah!”

Convulsing, you nearly tumbled to the tile below, but they both held you close, safely in their grasp as well as far down on their cocks as your gushing core clambered around them and nearly expelled them entirely.

Maybe you fell asleep, for even a second, because that’s what it felt like when you blinked your eyes open once more to find your drowsy frame situated on the floor, the lingering aid from a few of the men to get you relocated still remaining as you blinked up at all of them.

Had it truly been that many cocks that had in one way or another been inside of you today?

Smiling up at all seven of them from your position on your wobbly knees, you let your mouth fall open and your tongue roll out once last time as they furiously jerked themselves to completion before you, the grin on your face only growing wider as their cum began to paint your skin.

Twitching and panting, the majority still let their touch linger needily as they floated back down to earth.

Broad chest heaving with every deep breath, “babe,” Steve bit down on his smirk as he gazed down at the decorated state you were now in, “say thank you to the guys for taking such good care of you.”

Making your gaze go on a round to catch each and every one of their doting stares, you uttered breathlessly, “thank you.”

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syrecjh · 2 months ago

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── .✦🩰˚˖✧˚Daddy Bakugo, Master of Ponytails

˚🎀༘⋆ || husband katsuki bakugo x wife reader, pure fluff

It’s a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where you’re sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in hand, just watching your family go about their morning routine. Bakugo is grumbling around the house, doing whatever it is he does when he’s not blowing things up (figuratively, of course), but today’s different. Today, he’s got a mission.

"Daddy!" your daughter’s voice calls from the hallway, and you look up to see her standing at the door, wide-eyed and determined. "I want you to do my hair."

Bakugo freezes mid-step, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He glares at her, like the very thought of brushing hair is a battle he’s not prepared to fight. “What? Why can’t your mom do it?”

Your daughter’s eyes widen further, and she crosses her arms over her chest in that adorable way she picked up from him. “Because I want you to do it.”

Bakugo stands there for a moment, his face twisted in that classic scowl, trying to think of an excuse. But you know that look. That “I’ve been defeated by my adorable child” look.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, stomping toward the bedroom where he knows you keep all the hair ties and brushes. “I’ll do it. But this better not take forever.”

You watch as he sits down on the edge of the bed, your daughter bouncing beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. He grabs the hairbrush, eyes scanning the mess of YouTube tutorials on his phone. “Okay, let’s see how to do this,” he grumbles, face scrunching in concentration as he follows the video step by step.

You can’t help but chuckle from the couch, watching him fumble through the tutorial, muttering things like, “What kind of stupid hairstyle is this?” and “Who needs that many steps for a ponytail?”

Your daughter giggles, clearly loving every second of his frustration, but she sits still, trusting him with her hair as if he were a professional. After what seems like an eternity of him trying to follow the tutorial, he finally gives up with a deep sigh.

“There. Boom. Style explosion,” he declares proudly, pushing her hair away from her face.

You glance over and bite your lip to stop from laughing. Her hair is... well, it’s certainly unique. Three crooked ponytails stick out in every direction, each one at a different height, but the pride on Bakugo’s face says it all.

She beams up at him, and you swear you can almost see his heart melt right there. “Thank you, Daddy! I love it!”

Katsuki huffs, but there's a softness in his eyes now. “Don’t ever ask me to do your hair again. But… you look great. For real.”

Your daughter jumps up and hugs him tight, and even though he initially stiffens, he slowly wraps his arms around her. “I think they look awesome,” you say with a teasing smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, ruffling her hair in that way he does when he’s trying to hide the affection in his gruff voice. But you can see it in the way he holds her, the way his hand gently pats the top of her head. The “Master of Ponytails” has officially been defeated by the power of his little girl’s smile.

She runs off to show you her new “hairstyle,” and Bakugo sinks into the bed, letting out a loud sigh of relief.

“You know,” you say, walking over to him, “she might’ve looked better if you followed the tutorial properly.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a slight smile tugging at his lips. “She liked it. And that’s all that matters.”

You watch him for a moment, a soft fondness filling your chest. It’s moments like these that remind you of how far he’s come from the rough-and-tumble hero. He might be gruff, he might act like he’s the last person in the world who would know how to do a ponytail, but in the end, he’s her dad. And she adores him—crooked ponytails and all.

And when he catches you watching him with that soft smile, he huffs again, but this time, it’s not out of annoyance. “Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but the affection in his eyes says more than words ever could.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #boku no hero academia #katsuki x you #mha fluff #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki fluff #katsuki x reader #boku no hero acedamia #bnha #bakugou imagine #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #my hero academia #bakugo fluff #fluff

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jupiterpilgrim · 5 months ago

Text

Storm

Dahyun x Male Reader

word count: 5K

The storm’s been pounding the world outside since morning, slashing against the windows like nature itself lost its temper. Inside, though, it’s warm. Smells of butter and chocolate fill the small kitchen as you finish arranging the last handful of popcorn in the bowl. You grab the soda cans, balancing everything like a waiter on a tightrope. In the living room, Dahyun’s voice carries over the rumble of rain.

“Babe! Hurry up!” she whines, her pitch soaring as you hear the soft thuds of her bouncing on the couch cushions. She sounds like a sugar-rushed kid waiting for cake. You can already picture her, legs tucked under her, short pink Hello Kitty shorts riding up her pale thighs, loose shirt hanging off one shoulder. You shake your head with a grin, grabbing a pack of M&Ms to complete the spread.

Three months of living together, and the novelty hasn’t worn off. It’s the little things—how she’ll randomly burst into song while brushing her teeth or how she’s somehow made every corner of the house scream Dahyun. She’s your chaotic little sunbeam, glowing even on days like this, when the world outside feels drenched in gray.

You make your way into the living room. Dahyun’s perched on her knees now, practically vibrating with excitement. “Finally! I thought you were planning a three-course meal back there,” she teases, flashing that toothy grin of hers.

“Snacks are serious business,” you shoot back, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

She claps her hands like a kid at Christmas and immediately snatches the remote. “Okay, okay, let’s do this!” She’s already flicking through the Disney+ menu, landing on the classic she’s been hyping all week. Something bright and nostalgic—perfect for a stormy night.

Just as she’s about to press play, the sky outside splits open. Thunder roars so loud it rattles the windows, and then—bam—everything goes dark.

“AAAAHHHH!” Dahyun shrieks, her voice cutting through the sudden silence. She’s off the couch in a flash, nearly tripping over herself as she stumbles toward you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!” Her hands clutch at your arm, fingers digging in like a cat trying to climb a tree.

“It’s just a blackout,” you say, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Nope. Nope. Nope,” she chants, squeezing her eyes shut. Her grip tightens as another crack of thunder rolls through, closer this time. She lets out a tiny yelp, burying her face in your chest.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. “Dahyunnie, it’s fine. It’s just weather. It’s not gonna eat you.”

“It feels like it’s gonna eat me,” she mutters into your shirt, voice muffled and pitiful. “What if it doesn’t come back? What if we’re stuck in the dark forever?”

You bite back a laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Forever’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she pouts, though the corners of her lips twitch. Her hands stay glued to you as she shuffles in place, practically curling into your side like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity.

You guide her back to the couch, sitting down with her practically in your lap. The rain hammers harder against the windows, and every so often the room lights up with a jagged flash of lightning. Each time, Dahyun flinches, burying herself further into you until she’s half-straddling you, her thin little body trembling slightly under the loose shirt.

“You’re really not a fan of storms, huh?” you ask softly, running your fingers through her silky black hair.

“Nope. Never. Hate them,” she mutters, clutching the front of your shirt. “They’re loud, and it’s dark, and it’s like... ugh, I can’t explain it.” She looks up at you, and even though you can't see it properly, you know she's scrunching her nose in that way that always makes your heart flip. “You think I’m dumb.

“I think you’re adorable,” you say, leaning in to nuzzle her. She giggles despite herself, smacking your chest lightly.

“Don’t try to charm me. I’m serious. I feel like a little kid, freaking out like this.”

“You’re my little kid,” you tease, earning another playful slap. “Alright, alright, I get it. But you know what? You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m here.”

Her fingers relax a little, her body softening against you. She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. “You always make me feel safe,” she murmurs.

“I mean, I am pretty great,” you joke, earning a snort.

Her laughter is short-lived as another rumble of thunder sends a shiver through her. Her legs twitch slightly where they’re pressed against yours, bare and smooth. You trail your hand down to her thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Hey,” you whisper, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at you. “I know a way to make you forget about the storm.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping low. “Distraction therapy.”

Her lips part, her breath hitching slightly as she catches the mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles, though there’s a flicker of interest in her voice.

“Maybe,” you admit, letting your hand wander just a little higher, brushing the hem of her shorts. “But you love me for it.”

Her cheeks flush pink, the storm momentarily forgotten as she shifts in your lap, the weight of her settling just right.

You move your hand to Dahyun's head, your fingers comb through her hair, the silky strands slipping easily between your fingers. She feels so small in your lap, legs folded up, her cheek pressed against your chest. The rain’s still battering the windows, and the occasional flicker of lightning casts jagged shadows across the room, but you focus on her—on her warmth, her little huffs of nervous breath.

“You okay?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

She nods weakly, though her grip on your shirt hasn’t loosened. “Yeah... I just—tonight was supposed to be fun, you know?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You were excited about the movie.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her pout exaggerated. “Of course I was! It’s a classic! I’ve been talking about it all week, haven’t I?” Her voice lilts with playful indignation, though her eyes are still wide, the thunder’s threat lurking in the back of her mind.

“You’ve been hyping it like it’s the second coming of Christ,” you tease, earning a small giggle.

“Well, yeah,” she says with a dramatic toss of her head. “Now it’s ruined. Stupid storm.” Her gaze drifts toward the window, her mood dipping again. You hate seeing that little flicker of disappointment in her.

“We’ll watch it as soon as the power comes back,” you promise, pulling her closer. “But hey, this just means we’ll have to do this whole thing again. More snacks, more cuddles. Bigger deal.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s considering your pitch, then smirks. “Fine, but only if you let me pick another movie, too.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning, just as another crack of thunder splits the air.

Dahyun screams, loud and high-pitched, the sound stabbing directly into your eardrum. You wince, half-deaf, as she scrambles up against you like she’s trying to climb inside your skin. Her arms lock around your neck, her whole body trembling like a cornered kitten.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I hate this! It feels like the sky is gonna fall!” she wails, voice muffled against your chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, stroking her back in slow circles. “It’s just noise. It can’t hurt you.”

“But it feels like it can,” she whimpers, squeezing tighter.

“Hey, listen to me,” you say, tilting her chin up so her glassy eyes meet yours. “You don’t need to be scared, okay? I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you while I’m here.”

She sniffs, her lips wobbling into the faintest smile. “You always say the right thing, huh?”

“It’s a gift,” you say, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But for real. If you ever feel scared, you just let me know, okay?”

She nods, her voice small. “Okay.”

A pause stretches between you, the storm roaring outside, while inside, it’s just her heartbeat against yours. Finally, you murmur, “You want me to calm you down now? Make you feel good?”

She blinks up at you, her breath catching slightly. “...Yeah,” she whispers, almost shyly.

You lean in, the space between you shrinking. In the dark, neither of you can see clearly, and when your lips meet, there’s a sharp clink—teeth crashing together painfully.

“Shit!” you yelp, pulling back, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she gasps, then bursts out laughing when she sees you clutching your face. “You’re such a dork!”

“Me?! You’re the one who can’t aim!” you shoot back, grinning despite the ache.

She’s still laughing as you cup her face again, this time more careful, your thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Alright, let’s try this again,” you whisper, and then your lips meet hers properly. It’s soft at first, a tentative press, but the way she melts into you makes you press harder, deeper. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, fingers curling into your shirt as she sighs into your mouth.

The world outside seems to shrink. The storm, the dark, the cold—all of it fades as your bodies draw closer, her warmth against yours. Her lips are so soft, and there’s something addictive about the way she responds, the little noises she makes as your hands trail down her sides, brushing the bare skin of her thighs where her shorts ride up.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, you whisper, “C’mon. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

She hesitates for half a second, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, before nodding. “Okay,” she breathes.

The two of you fumble your way through the pitch-black apartment, bumping into furniture and each other. She stifles a giggle when she nearly trips over the coffee table, clutching your hand like it’s her lifeline. By the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are out of breath from laughing, the tension from earlier replaced with something warm, intimate. You push the door open, pulling her inside as lightning flashes outside, casting fleeting silver across her silhouette.

In the dark, her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close again. “Thanks for being my storm shield,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

“Anytime,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring every second.

Your lips are locked with hers, warm and soft, and it’s like nothing else in the world matters. As you kiss her, you guide her backward, your hands on her waist, steadying her as you move. Her leg bumps against the edge of the bed, and before either of you can react, she stumbles, falling onto the mattress with a surprised laugh.

You’re right there with her, landing softly on top of her. She’s still giggling, her cheeks flushed, and you can’t help but smile down at her. “You okay?” you ask, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice light, her eyes sparkling in the faint sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Now kiss me.”

Then your mouth finds hers again, but this time it’s slower, deeper. Your hands roam, sliding down her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist under the thin fabric of her shirt. She sighs into the kiss, her body relaxing beneath you as you press her into the mattress.

Breaking away from her lips, you start a trail of kisses down her jaw, your lips brushing over the delicate curve until you reach her neck. Her skin is warm and smells faintly of her vanilla body lotion, sweet and intoxicating. You breathe her in, unable to get enough, and press your mouth against her neck, kissing and nipping gently. Her head tilts back, giving you more access, and she lets out this tiny, breathy moan that goes straight to your core.

“God, you smell so good,” you murmur against her skin, your lips moving to her collarbone. She shivers under you, her hands gripping the back of your shirt.

“You always say that,” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with teasing.

“Because it’s true,” you reply, grinning as you kiss the hollow of her throat. She smells like comfort, like home, like something you could drown in and never get tired of. Every kiss draws another little sound from her—a sigh, a gasp, a quiet moan—and each one just spurs you on.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin, the words tumbling out between kisses.

“I love you too,” she breathes, her voice trembling just slightly, like she’s overwhelmed.

Your hands slide up her sides, gathering the hem of her loose shirt. You pause for a second, giving her a look, then you pull it up, revealing her pale skin inch by inch. The cold air hits her, making her shiver, and you notice the goosebumps rising on her arms. “Cold?” you ask softly.

“A little,” she admits, but there’s a teasing glint in her eye. “You can warm me up, right?”

You smirk. “Oh, I’ve got that covered.”

Her shirt ends up somewhere on the floor, forgotten, as your eyes roam over her. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breaths shallow, and her almost-flat breasts peek out from under her bra. You lean down, trailing kisses over her skin, starting at her stomach and working your way up, taking your time. Her breathing changes with every kiss, her chest heaving as you kiss the curve of her ribs, the dip between her breasts.

“You know I love these, right?” you murmur, your lips brushing over the top of her bra.

She rolls her eyes playfully, her cheeks flushing pink. “You’ve told me, like, a million times.”

“Yeah, but I never get tired of saying it,” you reply, slipping your fingers under the fabric and pulling the bra down enough to expose her. The cold air makes her nipples stiffen instantly, but your mouth is there a second later, warm and soft, replacing the chill with heat.

She gasps sharply, her back arching slightly as your lips close around her nipple. Your tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and her hands fly to your hair, tangling in it as she pulls you closer. “God, that feels good,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

You hum against her skin, sucking gently, savoring the way her body reacts to every movement of your mouth. Your free hand slides up to her other breast, your fingers tracing lazy circles around the nipple before giving it a gentle pinch. She moans, her hips shifting under you, and you can feel the warmth of her thighs brushing against yours.

“You’re so perfect,” you say between kisses, moving to her other breast. “I could stay here forever.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of emotion. “You’ll make me cry.”

You pause, looking up at her, your lips brushing against her skin. “Good tears or bad tears?”

She smiles down at you, her eyes shining. “Good ones.”

“Then I’ll keep going,” you whisper, lowering your mouth to her again.

Your mouth stays busy on her chest, sucking gently on her nipple while your tongue flicks over the hardened peak, earning another soft moan from her lips. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging slightly whenever you suck harder. It’s like she’s melting under you, her body arching and squirming, her little sounds only encouraging you to keep going.

As your lips trail from one breast to the other, your hand starts to wander. It slides down the flat plane of her stomach, her skin warm and smooth beneath your touch. You pause for a moment, just long enough to feel the slight hitch in her breathing as your fingers reach the waistband of her shorts. You know she's watching you now, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted like she’s waiting for what’s coming next.

You slip your hand under the fabric of her shorts and panties, your palm brushing against her hip, and immediately feel the heat radiating from her. When your fingers dip lower, the first thing you feel is how wet she already is. A low groan escapes your throat as your fingers slide over her slick folds, and you pull back just enough to murmur against her skin, “You’re soaked, baby.”

“Shut up,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no hiding the way her body reacts. Her hips shift instinctively, pressing herself against your hand, her breath coming out in quick, shaky bursts.

Your fingers glide over her, spreading her wetness as you find her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. Her body jerks slightly, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her head falling back against the pillow.

“Feel good?” you ask, though the way her thighs tremble and try to close around your hand is answer enough.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost pleading. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you say with a grin, dipping your head back down to her chest. Your lips latch onto her nipple again, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make her squirm. At the same time, your fingers slide lower, slipping into her tight, dripping hole.

“Fuck,” you groan against her skin as you feel how warm and snug she is around your fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

She lets out a choked moan, her hands flying to your shoulders, clutching you as your fingers start to move. Slow at first, pumping in and out of her while your thumb circles her clit. Her body reacts instantly, her hips rocking to meet your hand, her moans growing louder with every thrust.

“God, you’re amazing,” you murmur, kissing her chest, her neck, her jaw. “So fucking perfect.”

She’s trembling now, her breathing ragged as you pick up the pace. Your fingers curl inside her, finding that spot that makes her gasp and cling to you like her life depends on it. “Right there,” she cries out, her nails digging into your skin. “Fuck, don’t stop, right there.”

“Anything for you,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with desire. Your thumb presses harder against her clit, and you feel her walls tighten around your fingers, her body tensing. Her moans are louder now, more desperate, her head tossing back as her legs start to shake.

It’s all too much for her—your mouth on her breasts, your fingers buried deep in her slick pussy, pumping and curling just right. Every time you move, every time you kiss her skin, her little moans grow louder, her hips rocking against your hand like she can’t get enough. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she gasps for air, her voice breaking into shaky little whimpers.

But even with all that, it’s not enough for her. She can feel the weight of your cock pressing against her thigh, thick and heavy, the heat of it radiating through your pants. It’s driving her insane. Her hips jerk erratically, chasing a friction that isn’t there, and her head tilts back as she lets out a desperate, needy moan.

“Babe,” she whines, her voice trembling, almost pathetic with how desperate she sounds. “I need you. Please. I need it.”

Her words make your cock throb, the sheer hunger in her tone lighting a fire in your chest. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you look down at her. “You need what?” you ask, teasing, though your voice is rough, your own need barely held in check.

She groans in frustration, her cheeks flushed, her thighs trembling. “You know what I need!” she cries, her hands sliding down your chest, trying to tug at the waistband of your pants. “Please, I need your cock. I can’t wait anymore.”

The way she’s begging, her voice cracking with need, only makes you harder. Your fingers slow their pace inside her, and she whimpers at the loss of momentum, squirming beneath you. “You really want it that bad?” you murmur, pulling your hand out of her and holding it up before putting two fingers in your mouth to taste it. “You’re dripping for me, baby.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her hands fumbling with the button of your pants now, her impatience clear in every movement. “Please, just—just fuck me already. I need you.”

Her begging snaps what little control you were holding onto. “Alright,” you growl, sitting back on your knees and shoving your pants down. You don’t bother with underwear—you’re not wearing any—and your cock springs free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with precum. Dahyun's small hand immediately wraps around your cock, stroking it lightly, her breath catching.

“You’re so big,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Then come and get it,” you reply, leaning back against the headboard, your cock resting against your stomach, throbbing with anticipation.

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hands go to her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her shorts follow along with her panties, and now she’s naked, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. She’s perfect, every curve, every line of her body making your mouth water.

You grab her hips as she climbs onto your lap, straddling you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your thighs. “You sure you can handle it?” you tease, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the soft flesh.

“Shut up,” she mutters. “I need it.”

Her hands grip your shoulders as she tries to position herself, her body brushing against yours in the process. You can feel the heat of her pussy against your cock, and it makes you groan, your hands tightening on her hips.

“It’s hard to see,” she murmurs, frustration creeping into her tone as she shifts, trying to line herself up in the dark.

“Take your time, baby,” you say, though your voice is strained. Every time her slick folds brush against your cock, it sends a jolt of electricity through you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, she finds the angle she needs, and you both moan as the tip of your cock presses against her entrance. Slowly, she starts to sink down, her tight pussy stretching around you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her head falling forward, her nails digging into your shoulders as she lowers herself. “You’re so... fucking... big.”

“You’re so tight,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you try not to buck up into her. The heat and wetness of her pussy, the way it clenches around you, makes it almost impossible to stay still. “God, you feel so good.”

She’s breathing hard, her thighs trembling as she takes more of you, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth. It’s slow, almost torturous, but finally, she’s seated all the way down, her ass resting against your thighs. She lets out a shaky moan of relief, her head falling back as her body adjusts to the fullness.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “You’re so deep... I can feel you everywhere.”

You tilt your head back, groaning as her walls flutter around you. “You’re perfect,” you murmur, your hands sliding up her sides, holding her steady as she starts to move. “Ride me, baby. Show me how much you need it.”

The moment Dahyun starts moving, you know you’re in trouble. She wastes no time, her hips rolling and bouncing, her tight, wet pussy gripping you like a fucking vice. It’s almost overwhelming—how snug she is, how her heat wraps around you, dragging you deeper with every thrust. Even in the dark, with the only light coming from the occasional flicker of lightning outside, you don’t need to see her to know she looks incredible. Her small, pale body moving on top of you, her thighs trembling as she rides you like her life depends on it—you can feel it all, and it’s driving you insane.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements as she starts to pick up speed. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Her moans grow louder, higher-pitched, the sound raw and needy as she rocks her hips against you. Her hands are braced on your chest, her nails digging in for leverage as she moves. “God,” she whimpers, her voice shaky but insistent. “You’re so big. So fucking thick. I can feel you stretching me out.”

Your cock throbs at her words, a low growl rumbling in your chest. She always says shit like that, like she knows exactly how to get under your skin, how to push you closer to the edge. And fuck, it works every time. “You love it, don’t you?” you mutter, your voice rough. “You love how my cock fills you up.”

“Yes,” she cries out, her pace quickening, the wet sound of her pussy taking you echoing through the room. “I love it so much. I’m fucking addicted to it. To you.”

Her confession makes your grip on her hips tighten, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you help guide her movements. You can feel her tight little ass rubbing against your pelvis with every bounce, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “You feel so fucking good, Dahyun,” you groan, your head tilting back as she keeps going. “I can never get enough of you.”

The rain outside seems to be coming down harder, the sound of it pounding against the windows mixing with the slap of her skin against yours. Thunder rolls through the sky, loud and sharp, but neither of you pays it any attention. She’s too focused on the way your cock fills her, and you’re too caught up in the way her pussy clenches around you, milking you like she never wants to let go.

“You’re so deep,” she moans, her voice breaking slightly as she leans forward, her breath hot against your neck. “I can feel you... fuck, I can feel you in my stomach.”

Her words make your cock twitch, and you glance down, even in the dim light, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. She’s so small, her frame so petite, that every time you’re buried inside her, you can see the faint outline of your cock bulging in her lower belly. It’s fucking intoxicating, knowing how much you fill her, how her tiny body takes you so perfectly.

“Look at that,” you murmur, your hand sliding between you to press gently against her stomach. She lets out a choked gasp, her hips stuttering for a moment as she feels the added pressure. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. That’s my cock inside you.”

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice high and shaky. “I feel it... I love it. I love how big you are. How you stretch me out.”

“Keep going,” you tell her, your hands moving back to her hips, urging her to keep moving. “Ride me, baby. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t need any more encouragement. Her pace quickens again, her hips slamming down onto you with a desperate rhythm. Her moans grow louder, more frantic, the sound mixing with the rain and thunder as she completely loses herself in the feeling of you. Her thighs are trembling against your sides, her body working overtime to take all of you, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down.

“God, you’re amazing,” you groan, your hands roaming up and down her body, over her ribs, her waist, her thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect, Dahyun. I could watch you do this all night.”

“Then don’t stop watching,” she gasps, her voice breathless but teasing. “I’ll ride you as long as you want.”

And fuck, she means it. Even though you haven’t cum yet, and neither has she, the way she’s moving, the way her pussy grips you like she never wants to let you go—it’s enough to make you feel like you could lose it at any second. But you hold on, watching as she keeps going, her moans and gasps filling the room as she rides you like there’s no tomorrow.

Dahyun’s movements are growing more frantic now, her slim body bouncing on your cock with wild abandon. Her moans are louder, breathless and unrestrained, filling the room as her hips slap against yours. The wet, messy sounds of her tight pussy taking you echo beneath the storm outside, the rain beating against the windows a steady, distant drum. Her small hands cling to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she rides you like she can’t get enough.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, your hands gripping her waist to steady her. “You’re so fucking good. Keep going, just like that.”

Her moans hitch, turning higher-pitched as she leans back slightly, her head tilting toward the ceiling. “It’s so good,” she whimpers, her voice shaky. “You’re so big—I feel so full.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your fingers pressing harder into her hips. “You like how my cock stretches you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she cries out, her pace quickening as her thighs tremble around you. “I love it. I love you. It’s too much, I’m—” Her words break off into a sharp gasp, her body shuddering as she continues to bounce, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through both of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” you murmur, your voice rough and low as you watch her fall apart on top of you.

She nods frantically, her hands sliding up to your chest as she leans forward, her petite frame trembling with every movement. “So close,” she breathes, her voice almost a sob. “I can’t—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come here,” you interrupt, your voice firm but gentle as you pull her closer. She leans down, her breasts brushing against your chest, her flushed face inches from yours. You catch her lips in a messy, desperate kiss, your hands sliding up her back to hold her against you. She moans into your mouth, her hips still rocking against yours as you take over.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” you whisper against her lips, your breath hot and heavy. “Hold on tight, baby.”

With that, you adjust your legs on the bed, planting your feet for better leverage. Your hands move to her hips, holding her steady as you start to thrust up into her, hard and fast. The first deep, powerful stroke makes her cry out, her body jolting against yours.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, her voice high-pitched and trembling as you pound into her tight, soaking pussy.

“You like that?” you growl, your thrusts relentless as you drive into her over and over, each one hitting deeper, harder, making her walls squeeze around you like a vice.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes!” she screams, her head dropping onto your shoulder as her nails rake down your back. “I love it! Don’t stop—please don’t stop!”

Her moans are louder now, right in your ear, and fuck, it’s exactly what you need. The sound of her losing herself, the way her voice breaks with every thrust, sends a thrill through you. “That’s it,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me hear how good it feels.”

She doesn’t hold back, her cries spilling out freely as you keep slamming into her, your cock hitting her deep, her pussy clenching tighter with every thrust. “It’s so good,” she babbles, her words slurring together. “You’re so good, so big, I can’t—I’m gonna—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come on, Dahyun,” you urge her, your voice low and rough. “Let go. Cum for me. I want to feel you.”

Her body stiffens suddenly, her back arching as she lets out a sharp, broken cry. “Oh fuck!” she screams, her walls clamping down around you as she finally falls over the edge. Her whole body shakes, her hips jerking erratically as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You keep thrusting into her, your cock buried to the hilt as her orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, so tight it’s almost painful, but you don’t stop. You grind deeper, chasing that sweet friction even as she squirms, her breath hitching in overstimulated gasps.

“Too much—too much,” she whines, her voice cracking, but her hips jerk forward anyway, betraying her. You can’t see her face in the dark, but you know she’s rolling her eyes—that mix of annoyed and amused she always gets when you push her past her limits.

“You love it,” you growl, slowing just enough to let her catch her breath, your hands pinning her trembling thighs wide. Her skin is slick with sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and her vanilla lotion.

She collapses against your chest, panting, her heartbeat wild against yours. “You’re… insane,” she mutters, but there’s a laugh tangled in her words. Her fingers trace lazy circles on your shoulder, shaky but still teasing.

You smirk, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Not even close to done with you.”

Before she can protest, you flip her onto her back, the mattress groaning as you loom over her. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, heels digging into your ass like she’s already begging for more. The faint glow of lightning spills through the curtains, illuminating her flushed face, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes dark and hungry.

“Gonna fuck you until I fill you up,” you say, voice rough. Your cock twitches, still rock-hard, leaking precum inside her pussy. “You want that? Want me to cum deep inside you?”

Her breath hitches. She bites her lip, her hips tilt upward, inviting. “Yes,” she whispers, then louder, desperate: “Fuck, yes—please, I need it. Need you to—ah—!”

You don’t let her finish. You slam into her, one brutal thrust that steals her voice, her back arching off the bed. She’s so fucking wet, her pussy swollen and sensitive from her first orgasm, but she takes you greedily, her nails raking down your spine.

“Harder,” she demands, her legs tightening around you. “Don’t fucking hold back—give it to me.”

You oblige. Your hips piston into her, the slap of skin echoing beneath the storm’s dying growls. Every snap of your pelvis drags a broken moan from her throat, her walls fluttering around you like she’s trying to milk you dry. She’s a mess—hair tangled, chest heaving, tears clinging to her lashes from the intensity—but she’s yours, unraveling again under your hands.

“You feel that?” you grunt, driving deeper, your balls slapping against her ass. “Gonna pump you so full, you’ll drip for days.”

She whimpers, her head thrashing against the pillow. “Do it—fuck, cum in me—I want it, want you—”

You feel it first in your balls—that coiled, electric tension snapping tight as Dahyun’s pussy milks you, her walls fluttering like a fucking vice around your cock. “Gonna cum,” you warn, voice shredded, hips stuttering as you drive into her one last time. She claws at your back, her moans pitching higher. “Do it—fill me up, please—!”

Your release hits like a detonation—thick, pulsing ropes of cum surging deep into her. You groan, low and guttural, as you pump her full, your cock twitching with every hot jet that floods her tight pink cunt. She gasps, her legs shaking where they’re hooked around your waist, her nails digging crescent moons into your skin. “Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, “it’s so hot—I can feel it—”

You grind your hips harder, burying yourself to the root as your cum spills into her, the wet slap of your skin against hers echoing in the dark. Her pussy clenches greedily, sucking every drop from you, her breath coming in ragged hitches as you fill her. “That’s it,” you rasp, your forehead pressed to hers, “take it all, baby. Take all my fucking cum.”

She keens, her back arching off the mattress as your cum leaks around your cock, dripping down her thighs. The smell of sex—musky and sweet—hangs thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rain still clinging to the windows. You collapse onto her, both of you slick with sweat, your chests heaving as you ride out the aftershocks.

Minutes later, the room is quieter the storm outside reduced to a soft, distant hum. Dahyun’s curled into your side, her head resting on your chest, her breath warm and steady against your skin. Your cum is still leaking out of her, pooling between her thighs and staining the sheets, but neither of you care. The mess is part of it—part of this, the raw, unfiltered intimacy that comes after.

You run your fingers through her hair, the strands silky and damp with sweat. She hums softly, her body melting into yours, her legs tangled with yours under the covers. “You good?” you ask, your voice low and rough, but tender.

She tilts her head up to look at you, her big brown eyes glazed but content. “Mm. Better than good,” she murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You?”

“Never better,” you say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. She leans into the touch, her skin warm and flushed.

Her hand trails down your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your abs. “You know,” she starts, her voice teasing, “you’re kinda insufferable when you’re all… post-sex smug.”

You snort, pulling her closer. “Says the girl who just begged me to fill her up.”

She smacks your chest lightly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up,” she mutters, though her cheeks flush pink. “I was vulnerable.”

“Uh-huh.” You press a kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering against her skin. “And now you’re not scared of the storm anymore, huh?”

She glances toward the window, where the rain taps gently against the glass. “What storm?” she says, her tone light and playful. “I don’t even remember what I was scared of.”

You chuckle, your hand sliding down to rest on her hip. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight.”

She shifts slightly, her body pressing even closer to yours, her warmth seeping into your skin. “Like I’d want to,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your chest.

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. The room smells like sex and rain, the air thick with the kind of quiet that only comes after something real. Her heartbeat syncs with yours, steady and slow, and for a moment, the world feels perfect.

“You’re my favorite,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but sure.

You glance down at her, raising an eyebrow. “Favorite what?”

“Everything,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Back at you, Dahyunnie,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to her hair.

She sighs, content, her body relaxing completely against yours. Outside, the storm fades into nothing, but inside, it’s just her warmth, your arms, and the quiet promise of more nights like this.

#Dahyun #dahyun smut #twice dahyun #twice smut #twice Dahyun smut #kpop fluff #kpop smut #kpop m!reader #kpop male oc #kpop male reader #m!reader #kpop gg smut #gg smut #Dahyun fluff #dahyun x reader #dahyun #dahyun twice #male reader #m! reader

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bloomries · 1 year ago

Text

it's me or ____!

includes : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary : asking them to choose between you and their favorite thing (lightheartedly).

warnings : gn! reader. possessive! satan (could read a bit yandere, so be wary of that). name calling (in belphegor's).

LUCIFER

his classical music records

Your question was very out of nowhere, and Lucifer doubt you meant it seriously, still his heart dropped when you picked up one of his records and fiddled with it. He chuckles tensely, hands flexing by his side. "You already know the answer, why bother asking?"

You send him a glance, noticing his tense behavior. You look down at the record in your hand, deciding to tease him a little further. "Do I?" You pout, "Are you sure you don't love this piece of vinyl more?"

Lucifer wondered if you were the demon in that moment, as you toy with his beloved heart. When you finally cease your teasing, setting down the record where it belonged, he let out a breath of relief.

Then, with quick strides he walks over to where you are and takes you by the shoulders. "I apologize if it wasn't obvious before, but I should hope you know that I love you more." You smile, confirming you knew this, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. He pulls back and clears his throat. "But I also do really love my records, so please don't scare me like that again..."

MAMMON

grimm

"I can't choose between the two loves of my life?? How do you expect me to choose?" He asks with a pout. You two had just woken up, not even out of bed, when you asked the demon this question. You weren't expecting this response, although you feel a little foolish to not expect this outcome.

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight." You say, rolling over so your back faces him. He lets out another whine, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your neck.

"Don't be upset," his hot breath tickles your neck. "Grimm lets me spoil ya, y'know. Whenever I buy somethin' I know ya like, and bring it home to ya and see that big ol' smile... How can I not like grimm when it makes such good things happens, hmm?" Well, Mammon is surely very charming, you'll give him that. You peek over at him and he's smiling that smile that has your stomach doing flips.

"Fine... No couch..." You pinch his cheek. "But if I ever ask that question again, the answer better be 'you, darling,' got it?"

"L- Loud and clear!"

LEVIATHAN

his merch collection

"H- Huh!?" Leviathan fell out of his seat at your sudden question. You chuckle quietly at his reddening face. It was a simple question of 'what do you like more, me or all your merch collection' and he's already gotten this flustered.

"Well, I- uhm, well..." He's stumbling over his words, looking around his room. He did really love his all the items he's collected throughout the years, but he also really loved you. Dread settles in his stomach when he realizes just how much he loves you because... is becoming a normie!? Why would he sell every last drop of merchandize for you? He'd give up videogames, anime, fantasy novels, all for you if you truly asked him too.

You watch as he spirals, mumbling to himself. You're a little worried now, poking at him cautiously. He doesn't react. "Uhm, Levi? It was just a joke, you don't have to think so seriously..." You say, before he's sitting back up, staring at you with wide, watery eyes. Shit, you almost felt a little guilty for asking him now.

"I... I love you... More... Yeah." He nods, his face on fire as he takes a nearby figurine and holds it close to his heart. You decide to leave, to let him come to terms with his newfound realization that he, Leviathan, who had sworn off any real connections, has indeed made a connection with someone so profound he'd do anything for them.

It'll take him a while to come to terms with this.

SATAN

enchanted books

"Don't be ridiculous, obviously I love you more than my enchanted books." He rolls his eyes at your question. Was it not obvious how madly in love he was with you? Did he need to be more outright and forthcoming with his affections?

"Yeah, but wouldn't you be sad without your books?" You ask, looking through his bookshelf. Satan's eyes follow your every move, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he sneaks up behind you, before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Well, yes I would be, but life would be much more dull without you by my side." He confesses. "Unfortunately for both of us, I need you more than anything else now." He pulls away slightly, so you can turn around in his arms and give him a pointed look- what does he mean by 'unfortunately'? He can read you easily, and decides to explain. "I just mean I hope you don't plan on leaving anytime soon, I fear I might not be able to let you go."

Placing a light peck on your cheek, Satan pulls back to look into your gaze. "But don't go thinking you can throw away my books now, okay?" You stifle laugh, nodding.

"Wasn't planning on it."

ASMODEUS

new clothes

"I can't believe you would think- obviously I love you more!" Asmo scolds, huffing and puffing at your words. He's offended you would think he loves anything more than you! "Of course I do really enjoy new clothes, but they'd just be boring if I didn't have you to show them off to! or have you to help me accessorizes with, or-" You place your lips on his for a sweet kiss (mostly to stop him from lecturing you).

"Okay, I understand, 'm sorry for asking." Asmo blinks a few times, a little dazed by your kiss (he always is) before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh no, don't think that'll make me forget." He scoffs, shaking his head. "Do you realize how worried I am now, thinking that you don't feel loved enough?" He sighs dramatically, blowing some hair out of his face. "I think this calls for a date night." He's got a mischievous little twinkle in his eye. "Don't you think?"

"Oh my," So this is what he was getting all worked up for. "I agree, I think I need you to show me just how much you love me~" You coo, playing into his antics. He grins, pulling you close to him.

"Thought so," he hums, nuzzling into you. "I know just the place to go, too. Shall we get ready together?"

BEELZEBUB

burgers

"You... or burgers?" Beel asked, stopping midway to bite into the delicious, juicy burger he ordered. Beel gives you a sad look, and you instantly feel a kick to the gut. You regret asking, his little frown making your heart twist into knots.

"I-" You go to laugh it off, to tell him that you were only messing around, but he cuts in before you're able to.

"I love you more. Really." He finally takes a bite of his burger, which your grateful for, before he's taking your hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. "I know I'm not great at showing my feelings... But I'll try better from now on." He says, full of earnest. Oh, your heart is shattering. You lean across the table, cupping his cheeks and giving him a big kiss.

"No, I'm sorry Beel! I know you love me, I was just trying to be silly, 'm sorry I got you so worried!" He seems to relax a little at that- so you were just pranking him? He lets out a shaky breath of relief, that's good to know. Still...

"I see... Well, I will still try to show my feelings more."

BELPHEGOR

his pillow

"Don't be ridiculous," Belphegor huffs at your stupidity, rolling over in his mix of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. "What a stupid question." He shakes his head, "I knew you were dumb but geez..." He peeks a glance at you, before continuing. "Obviously those two things are the same."

You can't see his cheeky, shit-eating grin but you can feel it. You throw a pillow at him, exclaiming "I am not a pillow!" for the umpteenth time. He swats the pillow away, snickering to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say." He snickers, cozying up in his bed, feeling his eyelids grow heavier. "Either way, you're my favorite so... don't get all huffy, 'kay?" Your cheeks grow a little warm at his sleepy confession, and you sneak a little closer to him.

"Belphi-" You let out a shriek as he pulls you into the bed with him, swiftly positioning you both so his head is resting atop of you. You groan, you should've seen this coming. "You brat, let me go."

"Sorry, but I plan on using my favorite pillow- I mean, human, to help me sleep, so quit your yapping, will you?"

#obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #om x reader #om headcanons #om imagines #omswd x reader #omswd headcanons #omswd imagines #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader

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gold-onthe-inside · 5 months ago

Text

swallows and ravens

n. def: operatives who use sex as a tool; to engage in sexual activity with the targeted person and gather the intelligence either through pillow talk or blackmail.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: after getting caught in the rain after a bookstore date, you and spencer have the perfect moment to take things to the next level. content warnings: smut, oral (f recieving), penetrative sex, softdom!spencer, brat/brat-tamer dynamics if you squint, no use of contraceptives (please use protection people), no use of y/n, NSFW MDNI 18+ ONLY word count: 4k (no judging) a/n: based on the prompt "you look good on your knees like this", written for my 1k event

The only protection you have from the rain is a pair of newspapers, clutching your bags of books as you and Spencer run from the subway exit to his building, before you end up having to spend the night in the tunnels waiting for the rain to stop. You’re shivering beside him, watching him fumble with his keys to open the door to get you both inside. He lets out a triumphant noise as the lock clicks and he hurries you inside and out of the rain.

Once the pair of you are safely inside and out of the rain, Spencer takes the soggy newspapers from you, folding them neatly and leaving them to dry out, then pulls his bag off his shoulder, dumping it in the floor, toeing off his sneakers beside it, and peeling off his mismatched socks.

You tugged off your coat, teeth chattering as you hung it on a chair, looking down at your long black dress, soaked and clinging to your skin. You shake out your wet arms, sweeping damp hair back and out of your face as you look at your boyfriend. God, that was still so new to you. Spencer Reid, your roommate's team member, the guy you used to tolerate, now your boyfriend. You don't know how to get used to that idea.

“I really didn’t think we’d get caught in the rain,” he was saying, grabbing the throw off the couch and walking over to wrap you up in it. “I knew I should’ve gotten us to leave earlier, but that classics section was like a wormhole. A-and to be fair, I was only looking for Moliere because I thought you’d like his work—”

“Spencer, breathe,” you reminded him, trying not to laugh as he zealously rubbed your arms to warm you up. “It’s rainwater, not acid.”

Spencer pouted but did as he was told. He did have a tendency to ramble, he’d been trying to tone it down for a while now. He settled for running his hands over your arms and then pulling you just a little closer in the hopes that his body heat might just help to warm you up a bit faster. “You’re shivering,” he muttered.

"I think I'll survive," you said, voice muffled against his chest.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you as close as humanly possible, letting you bury your face in his chest. “We should probably get you out of those wet clothes,” he said.

"Bet you say that to all the girls," you said into his chest.

“Ha ha,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “You’re hilarious,” he said, although he couldn’t help the smirk that was spreading over his face, and the way his arms just held you that little bit tighter at your comment. You raised your head, tipping your chin up so he could kiss you.

He obliged, tilting your chin up even farther until he met your lips in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped even further around your waist, his palms splaying out across your lower back, holding you to him as his lips slowly moved over yours.

Spencer gently backed you up until your the backs of your knees hit the edge of the couch, at which point he used that as leverage to push you down onto the couch. He ended up on his knees, breaking away from your lips to pull your boots off.

"You think of everything, don't you?" you asked softly, letting the throw fall away and smiling at him.

"I’d like to think so." He smirked at you, arranging your shoes on the floor beside his bag. His knuckles brushed over your skin as he lifted your bare foot into his lap, fingers working to slowly peel your stockings down your leg from your thighs.

"Or maybe this whole thing was planned," you continued, grinning at him. "Wine and dine your girlfriend, buy her books, get her caught in the rain and then have your way with her."

Spencer was in the middle of tugging your other stocking down your leg, the smooth fabric gliding under his fingers, and he paused, looking up to meet your gaze, an unamused but still playful look on his face. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

"I'm just saying, I'd be impressed," you said, shrugging before reaching out to smooth back damp curls from his forehead.

Spencer chuckled, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the side of your knee, his hands sliding up your leg, pushing the now discarded stocking out of the way. “Can’t a guy just be sweet sometimes?”

"Sure. But you're sweet all the time, which is suspicious," you replied, watching him.

“So, what? I have ulterior motives now?” His hands slid higher up your thighs, now completely discarding the stockings and moving to push up the hem of your dress, up your calf.

"I'd be a little disappointed if you didn't think about it at all," you said, your voice dipping lower as his hands drifted higher, still on his knees in front of you.

“Never said I didn’t think about it at all,” he said, fingers tracing over your skin, his gaze now lingering over your thighs. It was subtle, but he could feel his jeans getting a little tighter as he slowly pushed your skirt up further. “I’m only human, after all.”

You tutted playfully. "And here I thought you were a robot."

He let out a huff, shaking his head. “You’re so mean to me,” Spencer said with a small pout that you know is an invitation for you to kiss away. His lips are soft, if a little chapped, and cool against yours, your hands sliding over his jaw.

“Would it help if I told you that you look very good on your knees like this?” you asked softly and he hummed a little in response.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, kissing you again, hands firmly placed on your soft thighs, grunting a little against your lips as your hand threaded into his damp hair. His hands cupped the back of your knees, pulling you closer and your legs apart. His tongue broached your bottom lip, seeking permission for entry, and when you part your lips for him, his tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth. The hand holding your knee comes up to cup your jaw, kissing you until his lungs ached for air. Even then, he can’t stop himself from pressing a few more soft brief kisses to your reddened lips. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a charged moment, as if debating internally whether it was too soon to take this inside.

He looked at you, his thumb tracing softly over your cheek. His breathing was a little ragged, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet, his grip on your thighs still keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. His gaze was half-lidded, almost lost in you, but he snapped out of it when a shiver shot through your body, only realising that you were still in soaked clothes. He cleared his throat. “Jokes aside, you need to get out of those clothes.”

"Yeah," you murmured, still slightly dazed, either by the intensity of the kiss or by the lack of air to your brain, but you need a moment to come back to yourself. "Um... clothes?"

He chuckled again, the sound soft and low in his throat. “Yes, those.” He moved to help you up off of the couch, taking your hand in his. “I’ll lend you some of my clothes for now, and you can worry about yours later.” He pulled you along with him toward the bedroom.

You smiled, unable to help the playful tone in your voice, “I knew it, this was all just a ploy to get me alone.”

“You caught me.” His arm looped around your waist, his lips finding the juncture between your neck and shoulder to place a kiss there. “I’m just an evil mastermind, really.”

“Truly the worst,” you murmured, your hand running over his neck and cupping the back of it as he unzipped your dress, pressing soft kisses to your jaw and cheek. He can never seem to stop himself when it comes to you, years of repressed yearning from afar rushing out. But it’s new, this thing between you, and he never wants to push you too far, worried that the bleeding heart on his sleeve would scare you off.

“Want me to stop?” he asked softly, begging in his head for you to say no, relief settling in his chest when you shake your head and he can kiss you again, peeling off the wet fabric and Christ, you take his breath away, in more ways than one. He’s intimately aware that he’s wearing too many layers, rectifying the matter as quickly as he could while also guiding you to the bed and you have to stifle a giggle as his hand gets caught in his shirt trying to tug it off.

“Don’t laugh,” he whined, pouting a little.

“I’m trying,” you reply, defensive as you chase his lips, hands helping him work off the drenched shirt. He sighed into your mouth as he freed himself, hands returning to cup your face as he kissed you, slow and languid, taking his time. You shifted, sliding your hand over his side, shivering as his hand drifted down your neck as you lay back against the pillows. His thumb traced your clavicle, trailing his lips down your jaw again, warm and open-mouthed.

His touch is gentle, reverent, as his lips and tongue move over your skin. His hand on your side begins to trace over the smooth skin there, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast. His lips continue to move in a slow, torturous path down your neck and over your collarbone. As his fingers skim the underside of your breast, he feels you shiver beneath him and he pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your skin is flushed as you shift beneath him, your pupils slightly dilated. He watches your breath hitch as his gaze lingers over your face, and he feels his heart flutter as your lips part softly. He feels a little heady as he takes you in, the way your hair is splayed over the pillow behind your head, the way your hands cling to his forearms, the way your body is so perfectly molded to his, and he has to swallow before he speaks. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, voice soft and barely above a whisper.

"So are you," you murmured back, smiling at him. He returned the smile, his cheeks flushing a bit at the compliment. His hand moved in time with his mouth, skimming across the curve of your breast and down your stomach. He could feel your breath quickening, your body arching up into his touch, the way your eyes fluttered briefly and it sent a shiver down his spine. His fingers broached the border of your underwear, dipping under the lace, torturously slow.

His touch is slow and careful as his fingers trace over the lace of your underwear, the pads of his fingers grazing over the sensitive skin of your hip. He watches the way your body reacts to his touch, the gooseflesh that pricks up on your skin, the way your breathing becomes uneven, the way your hips shift up just the smallest amount as if asking for more. His fingers linger at the waistband of your underwear, hovering for a moment before tugging them down past your hips.

You shift your hips to help, swallowing as he settled between your legs, his hands pushing your thighs apart a little more. "Please," you murmured quietly, none of the prior teasing on your tongue. It's slightly embarrassing how badly you want him.

He was a little taken aback by the pleading note in your voice, but his hands gripped your legs and tugged you closer. “Christ,” he mumbled, his brain to mouth filter taking a backseat. “Begging already?”

"I take it back, you're awful," you said, but he cut your words off as he pressed his lips to your stomach. He laughed softly against your skin before he continued his path down your body, placing soft kisses over your stomach and thighs, drawing out every touch until you were squirming beneath him. He peppered kisses higher, higher, higher until he was finally right where he wanted to be. He looked up at you for a moment, taking in your ragged breathing, your flushed skin, the way your eyes were darkened and your lips were slightly parted, all because of him.

He lowered his head, lips grazing over your hip, and it felt like you might combust as his mouth traced your skin, closer, closer to where you want him. A small noise escaped you as your body writhed from anticipation, and he chuckled against your skin. “Impatient.”

“Tease,” you retorted, receiving a soft squeeze under your thigh before he dragged his tongue over your folds, guiding one leg over his shoulder, warm, wet pressure taking away any ability you had to form words. He flattens his tongue against you, lapping in long, slow strokes that make you squirm for more, his hands drifting from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place. He flicks his tongue over your clit, taking his time, wanting to hear the noises you make, the way your body moves against his face, desperate for release, and God, he could do this for hours. He can feel his own arousal building, hard against the mattress.

You can feel the way he grinds against the mattress, desperate for some friction, but he doesn’t break his rhythm, tongue still sliding over you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, and he could feel how close you were, the way you were trembling beneath him, the way your hands clenched at his hair, and he knew that you were right there, just needing a little more, and he wanted to hear you say his name in that breathless tone, but he was also worried that it would make him combust right then and there.

“Spencer.” The name falls from your lips in a breathless, wanton moan, and it’s all he has to hear. He redoubles his efforts, his grip on you tighter than before, and it’s too much, too much, and finally, your body comes apart, your vision going white and blank, your chest heaving as you ride it out, his name still on your lips and if he wasn’t completely gone for you before, he is now.

You lay there, boneless and panting. He pulls away, shifting up and crawling over you, body hovering above yours as he stares down at you. His mouth and chin glistened with you, and if you weren’t already spent, the sight would have done it. His pupils are dilated, his hair a mess, the flush on his cheeks obvious as his breathing becomes a bit uneven. You can't help yourself, reaching up to wipe his chin away and pull him closer to kiss.

He went easily, leaning down to meet your lips in a brief but passionate kiss, groaning into your mouth as he settled his body over yous. One of his hands moved up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as his hips rocked against you, desperate for any kind of friction as his jeans grew even tighter. Your hands drift to his jeans, popping the button and unzipping the rain-soaked denim for him, hand slipping underneath to palm his arousal.

He cursed into your mouth as your hand wrapped around him, and he has to break the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing becomes ragged and he rocks into your hand. He’s trying his best to hold back, but it’s hard when you feel so good, when he feels like he’s gonna explode the moment he touches you. His gaze locks onto yours as he tries to hold himself together. “Please,” he rasped. “Please, I need you.”

You did your best to tug his jeans down, Spencer doing the rest of the work. He kicked off his jeans, leaving him free to press his now bare body against yours, both of you groaning as the skin-to-skin contact sent sparks through your nerves. He’s pressed fully against you, his body flush against every inch of you, and it’s overwhelming in the best way, even more so when you shift beneath him, the contact making him swear. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear," you murmured, one hand caressing his side.

“Are you really gonna pick on me right now?” he mumbled huskily, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting them to wrap around his waist. The contact is too good and he can’t help the way his body rolls against yours, letting out a ragged gasp.

"Pretty much," you mutter.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin there as he grumbled a little. He took a moment to compose himself before he lifted his head to glare down at you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

"Yet, here you are, suffering," you retort, smiling at him in satisfaction.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the gesture. He was too distracted by the way your body felt against his, the way your legs were wrapped around his waist, the way your hands were roaming over his sides, and he knew he was done for when you smirked up at him in smug satisfaction. “Yeah, whatever. Shut up.”

Despite his words, he shifted, lining himself up with your entrance, his gaze locked on your face to make sure you were still okay with this. He was so close to losing the last of his control, but he was willing to wait if you weren’t ready, but then you were nodding, and then he was pressing into you, and it was all at once intense and hot and overwhelming and he had to shut his eyes and drop his head onto your shoulder.

It took him a moment to adjust, every feeling heightened and overwhelming, and he had to take a deep breath before he could move, carefully pulling out and rolling his hips forward, slow and measured until he found a rhythm that made your head fall back against the pillow, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw, your neck, any skin he could reach, wanting to memorize the way you sound and move and feel beneath him, wanting to brand the image into his mind, needing this to last for as long as possible.

He picked up the pace, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling you even closer. His head is lowered, lips against your neck, your shoulder, his ragged breaths against your skin sending little chills through your body. You feel like you can’t catch your breath, like you’re drowning in the feel of him, the sounds he’s making, the way he surrounds you, and you desperately cling to him like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to him so you don’t drown.

His name is the only thing you can manage to moan and he is so gone, his heart pounding like a drum, breath ragged, and he feels like he’s gonna shatter into a million pieces, and it’s you, it's you, he needs you, and he can feel the way you’re clenching around him, close, so close. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place so he can give a hard thrust, and you cry out in pleasure, your hands clenching in the sheets, his name pouring from your lips like a prayer, and he’s right there.

He loses what bit of control he had left after that, a strangled moan escaping him as his rhythm falters, his body moving harder, faster, and he can’t think, can’t form words, he can’t do anything except feel. It’s too much in the best way, and he’s right on the edge, about to fall. “I’m so close,” he mutters, his voice ragged and breathless. “I just, I just need, god, I need you, so bad.”

"I’m right here, let go, angel," you murmured, clutching at him, one hand on his side, the other at his neck. He let out a ragged groan at the feeling of your hands on him, your touch on his skin and your voice in his ear, it’s the last straw, and suddenly, he’s tipping over the edge. His body clenches, his brain shutting everything off but you, all of his focus and attention on you as the orgasm rocks through him. He presses himself as close to you as he can, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his face buried in your neck as he trembles through the aftershocks.

He was shaking, breath ragged, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, he just held you close, his grip still tight as he tried to re-remember how to breathe, how to think. He stayed like that for a moment, before he finally lifted his head, looking down at you with an expression that was a mixture of awe and love and exhaustion, his hair mussed, sweat on his brow, and damn if he wasn’t beautiful.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," you breathed out, running a hand back through his hair.

His cheeks flushed, and he leaned into your touch, letting his eyes close for a moment before he looked at you. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he muttered lowly, his hand moving up to cup your face, thumb tracing your skin with a gentle touch. “That was… god, that was something else.”

You hummed in agreement, kissing him briefly. "You're something else." He returned the kiss, lingering for a moment before he settled beside you, tugging you close and nestling you against him. He was still catching his breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and he let out a deep exhale, his body finally starting to relax.

“I don’t think I can move,” he mumbled against your skin.

A chuckle rumbled through your chest, leaning on your elbow to look at him. "No?"

He gave you a tired look, eyes still a little glazed over. “No,” he affirmed, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you down into laying with him, not willing to release you just yet. “You’ve broken me. I have no motor functions.”

"Poor baby," you mocked.

“Hey now,” he grumbled, his tone more playful than annoyed. He pulled you a little closer, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I just did a lot of work. I deserve a break.”

"Yeah, you did," you murmured, sincerely this time. "Seriously, I would have asked you out a lot sooner if I'd known you were this good."

His cheeks flushed at your comment, a mix of pride and embarrassment on his face. “Don’t say that,” he protested weakly, trying to feign nonchalance, but your praise made him feel a little giddy. “I haven’t, y’know, done it in a while. I might be a little rusty.”

"Liar," you claimed. "No way you haven't practiced that."

He scowled at you, the expression falling flat due to his flushed cheeks. “I’m serious,” he insisted, his arms tightening around you. “And I wasn’t ‘practicing,’ that’s a weird term.”

"What would you call it?" you asked, raising a brow.

His brain sputtered for a moment, caught off guard by the question. What was the right answer to that? “Well… I just had… needs…” His explanation sounded stupid in his head, and his cheeks only grew hotter. “God, why do you make me say this stuff?” he muttered.

You can't help but laugh into his shoulder, your body shuddering against his. "You're so cute."

He let out a scoff, half-offended and half-embarrassed, but your giggles made the feeling vanish. He couldn’t stay annoyed when you laughed like that. “Just… stop teasing me,” he grumbled, even as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

"Never," you replied, looking at him again, bright eyes and fond features.

He feigned a look of annoyance, but couldn’t keep up the expression when faced with your gaze, and his irritation quickly softened. He let out a sigh, but a small smile was starting to form at the edges of his mouth. “You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and affectionate.

"M your menace," you murmured, kissing him gently.

His heart skipped a beat at that, and he felt warmth flood his chest as he returned the kiss, soft and tender this time. He held you close, his hand sliding up to gently cup the back of your head, his thumb tracing little patterns over your skin. “Yeah,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re mine.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x analyst!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #my fics

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lipglossanon · 26 days ago

Text

Sweets to the Sweet

Vergil x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dilf Vergil (need I say more 😉), au, I’m sure OOC Vergil (😞 i tried), kissing, teasing, dirty talk, praise, biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie(s), multiple orgasms, squirting, mirror sex, cum eating, slight breeding kink

over 7k worth of pwp lol

not proofread ✍️ enjoy!

editing to add: big thanks and shoutout to @ashlinxsloves and 💀 anon 💜 thanks to you two, i had the inspo to finish this fic 😭

Summer break could not arrive any faster. Your finals sucked the life and joy from you, but now it’s over and done. Nothing left except to empty your brain of concepts, formulas, and essays—and finally relax.

Nero, who you randomly met in the library trying to cram for an anatomy exam at the beginning of the semester, has invited you to hang out with him for a few weeks. I promise my dad isn’t going to care, a crooked grin in place, hell that's if he’s even at home. And I want you to meet Kyrie. Here, a dreamy look comes over his face. She’s the best.

So, you pack up and head out with Nero as soon as the last final’s finished (it’s yours, and it’s history). Then, after a short road trip—made easier by trading off driving until late the next night—Nero pulls up in front of a modest two story house. After parking, you both climb out of the car, stretching to work out the kinks of sitting in one spot for hours. You grab your bags while Nero grabs his and leads you up the pebbled foot path to the front door.

Before he can stick the key in the lock, the door swings open into a warmly lit foyer. The hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life stands there, cool gaze flicking from Nero to you back to Nero. He’s well dressed to be at home, a dark blue cable knit sweater paired with soft grey joggers ending on bare feet; his spiked hair looks messy, like he’s run his hands through it, with several fallen strands highlighting his face. A strong jaw offset by a soft mouth draws in your eyes.

“Son,” his raspy voice sends chills dancing down your spine. “Who is our lovely guest?”

Nero brushes his thumb against his nose, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him. “Ah, well, surprise,” he hunches his shoulders, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

His dad’s glacial eyes snap to you. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Nero hurriedly introduces everyone, making you grin over at him once he says his dad’s name is Vergil.

“You guys like to keep it classic, huh?”

Vergil’s mouth twitches, the hint of a smile trying to appear. “Yes, quaint, isn’t it?”

You laugh outright and Nero scratches the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, Well.. we’re kinda beat.”

His dad nods, smoothly stepping forward to clasp your bags in his hands. “Follow me to your rooms.”

You sputter out a protest that is quickly shot down—“A lady never carries her own luggage”—Vergil’s raised eyebrow and dismissive tone makes your heart flutter. He leads the two of you further into the house and upstairs. Once you get settled in, you fall asleep in no time.

The next few days are filled with Nero showing you around his house and neighborhood.

Oddly enough, whenever you and Nero hang out around his home, his dad is nearby. Nero offhandedly mentions a few times that that’s not his norm.

“He must be on vacation this week,” he complains to you under his breath, watching Vergil make his way through the living room to the kitchen. “I swear he’s never around when I’m on break.”

“Is he never around or are you always out with Kyrie?” You tease good naturedly.

“Shut up,” he laughs, tossing a throw pillow at you before slumping back on the couch. ”It just feels like he’s hovering.”

You shrug, attention going back to the television. You’d never say it out loud, especially to Nero, but you definitely don’t mind seeing his dad hanging around.

Nero eventually introduces you to his neighbor and childhood friend, Nico—a rowdy young woman who you click with almost instantly. She razzes Nero about everything, and it never fails to make you laugh. The last person he brings around is the infamous Kyrie. She’s so kind and pretty, you understand why Nero is so smitten.

The four of you hang out a few times and it’s fun, but you're glad when you have a free day to yourself. Craving homemade scones, Nero is nice enough to run out to the store to grab some ingredients. It’s only until he’s back that you realize a few items are still missing, and he promises to run out and grab those, too.

Alone once more in the kitchen, you decide to get a head start on the recipe.

Humming, your brows pinch together, immersed in looking over the recipe you have saved in your phone. You’re ninety-nine percent sure you have everything added to the bowl, but you just want to double check before you start mixing. Too busy cataloging ingredients, you don’t notice Vergil standing near the kitchen entryway.

“Okay,” you say to yourself out loud, pushing the phone further up the counter so you can pull the bowl and whisk to you. “Beat by hand for two minutes.”

“What are you making?”

An embarrassingly high pitched squeal escapes you before you can stop it. Spinning around, you see Nero’s dad gazing at you in amusement although his face remains stoic.

“Oh my gosh,” you hold your hand over your heart. “I-I didn’t hear you come in. You scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he lets his lips quirk up, a shadow of a grin. “It was not my intention.”

Blowing out a short breath, you shake your head. “No, I mean I know you didn’t mean to. And, uh, I’m just baking lemon scones. Nero picked up some ingredients for me earlier, but he’s off getting the rest right now.”

He steps closer, eyes dragging down your body before flicking up to your mixing bowl. “And do you require any assistance?”

His low tone has you biting your bottom lip, watching when his eyes catch on the movement. “Uh, s-sure, I mean if you don’t mind.”

He graces you with a half smile, “I would not have offered otherwise. Tell me how you need me.”

Your skin feels hot and a nervous sweat breaks out across your hairline. Aside from a few stuttered words, you’re able to explain to Vergil and in no time you both are working side by side in quiet harmony.

His hands catch your eyes; pianist hands, you think. Long dexterous fingers offset by pale skin with blue veins snaking their way from his knuckles up his forearms. You want to sink your teeth into his skin. It’s unfair how good he looks.

You’ve only spent a little bit of time with Nero’s father; it’s mostly been with his friends and girlfriend. Vergil, you’ve noticed, is quiet—more prone to reading in the soft lamplight of the living room than loud conversation. Nico says Nero is much more like his uncle (“A loud mouthed braggart to paraphrase Vergil,“ Nico snickered). So lost in thought, you almost miss him speaking.

“This is nice,” he murmurs at you, side-eying you before glancing back at his hands.

Smiling down at the mixing bowl, you nod. “It is.”

“I am..” his mouth purses, like he’s tasting out the word he’s searching for, “glad Nero invited you.”

At his admission, you turn to fully look at his side profile. A straight nose with strong cheekbones—he notices you looking and turns to face you, shifting your view onto his sharp eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth.

His thumb comes up to brush against your cheek, hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp. Heart tripping over itself in your chest, you feel rooted to the spot, trapped by indecision and nerves. The heat from his hand draws you in, head angling toward his palm.

“You have a streak of flour,” his low voice sends butterflies fluttering in your chest.

Your lips part and his eyes flick from your gaze down to your mouth. Before anything else happens, the side door of the kitchen swings open with a bang, Nero cursing under his breath as he steps through. Vergil easily slips away from you, turning back to the kitchen counter. Hands clenching at your sides, you try to calm your nerves, pulling in a deep breath before shakily letting it out.

Nero drops a small paper bag on the counter next to Vergil. “Did she rope you into it, too?”

He grins at you and you flip him off.

“Nooo,” you roll your eyes with a sigh. “He volunteered.”

“More like volun-told,” Nero laughs, holding up his hands as you reach over to push his arm.

“Why don’t you make like a tree and beat it?” You grouse.

A soft chuckle meets your ears, and you shoot a quick look at Vergil and catch his amused expression.

Nero sighs, “Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I just came to drop off the rest of it, gotta meet up with Nico to look over some project.”

Nodding, you watch as Nero heads out the way he came in. “Tell her hi from me.”

“Will do!” He waves without looking, shutting the door behind him.

A slightly awkward silence rings out after Nero’s departure. Clearing your throat, you turn back to the work space.

“Okay, so where were we?”

Vergil tilts his head at you, “I believe you were waiting on Nero’s delivery in order to continue.”

“Right,” you smile, embarrassment warming your chest.

You try to reach over Vergil to grab the bag Nero left when he shifts out of the way; nearly losing your balance, he braces your hips and twists the same time you step forward, leaving you pinned between his firm body and the counter. Nervous excitement has your palms sweating as you grip the countertop.

“Apologies,” you can feel the rumble of his voice from where your back presses against his chest.

A warm, woodsy smell encompasses you; the scent of bergamot and birch with an undertone of cloves. It sends a pulse of need through your core. Your fingertips tingle, arousal thrumming heavily in your veins. Belatedly, you realize he now has both hands on your hips. Where Vergil presses against you, he’s warm, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and keeps you.

His lips brush across the side of your neck, as faint as butterfly wings, sending chills to race down your spine.

Lips touch the shell of your ear. “Is this.. okay?”

“More than,” you breathe out in reply.

In one fluid motion, he turns you around and lifts you up, seating you on the kitchen counter. The gain in height only makes you a few inches taller than the older man in front of you. Running your fingers up across his chest, your hands come to rest on his shoulders. His lips quirk into a half smile and it makes your heart thud heavily in anticipation.

His hands slide from your hips down to your thighs, palms a hot brand against the skin. Attempting to squeeze them closed, he clicks his tongue, thumbs digging into the dough of your thighs.

“Relax,” he breathes out, stepping even closer—his clothes rasp against your bare legs and makes you shiver.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and he leans forward with a soft groan.

“Tempting me with this sinful little mouth,” his words send a pulsing throb to your clit. “Shall I sample a taste?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, eyes dilating, fingers curling into his sweater to anchor yourself.

Molten heat, like sun warmed honey, drips down your throat. Hungrily, he parts your lips, tongue slipping inside to taste you. Eyes fluttering closed, the dark may hide your sight but the feel of him surrounds you. His hands grip onto your thighs more tightly, a delicious bite of pain that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

He whispers something against your lips when he pulls away, but kisses you again before you can ask what. Vergil’s tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. He kisses slow and deep, taking his time to map out your mouth. You're swept up, unable to think outside of the litany of more more more drumming inside your skull.

Hands slipping across the back of his neck, your fingers run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp earning you a low groan. You greedily swallow it down along with the saliva from his insistent mouth. Rocking forward, you seek out more pleasure for yourself. The zipper on his slacks press against your cunt perfectly, clit swollen and questing for more.

Pulling you closer to the edge, he chuckles against your mouth. His lips drag across your jaw, lightly nipping the skin where it hinges. His tongue and teeth slowly map a trail across your neck. Slick saturates the gusset of your panties, pussy feeling hot. Your hand blindly reaches down and gropes him through his slacks and he grunts, fingers squeezing the fat of your thighs.

“Let me take you to bed,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping a small kiss to your skin.

“Okay,” you whisper against his hair. Lifting his head, he kisses you again, soft and wet.

It seems like you only blink, and you find yourself in his bedroom. You don’t really take much in except for the bed, a large mahogany centered against the wall. Feeling him at your back, your trembling legs take you over the mattress. Laying down, a whiff of cloves and bergamot steals into your nose.

Recognizing the smell from earlier in the kitchen, his sheets are saturated with it, making you bury your face into them. Breathing in makes you dizzy with want.

“Let me see your face, lovely one,” he coos, strong hands gripping your waist to flip you onto your back. “Such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Vergil,” you whimper, legs parting, allowing him to slot himself between your thighs.

He kisses you, rough and heated, tongue slipping into your mouth before coaxing your own past his lips. Sucking the wet muscle, his canines press down gently, sending a pulsing want through your clit. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug on the light strands. Whining, your hips roll up, grinding along the bulge pressing against the apex of your thighs.

Vergil sits back, hands dragging down your body. The knuckles of one his hands rubs across the seam of your lounge shorts, rubbing soft circles against the material, pressing it into your clit.

“I can feel how hot and needy you are,” he murmurs, blue eyes blown out in arousal. “May I?”

At your nod, his fingers slip into the band of your shorts and underwear, tugging them both down and off at the same time. Strings of slick cling to the gusset of your panties before snapping when he pulls them away.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Such a slick little cunt.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs twitching with the effort to keep them open.

Kneeling between your thighs, he drops a kiss at the bend of your right knee before slowly trailing kisses with the soft hint of teeth up your thigh. Skipping over your soaked slit, he presses kisses into your left thigh, leaving off with a gentle bite to your leg.

Hands grasping at his sheets, you writhe and whimper, hips jumping up to tempt his plush mouth to kiss your dripping pussy. He smirks up at you, mouth nipping at the junction of your thigh and cunt.

“Please, Vergil,” you pant, letting go of the sheets to run your hands through his hair.

“So sweet.” His fingers wrap around your wrist and tugs your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist.

His teeth sink into soft skin, lips and tongue roughly sucking a mark onto your wrist. Clit throbbing with the dull pain from his mouth, your free hand claws at his shoulder, head tilting back with a whine. Letting go with an audible pop, his tongue laps at the teeth indentations left on your skin.

“Now, to taste that hot little cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the mark one more time before dropping his head back down to your thighs.

The breath leaves your lungs in a gusty moan. Vergil’s tongue glides along your slit, ending with a soft kiss to your clit. With a groan, he buries his face into your cunt, tongue parting your slick folds to lick into your drippy hole. His hands frame your pussy, thumbs pulling your lips apart, allowing him to lick into you deeper. You clench down on his hot tongue, eyes rolling back when he chuckles against your sensitive cunt.

Pulling away with an obscene slurp, his tongue laps upward until he can circle your pudgy clit. Shifting one hand, he softly pulls back the hood of your clit, kitten licking the swollen bud until you’re scratching his shoulders and keening loudly. Humming, his blue eyes gaze up your body, and it makes your core burn hot. Flattening his tongue, he licks a broad stripe across your clit, and it sends more slick leaking from your pussy.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, nails sinking into his soft sweater. Tears clump your lashes together.

“You taste good,” he mumbles against your pussy. “Like ambrosia.”

His tongue presses back inside, hungrily tasting your cunt, strong nose rubbing across your fat clit. Moaning, your toes curl from the pleasure humming through your body.

“Please, I need you,” you keen, “I need you inside me.”

“You need what inside you?” He pulls away with a suckling kiss to your clit.

Blinking the wetness from your eyes, you tighten your grip onto his shoulders, lightly pulling him upward.

“Your cock,” you whimper, lips parting when he presses his mouth to your jaw. You can feel his lips curve into a grin.

“Good girl,” his low voice washes over you as he kisses the apple of your cheek.

He sits back on his haunches, hands stretching behind his head to grasp his sweater. Tugging it off in one fluid motion, strands of hair messily falling around his face while he drops the sweater into the floor. Biting your lip, your eyes greedily take in his toned chest and stomach. Your hands unconsciously reach out to drag down his sternum. Eyes following your hand, they drop down to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Flushed with heat, you bite your bottom lip, blown out gaze meeting his own. Palm pressing flat to his abdomen, you slide down to cup him through his slacks. A low sound escapes him from deep in his throat; it makes your clit throb. His hands quickly undo his pants, tugging them down his muscled thighs. Your mouth waters, a whine slipping out to see him bare before you since he’s not wearing anything underneath.

“The way you look at me drives me crazy,” his raspy tone sends chills across your skin.

He fists his cock with one hand while the other one moves up to your face, brushing a thumb across your bottom lip. Pressing forward, the digit slips into your mouth, pinning your tongue down as he cups your chin with his forefinger. Whimpering, you hollow your cheeks, sucking on his thumb softly, inner thighs trying to close but stopped by his body centered between your legs.

Letting go of your face, he swipes his wet thumb across his leaking tip before popping it back into your mouth. Salty musk floods your mouth and you moan, eyelashes fluttering as you run your tongue all around his thumb, lapping the precum up greedily. Tugging the digit free from your mouth, he smears your spit all across your lips.

“I’m very eager to be inside you, to stretch you open until you cry,” his eyes are nearly black, pupils swallowing up the blue until it’s a thin ring.

Reaching down, you grasp the hemline of your shirt and tug it up. Vergil joins you in removing your clothing, nimble fingers undoing your bra and slipping it away from your body. His hands grope your tits, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples and making you cry out pitifully.

“So sensitive, too,” he murmurs, more to himself; his eyes take in your naked body before snapping up to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweet treat?”

A shadow of a smile flits across his face; if you had blinked you would’ve missed it. His head dips down and he drops a kiss to your sternum. Breath hitching in your chest, your hands drop to the sheets to grip them tightly. His lips trail across your breasts, taking his time to kiss and lick each one. Sinking his teeth into the underside of your left breast, you keen softly, thighs falling open even further.

Suckling at your nipples, Vergil reaches down and grasps his cock, rubbing it across your soaked slit. The slick dripping from your pussy costs his dick, letting him easily grind against you. Fingers circling the base, he grips his cock and slaps it down onto your cunt, aiming the tip to graze at your swollen clit.

“Oh, please,” you gasp, hole clenching around nothing.

Ghosting his teeth against your hard nubs, he continues to suck on your nipples. His wet lips grail from one stiff peak to the next, blue eyes slitted in pleasure. Using his thumb, he presses the head of his cock against your hole.

“I can feel you trying to suck me in already,” his lips brush against the soft skin of your breasts.

Notching his cock at your fluttering pussy, he slowly pushes inside with a low groan. He buries his face into your neck, strands of hair tickling your jaw.

“I-it’s too big,” you pant, hands moving to claw at his shoulders. “Oh, god, it’s so good.”

He growls at your words, hips rocking into you harder than before. Your breath slips from you, the total feeling of fullness overtaking your senses—cunt stuffed with Vergil’s thick length.

He laces your fingers together, palm to palm, heart line to heart line; you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, helplessly, irrevocably ruined on his cock.

“Doing so well, taking me so deep.” He licks the shell of your ear, and you shudder, clenching down on his dick. “Snug little pussy feels like she was made for me.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from babbling, “Please, please, feels so good, you’re so big, please, I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Hush,” he coos, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salt from your tears. “I won’t leave you wanting, my sweet.”

The heat is suffocating; the heat pulsing through your veins, the heat buried in your cunt, the heat from his body pressing you down down down into his bedding.

“Are you going to cum for me?” His grip tightens around your hands. “I can feel this needy hole suckling at my cock.”

Whine smothered by his tongue licking into your mouth, your eyes roll back, climax washing over your body like a slow rolling wave. He keeps up the smooth rocking thrusts that have his pelvis grinding perfectly into your swollen clit.

“Good girl,” he drops kisses across your cheekbones and the corner of your lips. “Milking my cock so perfectly.”

Nails digging into the backs of his hands, your legs squeeze his waist, pussy clamping down on his dick, post climax tremors racking your body. He bites down on your neck, and you rock your hips, grinding his cock deeper into your pussy.

“I shouldn’t cum inside you,” Vergil whispers against your neck, voice wrecked. “It's not responsible.”

“Don’t care,” you plead with him. “Want it, want you to cum inside me.”

He groans, hips thrusting harder, cock easily slipping in and out of your sopping wet pussy.

“I’ll spill so deep inside you.” He drags one set of your clasped hands down your body to press into your abdomen. “You’ll feel it, so hot and thick.. my cum breeding your needy cunt.”

Your pussy walls flutter and squeeze down on his cock, slick coating his cock as his words fan your arousal from smoldering embers to a blazing flame.

“Vergil, please.” Sounding like a broken record, you beg him for more. “You can cum in me as much as you want.”

He growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Yes, fuck,” you choke out, tears beading your lash line. “Mark me up, do whatever you want.”

“You must stop offering me such delightful gifts,” he groans. “I’ll keep you full all night.”

He presses your hands more tightly against your lower abdomen.

“You’ll be dripping for days.”

With a low grunt that makes your cunt pulse, he flips you two over without pulling out. Now, his back is to the mattress with you sitting atop his lap. Your cunt flutters wildly around his dick, clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“Look at you,” his eyes are dark, drawing you in easily. “So lovely.”

Moaning, you eagerly bounce on his cock; Vergil laces your hands together again, helping you brace yourself. Biting your bottom lip, you roll your hips faster, grinding his cock along your g-spot and making your pussy gush so much slick it drips down his balls.

You want to cum; you want to cum so bad. He feels so good inside you, you think you might go crazy. He’s thick, stretching you open on that perfect edge of almost too much and just enough. His fat tip keeps knocking into your womb, the pleasurepain skittering down your spine and making your eyes water. He has to cum inside you.

You think you say as much out loud since he gives you one of those hidden smiles, wicked eyes promising you pleasure. He thrusts upward, cock rutting into your squelching cunt with deep, steady strokes. He bunches your hands together so he can clasp them in one of his, using the other to loosely grasp your neck and pull you down. Your noses bump before he nips your bottom lip.

“Are you going to cum for me, dear heart? Squeeze me until I spill all sticky, sweet inside your perfect cunt?” He whispers against your lips, the words stealing into your mouth and settling deep into your core.

Pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, his tongue slides into your mouth, flicking against yours. You whine, pussy clamping down on his cock, climax beginning to crest inside you once again.

“That’s it, let me feel you,” Vergil coaxes, voice low and silky. “Cum for me.”

His hand moves from your neck down between your bodies to lightly rub across your clit. Pussy clenching, your grind down onto his cock and whimper. A few more soft circles against your pudgy bud and you’re cumming again. Moaning his name, your body flinches and shudders, orgasm buzzing through your senses until all you can feel is him.

“Do you still want me to fill you?” He asks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, tugging it slightly before letting go.

“Yes, yes, please, Vergil.” You nod, body still trembling. He groans and kisses you with fervor, hands gripping your hips so tightly it stings.

Cunt dripping your cum and slick, Vergil’s cock fills you over and over until he buries himself inside your soft, fluttering walls. Groaning, his head falls back to the mattress, eyes clenched shut, his balls pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside your pussy.

Slumping forward, your nose presses uncomfortably against his collarbone. His hands loosen their grip and he runs his fingertips across your back and side, raising chillbumps in their wake. Humming, you tilt your head and kiss his neck.

“Such a sweet girl,” he rumbles in your ear.

Your eyes drift closed, and it’s not until you feel movement that you realize you have even fallen asleep.

“I did not mean to wake you.” Vergil shifts you in his arms. You can feel his spend oozing from your puffy cunt sending a frisson of heat through your clit.

Shaking your head, you ease yourself up onto your feet. “I need to go clean up.”

His eyes drag down your naked body to see the mess he left between your thighs. His cock flexes, but stays soft.

“Shall I accompany you to the bath?”

Feeling shy and a little intimidated, you nod. “That would be nice.”

He ushers you into his en suite bathroom, fussing over the towels and water temperature before finally settling you both under the shower spray. Vergil lathers you in his body wash, being careful to wash every inch of your skin. You hum, eyes closed and totally relaxed. Soft kisses are pressed into your shoulders and neck. Between the warmth of his body and the drumming heat of the water, you think to yourself it’s quite easy to fall for someone like Vergil.

Once he finishes with you, he sets to cleaning himself. Vergil bats your hands away from helping him wash off. He keeps it perfunctory, just a quick and thorough cleaning before he’s pressing back against you in the water, lips seeking yours out. You look up at him, his hair beaten down by the water and making him look younger. Fingers running through his wet strands, you slick it back.

“You’re really handsome,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed and juvenile once the words escape you.

He grasps the wrist marked by his teeth and drops a soft kiss to your palm.

“And you are unequivocally lovely.” His blue eyes never waver from your gaze. “You have bewitched me quite easily.”

His hands cup your jaw, thumbs brushing across your cheek bones. “Would it be forward of me to ask for a courtship?”

You laugh, blinking the water from your eyes. “Kind of did things a bit backwards, huh?”

His lips tic into a half smile. “Yes, a bit backwards.”

Smiling, you slip your arms around his shoulders. “I’d love to go out with you.” Pausing, your eyes dart to the side, a frown pinching your brow. “You don’t think it’s weird I’m Nero’s friend?”

“As long as you do not find it odd that I’m his father,” he jokes, and it makes you smile up at him again.

“Then, it’s settled,” you stretch up on your toes to kiss his nose.

A huff of laughter escapes him before he kisses you sweetly. His hands still cup your jaw, keeping your head angled perfectly for him to deepen the kiss into something hot and heavy. After a few minutes of making out under the shower spray, you both begin to feel the water cooling off.

“Let’s get out.” He kisses you one last time, a quick peck to your lips, before shutting the water off and stepping out of the shower.

Returning quickly, he wraps a towel around you and gently dries you off. Once you’re ready, he drops the towel and has you put on one of his bathrobes. It’s too long in the sleeves and the hem touches the floor, but it’s soft and comfortable. He towels off quickly, eyes never straying too far from you. You watch him, with a dopey smile on your face you’re sure.

After cinching the towel around his waist, Vergil runs a hand through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face except for a few strands that stubbornly refuse to move.

“Let’s find you something to wear.” He tugs the end of the robe’s sleeve. “But it seems like my clothes may wear a bit long on you.”

You shrug, following him back into the bedroom. “I can head back to my room and—”

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off. “Especially since you’ll be sleeping in here, there is no reason to leave the room for tonight.”

“Oh!” Surprise suffuses your features.

“Did you think I would have you leave?” A nonplussed look combined with an eyebrow raise leaves you feeling sheepish.

“I didn’t think about it honestly,” you smile awkwardly. “But I’m more than happy to stay.”

“Good,” he tugs you in for a kiss before guiding you over to his closet. “I have a few items you can wear comfortably.”

Walking into the closet, he moves over to a built in wardrobe, leaving you to look around the space. You wander over to a tall mirror seated into the wall. Vergil turns with a shirt in hand and sees you admiring the ornate frame.

“It was a gift from my mother,” he says conversationally, stepping behind you.

“It’s gorgeous,” you smile at him through the reflected surface.

“Thank you,” he nods, then holds up the shirt. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” you go to turn and he stops you.

One hand undoes your robe and lets it fall to the floor; his nostrils flare, eyes dragging down your naked body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything more than help slip the shirt over your head. The fabric is soft and it smells like him, making your heart beat fast. He smoothes it down your body, hands resting on your hips.

Vergil pushes up against you and you bite your lip to feel his cock rutting against your thigh.

“Like what you see?” You tease, lifting the hem of the shirt from where it falls against your upper thighs, barely concealing your naked cunt.

“Always,” he nips your earlobe, hands drifting under your shirt to pull it up over your breasts.

He pinches your nipples and your head falls against his chest. Mewling, you rock back against his chubbed cock. One hand groping your tits, he slips the other away to undo his robe. Vergil’s hand then grasps your hip, thumb digging into your lower back. Notching his cock at your pussy, he swipes through the slick leaking from your hole.

“So eager,” his svelte voice fills your ears the same time he sinks inside your wet pussy.

He pins you to the mirror, the cool glass almost too much for your hard nipples. He pistons his cock harder into you, smushing your tits into the reflected glass. Face turned to the side, your breath fogs the mirror with each gasping pant. Your reedy moans and his soft grunts fill the closet space; long deep strokes of his cock send pleasure surging through your body. You’re still so sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take long to push you to the edge.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Spread open and perfect. Taking me so well.”

“Vergil,” you whimper, eyes fluttering with every bump against your cervix.

“Do you know how delectable it is that you can cum like this?” He rumbles, raspy tone making you clench down on him. “I don’t even need to touch your pretty clit, just fill this slick cunt with my cock until you’re cumming around me.”

“Oh, god, I’m so close, please,” you babble, spit smearing against the mirror from your parted lips.

He shifts his grip from your hips to your ass, squeezing hard enough for fat to dimple between his fingers. Grunting, he fucks into you even harder, cock splitting you open with every deep stroke. His drippy tip bumps into the opening of your womb and sends pleasure careening through your veins. Pressure builds up in your core and you twist your hips, trying to change the angle of Vergil’s dick.

“W-wait, I’m—I think I’m gonna pee,” embarrassment makes your voice squeaky. “Vergil, please, I don’t wanna make a mess.”

He grunts, hips thrusting harder. “Let yourself go. I promise it will be fine. Your sweet cunt is just feeling good.”

Hands pushing at the mirror, you raise up but the angle only drives his cock in deeper, the head nailing your cervix and making your legs tremble. Clit pulsing, the tight band of arousal centered in your core finally snaps. Slick gushes around Vergil’s cock, nearly pushing him out of your pussy. Pussy walls flutter and pulse around his thick length, sucking him further into your soaked cunt.

“Perfect girl,” he groans, leaning forward to bite and kiss your neck. “Look at you squirting for me.”

Your watery eyes turn to your reflection and you take in your fucked out expression. Eyes moving from yours to Vergil, you watch him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours and he smirks.

“Didn’t that feel good?” He coos. “Now, rub that sweet, swollen clit. Let’s make you feel even better.”

Feeling wrung out, you sluggishly do as he says. Your fingers rub your clit in soft circles and your pussy flutters around his cock.

“Perfect,” he whispers, burying his face against your shoulder, teeth biting into the muscle. “So lovely.”

You whimper and whine, pussy swollen and sensitive and yet you still want to cum for Vergil, let him feel you squeeze down on his cock. He continues biting into your shoulders, breath hot on your neck when he finally raises his head to stare at you in the mirror.

“I’m close,” he murmurs. “Are you ready for my seed? Ready for me to spill inside you.. right here?” One hand slides up to press his palm flat to your lower abdomen. “Cum inside you so deep, you’ll be dripping for days.”

“Please, please,” you beg, tears clumping your lashes together. “I want you to cum inside me. Please, Vergil, please.”

“How can I deny such a sweet request?” He hums.

His hand joins yours, fingertips strumming across your clit and sending electricity zinging through your brain. He kisses a sensitive spot on your neck that leaves you shuddering, and he latches onto the skin, teeth and tongue working to leave a mark. Cock brushing against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt paired with his fingers playing with your pudgy clit sends you spiraling into another orgasm.

“Utterly perfect,” he growls, letting your walls milk his cock as you slump into the mirror, climax wiping out your muscles.

Reaching under your thighs, Vergil hooks your legs over his forearms and lifts you up. Too tired to care, he spreads you open, showing you both where he’s splitting you open. Grunting, he fucks you, cock barely pulling out before filling you once more. It doesn’t take long for him to drop you down onto his dick as he thrusts up, stilling with a low groan. Hot spurts of cum coat your pussy walls, making you gasp and clench down on his cock.

“Such a good girl,” he moans in your ear and your hole clamps down on him even harder.

Grunting, he pumps his cock slowly in and out, spurting the rest of his thick, sticky load into your cunt. There’s so much, you can see some of it bubble out from around his cock. When Vergil finally pulls out, his dick is coated in your slick and his spend; a quick glance at your hole shows it completely stuffed with his cum.

Feeling self conscious, you squirm in his hold. “Y-you can put me down now.”

He chuckles and it sends butterflies through your chest.

“I rather like this view,” he noses against your ear before kissing the shell.

His half hard cock rubs against your ass and you whimper.

“Maybe we should call it a night, hmm?”

You nod, watching as Vergil continues to nuzzle against your ear. He turns his attention back to you, eyes locking on yours in the mirror.

“So much for that shower,” you mumble, surprising him enough he barks out a laugh.

“Apologies,” he kisses your cheek. “Should we have another?”

Shaking your head, you turn your head to kiss his temple. “No sense. I have a feeling we’d only end up this way again.”

“I fear you are right,” he kisses you before slowly lowering your legs down to the floor. Clicking your tongue, you wince at the thick glob of cum oozing from your pussy.

“Bend over,” he suddenly orders and you have no reason to resist.

He spreads your cunt and slides his tongue into your messy hole.

“Vergil,” you squeal.

“Hush,” he pats your ass and you bite your lip. “I’m cleaning up my mess.”

Overly sensitive, you moan quietly, feeling every swipe of his probing tongue as he licks his cum out of your pussy. Once he can’t taste any more dripping out of you, Vergil pulls away, dropping one last kiss to your lower back before standing up.

Once more, he smoothes down the shirt he picked out for you to wear to bed, eyes warm in and otherwise stoic expression.

“Now shall we head to bed?”

You laugh, legs shaky enough that Vergil wraps a hand around your waist to let you lean against him.

“Are we going to bed? Or are we going to bed?” You raise your eyebrows at him, amusement coloring your voice.

“Both,” he deadpans, and you snort before covering your mouth.

“How is that funny?” He murmurs, grabbing your waist and manhandling you down onto the bed.

His hands brush your thighs and your hips, seeking out any ticklish spots. Laughing, you sink your hands into his hair and guide him up to your mouth for a kiss. He sighs against your lips, and you whimper to taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling away, he glances down at your bare thighs. “Shall I procure undergarments?”

“No, thank you.” You run your hands down his neck to his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll need any.”

His shoulders twitch under your hands as he breathes out a soft laugh.

“Are you suggesting that I cannot keep my hands to myself?”

“I’m suggesting,” you whisper against his mouth, “that I don’t mind if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He licks into your mouth, groans muffled against your tongue. Hot, open mouthed kisses simmer down to sweet, soft presses of his lips until he finally pulls back.

“As delightful as another round would be, we should attempt to sleep,” he sighs, forehead pressing against your temple.

“Mmm hmm,” you agree readily, your body starting to feel how tired you truly are. “No complaints from me.”

He hums, the sound tickling your face and making you giggle. Tossing the covers back, he helps you get comfortable before tugging the sheets back over your bodies. Sighing happily, you snuggle into Vergil’s chest, letting his scent and body heat lull you to sleep.

#vergil x fem!reader #dmc vergil #vergil devil may cry #vergil x reader #vergil x you #vergil smut #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc smut #devil may cry smut #au #dmc au

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harrywavycurly · 6 months ago

Text

The Almost Bumble Fumble: Impressed

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @georgiarose94

A/N: This is just some fun fluffy goodness that popped into my head the other day! I have a part 2 in mind if y’all want it? Enjoy!

Summary: Harry Styles shows up on your dating app and you’re convinced it’s not really him✨

Harry only has one reason why he finally caved and downloaded the bright yellow dating app, he likes the fact he can’t be the one to message anyone he matches with first. It takes some of the pressure off of him because it’s hard to think of an opening line that is catchy and engaging enough to actually make the other person respond, and while he may be a talented songwriter he is absolutely horrible at trying to be witty and flirty through a screen and over texts. So not having to worry about reaching out first allows him to just sit and wait to see if anyone is actually interested enough in him to send him a message and so far, much to his disappointment and only a slight blow to his ego he hasn’t gotten more than a few random hellos.

Even though he hasn’t gotten the kind of response he thought he would since he downloaded the app just a few days ago, he still finds himself checking it a few times a day and that’s exactly what he’s doing now as he gets comfortable on his couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He scrolls through a few profiles and doesn’t swipe right or hit the heart button on any of them until he lands on one that seems interesting. Your profile picture is of you grinning as you stare at a piece of what he thinks is cake that’s on a plate in front of you that has a candle in it, there’s a little caption under it that says “if you can make me smile the way this cake did, you’re a keeper” and he chuckles to himself as he continues further down your profile. The most important thing he likes to look at on people’s profile is what they’re looking for on the app, because Harry knows he’s ready for a relationship and he isn’t trying to have his time wasted nor waste anyone else’s if he knows they aren’t looking for the same thing in the end.

He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth when he sees your response to that prompt if the exact same as his, looking for something long term. Harry takes a sip of his wine as he looks through the photos you posted on your profile, enjoying the tiny look at what you do for fun since you have a few photos at concerts and other events such as the classic group photo during a girls night out but the one that sticks with Harry the most is of you sitting on a couch with a glass of wine and a book in your hand that someone took while you weren’t looking or at least that’s how it appears. When he reaches the end of your profile he doesn’t give himself a moment to overthink it he simply swipes right and continues on his scroll through the app trying not to get too anxious as he waits to see if you’ll match with him and find him interesting enough to message.

After a few more minutes of scrolling he lets out a sigh before he takes a rather large sip of wine, just when he’s ready to call it a night and leave the silly little dating app he sees that he has a new message. He quirks an eyebrow as he goes to his messages and he can’t help the grin that takes over his face when he sees it’s from you, meaning you have to be online now since he just swiped on you not even ten minutes ago and you’ve already sent him a message.

Now what Harry isn’t prepared for is what your message says, having only gotten the different variations of Hello so far as opening lines so when he opens your message the laugh that escapes him is genuine and he feels as if you just sent him a one liner you’d possibly use on him if you saw him at a bar and wanted to start a conversation with him. He reads the message again and shakes his head as he chuckles to himself while also feeling a bit of an inflation to his ego because your opening line is tailored to him, it’s something that you wouldn’t be able to use on just anyone. Because even if they were an obvious One Direction fan it would be very risky because they might not know the lyrics to the song and be extremely confused.

“If the room was burning, would you really not notice?”

He finds himself instantly replying and when he hits send he suddenly starts to get nervous that maybe he should’ve waited a bit to reply so he doesn’t seem too eager and possibly scare you off before he can even really get to know you. But it’s too late now, so he just sips his wine and stares at the small screen in his hand.

“Honestly I don’t think I would. My mind would be too preoccupied by someone and their ability to tell little fibs.”

When he sees a new message appear beneath his he lets out a small sigh of relief because already this is the longest conversation he’s had on this app so far.

“Right well thank goodness you’re fireproof.”

He quickly replies to you and waits with a new feeling of excitement brewing in his tummy to see what you’re going to say next. But he can’t help but wonder how long you can keep this up, he will happily play along because he doesn’t want to be the one to change the subject and possibly ruin the mood.

“Exactly. I’m also very good at finding my way through dark places as well.”

Luckily for him he doesn’t have to wait very long and your response has him laughing and he’s grateful that he lives alone so no one can walk into his living room and ask him what he’s laughing at while cuddled up in the corner of his couch.

“Oh does that mean you’re not scared of the dark? Because if you are that’s okay I won’t let anything get to you and drag you down.”

He is typing out his reply and hitting send before he can even fully lean over and put his empty wine glass down on the table.

“That’s lovely of you to say but no I’m not scared of the dark. Not even a little bit. The only thing I get a little unsettled about is how quickly the night can change.”

As Harry waits to see what you’ll say he can’t stop his mind from wondering if there’s a possibility you’re doing something similar right now, sitting comfortably on your couch or maybe in bed smiling and laughing at your phone like an idiot. Because surely it can’t just be him that’s enjoying how easy the conversation is flowing, regardless of how silly it may be.

You read the latest message from this “Harry” person and laugh at how he goes about avoiding the exact lyrics of the song night changes, you quickly type out a reply so you don’t have to keep him waiting for too long.

“It does change fast doesn’t it? I’ve always thought it was a bit rude how everything you’re dreaming about is just is gone in the morning.”

After hitting send you reach over to your nightstand and grab your glass of wine and take a sip as you go back to visit his profile. You narrow your eyes as you bring the screen a little closer to your face as you scroll down to the few photos he’s chosen, most of which are also on his Instagram so you don’t let the thought that you’re talking to the actual Harry Styles cross your mind. Especially since a lot of the information needed to make a profile on the dating app the two of you are currently messaging on is very accessible, it’s just a simple scroll through Google. The only thing that makes you quirk a brow is one photo he has at the very end of his profile, it’s a photo of him sitting at a table with a smile on his face while holding a glass of wine and it’s one you’ve never seen before but that also doesn’t mean anything because there’s tons of photos and videos of Harry you haven’t seen.

When you saw you matched with him you couldn’t stop yourself from instantly messaging him, because even though you know it’s just someone using Harry’s photos to get attention you figure you might as well have some harmless fun. You know eventually you’ll decide to move on and maybe report his account depending on how weird he gets. You’re brought back to the moment when you see you have a new message, you take another sip of your wine as you read what he wrote.

“It’s very rude but there is something that even the night can’t change. Do you know what that is?”

You bite down on your bottom lip as you read the message and you get an odd feeling this person might be trying to flirt with you because the next line of the song he’s talking about is a rather romantic one, but then again you can’t really be sure. You take this moment to test the waters a bit as you type out your reply and hit send before you can second guess yourself and delete it.

“It’s you and I right? Because nothing can separate us?”

You know you’re going to have to casually change the subject soon but you can’t help but want to see just how long the two of you can keep indirectly quoting One Direction songs in a way that has ended up with the two of you in a rather pointless conversation. You feel your cheeks get warm when you read his reply, of course this Harry impersonator would send you lyrics to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Precisely. It’s safe to say you’ve got me tied down.”

You finish off your wine and place the empty glass on your nightstand before figuring out how exactly you want to reply. There’s a few ways you could go about this, but instead of going the obvious flirty route you choose to go for the comedic approach instead because that’s more of who you are anyway.

“I mean I can’t have you trying to escape the city and follow the sun now can I? Because that would just break my heart and I don’t even know where I’d go if that happened.”

You giggle to yourself as you scroll to the top of your messages and reread them, well aware that if anyone were to read them they’d be extremely confused. You also have to admit that this person is very well educated on their One Direction lyrics and you’re a bit impressed. When you get to the bottom you see “Harry” has replied and what he says makes you lean your head back and laugh as you drop your phone into your lap as you try to get yourself under control.

“I’d never try to escape because if your heart is broken and you’re just wondering around that makes me worry people will try to steal you away from me and I can’t have that. Not to mention I also have no clue where’d you go with a broken heart and I’m honestly so shit with directions so I’d be left with no choice but to walk around shouting your name.”

After a few moments you quickly type out a response and double tap his last message letting a red heart appear next to it so he knows you really enjoyed that creative use of lyrics from two songs.

“Walking around shouting my name? Absolutely not. Don’t embarrass me.”

Harry doesn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement at your message, enjoying how you managed to give him an easy way to go along with your subtle change of conversation since he notices a very obvious lack of song lyrics in your reply. And Harry being the romantic that he is finds this a great opportunity to ask something, and your answer will be one he might possibly tuck away in his mind to remember at a later date.

“Not one for big declarations of love then?”

As he waits for your reply Harry takes a moment to process the fact that even though the two of you haven’t even really had a true conversation he already can tell by your sense of humor that he’s going to enjoy getting to know you more, if you let him that is. When he sees your response he laughs and runs a hand through his hair with his hand that’s not holding his phone.

“I’ve never had anyone do a big declaration of love for me before so I’m not sure how I feel about them. What about you? Do you need a Jumbotron proposal during a sporting event or a billboard dedicated to how much I love your hands?”

Harry looks at his free hand and wonders if you’re being serious about loving his hands or if that’s just an example you picked to show him what you would be willing to write on a billboard about him. As he types out his reply his mind begins to think of things that could be considered big declarations of love or feelings that maybe you’d like, because even though he doesn’t know you he figures having some ideas on the back burner can’t hurt and who doesn’t like coming home to an outrageous amount of flowers or a maybe even having the radio play nothing but your favorite songs for a whole day.

“I am open to all types of declarations of love. Big, small, handwritten or painted on a billboard. I’m not picky.”

Now only part of that statement is a lie, Harry truly does enjoy any type of declaration of love that his significant other is willing to give him but he is a tiny bit picky. But that’s something to discuss at a later date, because it doesn’t really have anything to do with what the two of you are discussing now, he’s picky about other things but not how someone is willing to tell him their feelings about him. As Harry is getting up and grabbing his empty wine glass off his coffee table and heading into the kitchen he gets an odd notification at the bottom of the message thread between the two of you.

*accept video chat*

But before he can even hit accept or decline the message is gone and he sees you’ve typed out a quick little explanation.

“Oh god I’m sorry! Finger slipped and hit the video chat button! Sorry!”

He quirks a brow as he scrolls to the top of the messages and sees what looks like a FaceTime icon near the corner. Having not noticed it before he becomes curious and maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just that he’s interested in you and thinks this is a smart way to “meet” for the first time to get a better feeling of if the two of you actually can hold a conversation or not but either way Harry is typing out a quick message and hitting send before entering his kitchen.

“It’s okay. I didn’t know it was an option, I’m fine with a video chat if you are?”

You stare at his message for a solid thirty seconds before you even blink, not knowing why on earth this person would want to video chat with you when you know they aren’t Harry Styles. It’s going to be awkward and embarrassing, for them of course not for you because you already know you haven’t been talking to the tall tattooed international superstar but maybe this is for the best so you can tell whoever it is how impressed with their One Direction song lyric knowledge you are. And maybe, just maybe you’ll still find whoever it is attractive and it won’t be a total bummer of a Friday night. So against your better judgement you send him a simple response before you climb out of bed and head for the kitchen to refill your wine.

“Sure!”

You catch your reflection in the door of your microwave and instantly place your phone on the counter next to your fridge so you can adjust the monstrosity that is your messy bun. Once that’s as good as it’s going to get you look down at your faded band t shirt and decide that it’s good enough for whoever it is that’s about to video chat you, it’s after nine at night on a Friday after all so in your mind them seeing you like this is just preparing them for what they can expect in the future. As you’re reaching for your bottle of wine you see a new notification appear on your screen and you feel nervous as you pick your phone up.

*Accept video chat from Harry Styles*

You hit accept and the screen goes black before suddenly you’re looking at someone’s ceiling and you squint your eyes and bring the phone closer to your face as what appears to be half a forearm comes into view.

“Sorry love it seems I’ve dropped you.” You feel your heart begin to beat so fast you’re afraid it’s going to explode as a British accent comes from the phone, you swear it sounds exactly like Harry’s but you simply shake your head at that idea because there’s no way he’s on the other end of this call.

“Oh wow you sound just like-”

“I sound just like who?” Harry asks as he finally comes into view after he picks the phone up from where he accidentally dropped it on his counter while trying to open his wine bottle one handed. Your eyes go a bit wide as you move your phone away from your face, you feel your cheeks get hot and out of pure panic you place your phone against your wine bottle and put both hands over your face making Harry raise an eyebrow at you.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re Harry Styles.” You mumble into your hands but Harry hears you just fine making him chuckle as he pours some wine into his glass. “You weren’t supposed to actually be Harry Styles.” You explain as you spread your fingers allowing you to get a small look at Harry through the gaps, it’s almost unfair how much better he looks while taking up your phone screen than he does in his photos.

“Who was I supposed to be?” He questions as he grabs his phone and his wine glass and heads back into his living room.

“Some weirdo just acting like you to get attention on a dating app.” Harry doesn’t quite like that answer, he doesn’t like the idea of someone pretending to be him just to get attention and possibly hurt people in the process.

“Do people really do that? Pretend to be me on things like this?” You just shrug as you slowly lower your hands from your face and Harry is glad he’s already sitting down because even with your pink cheeks and distraught look in your still slightly wide eyes he can’t get over how pretty you are.

“I’m not sure? You’re actually the first Harry Styles I’ve ever come across but I mean I just-I didn’t think it was really you.” You admit with a laugh as you reach and grab your phone so you can get to your wine bottle, deciding you now more than ever need to refill your glass.

“Are you disappointed it’s really me and not some random weirdo?” He watches you raise an eyebrow and make a humming noise as if you really have to think about it before answering him.

“Honestly I’m relieved it’s actually you because if it wasn’t then I would’ve had to tell a random person how impressed I was with their One Direction knowledge.” You answer after you fill your glass up with wine, Harry chuckles as you make a face of disgust at the mention of telling someone you were impressed with them. “But since it’s you-”

“Oh are you saying you’re not impressed with my One Direction knowledge?” He says in mock offense as he watches you walk through what he can only assume is your kitchen based on the oven he sees in the background.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” You answer without any hesitation and Harry’s face breaks out into a wide grin because the look you give him is one that tells him he should’ve known that was going to be your answer.

“Well I’m quite impressed with your knowledge and your opening message was-”

“Oh god.” You say with a groan as you head into the living room, your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you take a seat on your couch making Harry give you a soft smile to try to help ease your clear embarrassment of what you sent him because he thought it was great.

“Don’t feel embarrassed love.” He quietly clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine after the petname accidentally slips out of his mouth. “I thought it was brilliant that’s why I responded and kept it going.” He explains making you smile and it’s not until this very moment do the two of you really sit and look each other in the eyes and Harry feels his own cheeks get a little warm as you stare at him through the phone.

“You’re really pretty.” Harry laughs and runs a hand through his hair as you blink a few times and realize what you just said out loud.

“You’re really pretty as well.” He says with only a small hint of nervousness evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to come across overly flirty but he also doesn’t see the harm in telling you the truth, you are very pretty.

“Thank you.” You smile and get comfortable on your couch. “I guess it’s good to get all this embarrassing and awkwardness out of the way now right?” Harry just nods and smiles at your choice of words, giving him some hope that you’ll want to maybe do this again or possibly meet up in person if you feel comfortable enough.

“Exactly.” Is all he says with a grin making you return his smile as you sink into your couch and toss a blanket over your legs to get comfortable because something tells you that you’re about to be on the phone with Harry for a while and you don’t mind. You silently thank your lucky stars that you decided to message him when you saw he matched with you because you can’t imagine the level of regret you’d feel if you somehow found out you fumbled the opportunity to talk and possibly get to know Harry just because you thought it was a fake profile.

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kiwriteswords · 6 months ago

Note

I kinda need Hotch accidentally hurting shy!Readers feelings…I need angst with a happy ending!

What's Left Unsaid [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: Love to write some shy!reader/hotch dynamics! Also playing out with the gifs and graphics I make for fics a little bit more. Thanks for the request!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, alcohol mention, team outing, bar setting, fear of commitment (stemming from both sides), happy ending but left a little open to interpretation, shy reader, mentions of Beth, mentions of the breakup with Beth, mentions of Jack, Dad!First!Mentality!Hotch, Friends with Benefits, Secret Relationship, Hotch's POV

Summary: When Hotch reveals to the team the reason he doesn't want a relationship, it hurts your feelings because the two of you have been secretly seeing each other, and you're wondering if it is going anywhere.

Hotch sipped his beer, trying to appear relaxed as he leaned back in the booth. The chatter of the team mingled with the ambient noise of the bar, but his attention was subtly tuned to you, sitting just a bit too far away for his liking. In his peripheral vision, he watched you laugh softly at something Rossi said. The sound was like music, and it made him smile, albeit briefly.

You and Hotch had been seeing each other secretly for a few months now. It started casually, two colleagues seeking comfort in each other after long, taxing cases. But slowly, the physical connection had deepened into late-night talks, shared dinners, and quiet evenings watching movies on the couch after Jack had gone to bed. Neither of you had put a label on whatever this was blossoming into, both hesitant to complicate things further. Hotch, especially, feared the implications of wanting more.

The first time it happened, it was almost by accident. You and Hotch had been the last to leave the BAU after a grueling case that had stretched over several weeks. The weight of the ordeal was palpable, lingering in the air like a thick fog. Hotch had offered to walk you to your car, a gesture of simple politeness, but when you reached the parking lot, neither of you seemed ready to part ways just yet.

"Want to grab a late dinner?" Hotch had suggested, his voice low and a bit hesitant. You were surprised; Hotch was always reserved, focused on the job, rarely stepping beyond the professional boundaries he so rigidly set for himself. But that night, something in his eyes—a shared tiredness, a mutual need for decompression—made you nod in agreement.

That dinner marked the beginning of what would become your secret connection. It wasn't planned or discussed; it just naturally evolved as you both found comfort in each other’s presence outside the high-stakes environment of the FBI. The diner meals became a routine, a way to unwind, and slowly, those meetings shifted to more personal settings. Hotch invited you over to watch a movie one evening when Jack was away at a sleepover. You brought over a classic film and takeout and found comfort in the quiet companionship that filled his living room.

You were naturally shy, a trait that often made you a listener rather than a speaker in the noisy dynamics of the team. Hotch noticed this early on. He learned quickly that you communicated more in silence than most did in conversation. He appreciated the quiet moments with you, how you seemed to understand the weight of words left unspoken. But he also knew he sometimes had to coax thoughts out of you, especially when he sensed something was troubling you.

One such evening, as the credits rolled on the screen, he turned to find you lost in thought, a distant look in your eyes. "What’s on your mind?" he asked gently, careful not to startle you out of your contemplation.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Just... thinking about the case," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. But he knew there was more—you often carried the emotional burdens of your work longer and deeper than most.

"It’s more than just the case, isn’t it?" Hotch prodded softly, giving you the space to open up at your own pace. Over time, he had become adept at navigating your shyness, offering you security in his steadiness.

You looked at him, the trust in his gaze encouraging you to share your fears. "Sometimes, I wonder if we ever really make a difference," you confessed, your voice tinged with the fatigue of the many losses you had witnessed.

Hotch listened, nodding, never pushing too hard, always patient. He shared his own doubts and hopes, a rare glimpse into his inner world that made you feel even closer to him.

These moments deepened your connection, transforming it from a simple comfort into something more profound. Yet neither of you dared to define it. Hotch, especially, was cautious, weighed down by the responsibility of being a father to Jack. His previous relationship with Beth had ended amicably but not without its scars—particularly for Jack, who had grown attached and then had to cope with the loss when she moved away.

So, Hotch held back, fearful of repeating the past, even as his feelings for you grew. And you, understanding his concerns, reciprocated the silence on the nature of your relationship. But as the months passed, the unspoken bond between you became a silent promise of support and companionship, even if neither of you yet had the courage to give it a name.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a reminder of an unread message from earlier in the day—something mundane about Jack's soccer practice. He glanced at you again, taking in your shy smile, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. He wanted more, so much more, but the fear of another loss for Jack held him back. It wasn't just about him or even about you; it was about Jack, too.

The conversation shifted, and suddenly the focus was on him. "Hotch," Prentiss started, her tone light but curious, "you ever think about dating again? It's been a while since Beth..."

The question hung in the air, heavier than the smoke swirling above them. The team's eyes were on him, but his flicked to you. He saw the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the curious tilt of your head as you waited for his answer.

He hesitated, his mind racing. "I... I can't imagine putting Jack through that again," he finally said, his voice more gruff than intended. "Getting attached to someone, and then... if it doesn't work out..." He trailed off, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The team nodded, understanding his protective nature over his young son, but you didn't. He saw the hurt flash across your face before you masked it with a small, polite smile. You excused yourself to the restroom, and Rossi gave him a knowing look, one that said he might have just made a mistake.

Hotch's heart sank. He wanted to go after you, to explain, but he was anchored to his seat by his own fears and the eyes of his team. He drank more deeply from his beer, trying to wash down the guilt.

When you returned, the barrier between you was palpable. You kept your answers short, your smiles forced, and though the team didn’t seem to notice, Hotch felt every inch of the growing distance.

The night ended with the team going their separate ways, and Hotch found himself walking you to your car. The air was chilly, making him wish he could reach out and pull you into his warmth. "About earlier," he started, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Hotch," you cut him off, though your voice was softer than usual. "I understand. Jack should be your priority. I wouldn't ever want to come between that."

"But you wouldn't," Hotch found himself saying, the words rushing out in a torrent. "It’s not just about protecting Jack. It's... I’m scared of asking for more and then losing it. But what I said it wasn't fair to you. I do want more with you if you want that too."

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your expression. "Really?" There was a cautious hope in your voice, one that made his heart twist.

"Yes, really," he affirmed, stepping closer. The space between you felt charged, his fear momentarily eclipsed by the need to make things right.

You nodded slowly, considering his words. "I need to think about it, Aaron. I... I want more too, but I don’t know how to... not with how things are right now."

Hotch nodded, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here," he promised.

As you got into your car, Hotch felt the weight of your words and his own fears. He watched as you drove away, the taillights a red blur in the night. Maybe it was time to confront his fears, not just for his own sake, but for Jack's, and perhaps, for whatever chance he had with you.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

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ccupcakqs · 15 days ago

Text

— rainy day movies ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: cuddles, teasing, domestic softness pairing: alex albon x reader a/n: i may or may not have once fallen asleep on my long-time crush’s shoulder during a movie too🫣

you hadn’t planned on staying in all day.

the morning had started off clear enough. soft sunlight through the curtains, coffee in matching mugs, alex’s hair sticking out in five different directions while he blinked at you from across the kitchen island. you had laughed, told him he looked like a dazed bird. he’d squinted at you, mumbled something about disrespect before padding over in socks and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you like it,” he’d whispered, voice still sleepy.

you did. you always did.

but somewhere around midmorning, the clouds rolled in thick and heavy. the kind of gray that blurs the skyline and makes everything feel a little slower, a little quieter. the first drops of rain tapped gently at the windows, and within twenty minutes, the sky had opened up completely. it poured.

you watched it from the couch, tucked into the corner with a blanket around your legs, your laptop balanced on one knee. alex had disappeared into the kitchen again, raiding the cabinets with the focus of someone preparing for a minor emergency.

“we need snacks,” he’d declared, popping his head out dramatically. “movie day rules.”

you had raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even know what movie we’re watching yet.”

“doesn’t matter. popcorn is non-negotiable. we’re doing this properly.”

now you’re sitting side by side on the couch, legs tangled, a giant bowl of popcorn between you and at least four blankets layered over your laps. the rain is steady outside, soft and rhythmic, the kind that turns the whole apartment into a cocoon.

you scroll aimlessly through the streaming queue while alex frowns at the options like you’re choosing a stock to invest in instead of a romcom.

“we could watch something funny,” you suggest.

“we always watch something funny.”

“because life is depressing enough?”

“fair.”

you keep scrolling. he shifts, the couch creaking slightly under his weight, and his thigh presses against yours a little more.

“what about something old?” he asks.

“how old are we talking?”

“like early 2000s. bad outfits. better soundtracks.”

you grin. “iconic. i’m in.”

you settle on something with a ridiculous title and a poster that looks like it was made in powerpoint. alex pumps a fist like you’ve just agreed to a team strategy call.

“i love when you support the classics.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

the movie starts. the opening credits roll. alex steals the popcorn bowl and props it on his chest, looking far too smug about it. you curl further into the couch, legs brushing his.

it’s comfortable in the way that only comes with time. not just the physical closeness, but the way you don’t have to think too hard about what to say or do. the silence is easy. his presence is familiar.

he tosses a piece of popcorn at your face without warning. it bounces off your cheek and lands in your lap.

“rude,” you say, turning to look at him.

“precision aim,” he replies, clearly proud.

you reach into the bowl and flick one back at him. it lands in his hair.

“direct hit,” you say.

he mock gasps and sets the bowl down, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’ve escalated this so quickly. then he shifts closer and drapes his arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder lightly.

“you’re lucky i like you,” he murmurs.

your chest tightens in that quiet, happy way it always does when he says things like that. simple. casual. real.

“i’m very lucky,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder.

the movie plays on, mostly ignored. you both throw occasional commentary at the screen — bad acting, questionable hairstyles, plot holes wide enough to drive a team bus through. you laugh, and he laughs with you, and somewhere in the middle of a slow montage set to an early 2000s indie ballad, his hand finds yours under the blanket.

his thumb rubs soft circles against your knuckles. your breath catches a little.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t look at you.

just holds your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the movie plays on, long forgotten in favor of soft glances and lazy comfort.

your head is still on alex’s shoulder, and he hasn’t moved in minutes. not that you mind. he’s warm. steady. he smells like the fabric softener you both always forget to replace and the faintest trace of his aftershave from earlier that morning.

you shift slightly to get more comfortable, and he adjusts without a word, guiding you to lean more fully against him.

“you good?” he murmurs.

“mmhmm,” you hum, eyes fluttering closed. “too good.”

he smiles. you don’t see it, but you can hear it in his voice.

“don’t fall asleep on me.”

“can’t make promises like that.”

he wraps his arm more snugly around your shoulders, fingers brushing your arm through the blanket.

you let yourself sink into him, the weight of the day slowly leaving your limbs. the rain outside is still falling in gentle waves, the kind of rhythm that makes your body slow down whether you want it to or not.

the dialogue on screen fades into background noise. the popcorn bowl sits forgotten on the floor. your breathing deepens, one soft inhale after the next, and soon enough, you’re still.

alex glances down. your head’s tucked into his collarbone now, your lashes brushing your cheeks, hand still loosely curled into his sweatshirt.

his smile softens.

“hey,” he whispers. no response.

he shifts carefully, brushing your hair away from your face. you’re definitely asleep now.

he stays there for a moment longer, letting the stillness settle over both of you like another blanket.

then, as gently as possible, he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other under your back.

you stir just a little, murmuring something unintelligible as he lifts you off the couch.

“shhh,” he soothes, voice low and warm near your ear. “i’ve got you.”

you don’t wake.

he carries you slowly through the apartment, your body limp and trusting in his arms. he nudges open the bedroom door with his foot, carefully pulls back the covers, and lowers you onto the bed like you’re made of porcelain.

you curl automatically toward the center, one hand reaching out like you’re still searching for him.

he doesn’t leave you hanging.

he tugs off his hoodie and climbs in beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. as soon as he settles, you find him again — arm around his waist, face tucked into his chest.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“you’re the best part of any rainy day,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

and with the storm still humming gently outside, he lets his eyes close too.

#ccupcakqs #fleur's fics ⋆˚࿔#f1 x reader #f1 nerd ‧₊˚#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #alex albon #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you #alex albon imagine #alex albon fluff #alexander albon #f1 x you #f1 #formula 1

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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

Text

Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter Nine: good will hunting

tw: smut, fully dressed male/half dressed girl, oral (f receiving), fingering

Good Will Hunting drones on the television, but you can hardly see the images through your tears.

Through the briney mess that obscures your vision, you’re able to make out a folder. It slaps against a desk with a thud that crackles through the speakers in the way movies always do. Soft, and humming like a lullaby. The only sound louder than the dialogue is Simon’s heart thudding against your ear as you nestle against his side.

“Hey, Will… I don’t know a lot. But you see this? All this shit. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Look at me, son. It’s not your fault.”

Dragging the throw blanket you found thrift shopping up over your chest, you use the frayed edges of it to dry the corners of your eyes. It’s an unforgiving fabric. Unkind, and less than soft. Still, it’s enough to keep your sniffling at bay.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t fuck with me, alright? Don’t fuck with me, Sean. Not you!”

It’s a scene you can see with your eyes closed. There on the blank canvas of your eyelids, you can see Will and Sean squabbling. You can see the way the tears glisten on his cheeks as this want-to-be-man suddenly crumbles into the little boy he was never allowed to be—scared, and confused. The scars on his body haunt him in the photograph on the desk—something that will never fade, no matter how terribly he wishes it would.

Simon’s hand grounds you. His thumb brushes over the curve of your shoulder as he pulls you closer to his side.

“Okay, sweetheart?” he hums.

Nodding, you wipe away another fat tear. “Yeah, this scene always gets me.”

Distracting you, Simon fumbles with the oversized bowl of extra-butter popcorn you bestowed upon him at the beginning of the movie. Pinching a piece between his forefinger and thumb, he blindly raises it to your lips where you open up and allow him to press it to your mouth. The popped kernel dissolves on your tongue, brackish and moist. Content, you curl further into his side.

The rest of the movie goes by in a blur. Colors morph on the screen, swirling until you’re able to make out the classic image of Will driving freely down the road in his car—headed home. To his true home. With Skylar.

In an odd sort of way, you’re reminded of yourself. You might not hold the same suave, brash intelligence that Will Hunting does, but you’ve always felt disconnected like he has. Always running at the worst times. Leaving before you can be left. Though you cling harder than he does, when you look at him driving away in that car, you think of the plane you boarded when you were fresh out of secondary school.

Off to America where the streets are paved in gold. The land of opportunity you were so flippantly promised. Traveling to be—what was it again? A nurse? A doctor? Does it even matter? You fled the country to make something of yourself only to be back in London, where there’s still that scar next to your front door that Eric left before he gave a matching one to you.

Simon gently pulls you out of your anamneses when his legs stretch out before him on the couch. His joggers pull up, exposing the thick patches of hair on his ankles as his calves flex and tremble with the expansion. Mirroring his actions, you straighten yourself out as your arms extend in front of you, lips hardly able to hold back a groan at the effort.

Night has long since fallen on your insomniac city, but the urge to sleep has yet to poke at the depths of your mind. Simon is leaving tomorrow—again. It’s nothing new, yet it’s all your thoughts have been able to focus on these last few days leading up to his deployment. Being alone again. Missing him.

Again.

You allow your eyes to wander over to him just as he checks his phone. The dull screen casts his face in quiet illumination. The soft curve of his nose, the tight line of his lips—you soak it all in as if you’re stuck in a dream. His eyes sparkle with the glow as if he’s caught the stars in the depths of his irises, and your fingers twitch as if you’re ready to dive into them.

“It’s gettin’ late,” he suddenly mentions as he turns his phone off. “Reckon I should be headed out soon.”

“Already?” you pout.

Simon shoves his phone into his pocket before leaning back against the couch. Somehow, his eyes only darken when he looks at you. “Gotta get up bright and early, sweetheart.”

You groan. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been dreading it all week.”

Grunting, you collapse against Simon’s side, refusing to allow him to budge. His chuckle grumbles deep and low in his lungs as you wrap your arms around his torso—a leash meant to bind him. A cage meant to keep him.

“They’re always sending you away,” you sigh. Curling up, you hook your legs over his lap as if you could hope to pin him down with your body weight alone. “I feel like they do it on purpose.”

“Gotta make a livin’ somehow,” he deadpans.

Your only response comes out as a disgruntled hum as you keep yourself cemented to his side. Simon shows no urgency in leaving as he rests a heavy hand on your knee. His thumb rubs. Presses along your joint with gentle force as he allows you to melt into him. Eyes still glued to the television, you watch as the credits roll while Will Hunting continues to drive.

Continues to flee.

“You should stay the night.”

It slips from your lips half formed—trips on your tongue and falls flat into your lap like a mangled bird who couldn’t quite stretch out its wings. Your mouth makes an embarrassment out of you on even the best of days, and you feel the way your skin shrivels around your body as if you yearn to collapse inward on yourself. Simon placates you with a hum. As if he sincerely contemplates your suggestion.

While the two of you have been together for countless months, it only feels like weeks. Off on deployment, saving the world and returning home with new wounds and scars for you to attempt to kiss as if your touch is some emollient—it’s a strange relationship. An odd bond that you’re not sure if it runs all that deep or not. Perhaps it pierces your skin deeper than it does his—it roots in you while it wades in him.

It should not surprise you. You’ve proven to be unlovable.

And those who do love you always abandon you.

“Alright.”

And still—he leaves you bewildered.

Head ripping free from his side, he huffs as you shrug his arm from your shoulder and looks at you with narrowed eyes. Your lips part. Your heart races with a confusion you don’t know how to name—if there even is a name for a sensation like this. Death and resurrection bundled with twine and shoved behind your sternum.

“Really?” you ask.

The ghost of a smirk pulls at his lips. “I said I would.”

“That’s not going to mess up anything for you?”

“Not as long as you don’t mind me being noisy and up early,” he shrugs.

“You could make all the noise in the world and I wouldn’t mind.”

“You might regret saying that, sweetheart.”

Simon leaves you for only a short while to retrieve his pack and a change of clothes. When you ask him again if he’s certain he wants to stay, he assures you and says that your flat is technically closer to the base than his is. You nod. You realize you don’t know where exactly he lives, or where exactly he works, but you push the thought from your mind as you put your efforts into straightening out your room.

Stray socks and shirts are quickly swallowed by your wide-mouthed hamper, and you strip your day clothes off for something more comfortable. Pillows fluffed, sheets changed, duvet smoothed over and pressed free of creases—you try not to think about how the last man who lied in this bed was Eric. You’ve long since washed the stench of him free from every fiber within that mattress.

You only wish you could do the same with the grey matter in your brain.

Simon’s pack drops to the floor by the foot of the bed with a thud. It’s smaller than you expected it to be. Something simple, as if he were taking a trip to a friend’s house rather than traveling to some undisclosed country you doubt you’ll ever set eyes on.

You sit on the edge of the bed with your feet wiggling as you watch him remove his jumper. He does it in a swift motion, pulling it from the back of his neck and over his head until it pops free of his broad shoulders. His shirt bunches up. It pulls along his spine and slides over his stomach, flashing you with his pallid skin. Still, you stare. At the scar that dots along the side of his ribs, at the softness that swells just below a thin patch of hair on his stomach—it’s hard not to.

Your feet no longer swing.

“Enjoyin’ the show?” he smirks.

Blood pricks every capillary that lines your throat, then constricts. It isn’t until your knuckles crack that you realize how firmly you’re holding the bed. “You put on a good performance,” you say with poorly attempted confidence.

He tosses his jumper onto the foot of the bed where it crumbles into a small heap before he stalks closer. You’ve learned to stop flinching from hands when they reach for your face—learned to lean into the soft warmth instead. Simon’s thumb lavishes over your cheek. He holds you with the carefulness someone would exercise when holding fine art. Blinking, you stare up at him with muscles so tense you swear you’ll rip yourself to shreds with your own longing.

“Ready for bed, sweetheart?” His voice is low. So deep that it hardly registers in the fuzziness of your brain.

“Not yet.” You swallow. “Kiss me.”

Your thoughts bleed out of you like a gaping wound, and Simon is not at all discouraged by the gore. His mouth quirks as his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Then, he’s dipping forward. Spine curling, his nose prods against your cheek as he embraces you in a gentle, chaste kiss.

Before he can pull away, you trap him. Arms snake up around his neck, and you keep him in the crooks of your elbows, holding him still lest he attempt to escape. But as Simon breaks the union of your mouths to look at you, you quickly realize the thought of running from you does not flicker through his gaze for even a moment.

“Simon…”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. It dies and rots on your tongue, leaving you to stare up at him and pray your touch alone is enough. Your brain buzzes. It writhes in your skull, unable to contain every thought and desire that pulses through each vein, and Simon is able to read every transmission.

Re-forming that union, his mouth is on yours before you have the time to deliberate how to speak your wants out loud. Palms pressing to your cheeks, your back collides with the mattress before you can even make sense of it. Simon’s weight presses into you, broad chest falling over your body as his lips move in tandem with yours.

You taste him. The popcorn and soda the two of you indulged in for movie night. The brine of the butter that still stains his tongue as it slips between your teeth. Hands planted on either side of your head, Simon tries to keep himself from crushing you but you find you rather enjoy the way his hips pin yours to the bed. You like the mass. You like the heft that seeps into you.

His knee slots between your legs, spreading them apart, and your mind goes blissfully blank. Void of all thoughts and worries, your body moves on its own, head falling to the side as Simon’s lips wander from your mouth to your jaw. Your breath is shaky. It catches in your throat. Vocal cords too tight to speak.

“Would stay ‘ere forever with ya if I could,” he murmurs against your skin.

You whine. Legs pressing together, you’re stopped by Simon’s knee, and you groan as your hips rise upwards. “I hate when you leave. I just want you here all to myself.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he croons, “but you can have me for tonight.”

Simon’s kisses wander lower. Dull teeth nip at your neck before he’s planting kisses down your clothed sternum, your shuddering diaphragm, your stomach. Before you know it, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama pants and tugging. Without hesitation, you lift your hips off of the bed, allowing him to slide your bottoms off unobstructed.

You don’t realize that he’s taken your panties off too until the cold air of your bedroom hits your bare cunt. Shivering, you lift your head up just in time to watch Simon slip off of the bed and onto the floor, kneeling before you. Hooking his arms beneath your knees, he drags you closer to him with a simple tug that leaves you nervously giggling.

The weight of your want doesn’t fully register in your mushy brain until Simon places a light kiss on the inside of your thigh. Something tightens in your core—a spring compressing and waiting to break free. All the heat of the sun builds between your legs, and you fear you may immolate before his very eyes.

“Simon,” you breathe.

Humming, he moves to your other thigh where his lips begin to suck at the tender skin. “Tell me what you want. Out loud. C’mon.”

“You!”

The answer erupts from your mouth, unbridled and without shame. Your desire gnaws on you like you’re fresh meat and smoked bone—marrow leaking from your pores, waiting to be licked up by a well behaved dog.

Simon grins against your skin. “Atta girl.”

His tongue slides flat against your cunt, and every muscle holding your torso up off the bed gives way, forcing you to crash into the mattress. Throwing your calves onto his shoulders, his hands press on your thighs, forcing your legs open so he can further devour you.

It takes him a moment to find what makes you tick. Tongue prodding along your hole, he works up, and up. He doesn’t stop until he feels your legs twitch beneath his palms—quads quietly quivering—he latches on, and refuses to let go.

“Oh, fuck,” you babble.

Stiff fingers find purchase in Simon’s cropped hair as your hips begin to buck at the stimulation. The wet muscle laps over your clit, sending pleasure rippling through every cell in your body. Neurons sparkle and fizz in your brain. Synapses sing—it’s loud enough for him to hear. He pulls that melody out of you as his thumbs press into the crest of your hips.

Your thoughts begin to wander just as your fingers curl around Simon’s skull. Eric never loved you like this. He would never be caught dead being on his knees for your pleasure—for anything other than his own enjoyment. He never gave you anything this soft or kind, something so saccharine that you can feel your teeth ache at the cavities that burrow into your enamel.

Simon doesn’t allow you to stray far before he’s tethering you to the present again. Hands wandering up over your waist, his fingertips dig into your stomach. Groaning, your hips begin to writhe beneath his mouth, but he only huffs and chases you down as if he doesn’t mind working for his meal. That pressure only builds. Every muscle in your core tightens around nothing, threatening to shred itself apart in the pursuit of ecstasy.

“That’s so- I-I’m gonna- I…”

Disjointed thoughts leave your mouth half formed, and you feel Simon chuckle against you as he rolls your clit between his lips, suckling like he can’t get enough. And he can’t. Hands raking down your flank, he presses a finger against the tightness of your entrance. Then, it slips in. Aided by your arousal and the spit that dribbles away from your clit, he quickly works you open on one finger before giving you another.

The stretch burns—already unaccustomed to the sensation after such a long dry spell, your legs attempt to clamp shut around him as you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans. Simon refuses to remove his mouth from your cunt as he begins to work you open, fingers lovingly pumping into you, curling upwards as if to rub your clit from the inside.

You’re trembling. Teeth biting into your knuckles, you can’t hold back the way you writhe beneath him. A simple touch. A little pressure. The stimulation is so intense it sears through you like hot iron fresh from a blacksmith’s furnace.

Simon offers you little reprieve by releasing his mouth from you, but his fingers continue to poke and prod in all the right places. He chuckles as you moan, hips grinding toward his hand, and he begins to pepper your thighs with kisses once again, leaving trails of spit and moisture in their wake.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he prompts.

Talk? You don’t think you can—not when he’s unraveling you like this. Winding you tight just to feel how quickly you come undone.

“I-I’m gonna- you feel so good, baby,” you stutter, attempting your best at giving him a coherent answer only to fall flat on your face.

“Yeah?” he goads. It’s almost cruel the way his fingers curl even further. He moves so deep and relentlessly that you swear you can feel him below your navel, but it’s divine. Simon is exuberant in his devotion to you. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your fingers claw into the duvet below you. “Oh, f-fuck, Simon, I’m gonna come.”

He doesn’t change anything. He doesn’t stop his fingers or quicken their pace, he keeps everything the exact same—those deep, firm thrusts.

“Tell me what you need,” he says. His susurrus dies against your skin as he places a kiss on your mons.

You can’t. Every muscle inside you constricts all at once, jaw latching tight until your teeth chatter together. Instead, a single brave hand snakes around the back of his head, yanking him forward.

Simon Riley obeys. His head falls back between your legs where his tongue laps at your cunt, sliding over your clit as his fingers continue their assault. Then, you fracture. Crystalline shards, dispersing in the air like fine prismatic mist—he holds you gently like broken china he doesn’t want to cut himself on. Your mind is blissfully blank as he slows his efforts—fingers gently halting until they slide out of you, tongue ceasing so that his mouth can press kisses into your skin.

Tinnitus plagues your ears as you pant. Perspiration glues you to the blankets, and you feel like annealing metal ready to crack as it quenches. Simon carefully removes your legs from his shoulders as he climbs back on top of you, legs on either side of your hips.

You mutter something incoherent as you wrap your arms around his neck and allow him to kiss you. Your own sapor bleeds onto your lips—thick and hot. It’s difficult for you to recall the last time a man forced you to crumble to pieces and it didn’t hurt.

“Ready for bed now, sweetheart?” he asks again.

“Bed?” you repeat with a throaty chuckle. Playful hands trot down his chest, and you press your fingers into the swell of his pectorals and sternum until you reach the softness of his tense stomach. “Isn’t it your turn?”

Before you can dip low enough to reach his joggers, he leans back and captures your hands in his. His gaze is heavy—eyes dark and deep enough to swallow you whole. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Think I’ll have to take a raincheck on that, love.”

He kisses you before you have the time to protest or question. It is a strange revelation for you—for this man to give and give and want nothing in return. To not have his mouth watering at the idea of you on your knees for him. Instead, he helps you dress, pulling fresh panties over the swell of your hips and tucking you into bed before smothering the lights and crawling next to you.

Everything falls quiet. You deliquesce into the mattress just as Simon wraps his arms around you, keeping you close as if he fears you may slip through his fingers. Nose pressed against his sternum, you breathe him in. Every gentle redolence. You hold it in your mind—attempt to savor it as if you might never smell it again.

“How long will you be gone?” It’s the first thing either of you have said for the better part of half an hour, and it’s the same question you always plague him with each time before he’s deployed. He hasn’t even left and you’re already anticipating his return.

“Dunno. Always hard to know,” Simon mumbles against the crown of your head. “Couple of weeks, probably.”

Huffing, you burrow your face further into his chest before pausing.

“I… get so anxious when you leave.”

He hums. “Why’s that?”

“I’m worried something’s gonna happen to you,” you admit.

It’s embarrassing to share such a fear, but it’s one that’s been gnawing on you ever since you patched up Simon’s knuckles after he punched your pathetic ex-boyfriend at the pub. Simon Riley is a large man—a dangerous one—yet still you worry.

That he might come home in a pine box.

Or might not come home at all.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” he assures.

“You don’t know that,” you retort.

“Course I do. Someone’s gotta be ‘ere to take care of you.”

Aggravating tears begin to poke at the corners of your eyes, and you curse them as they begin to wet Simon’s shirt. He doesn’t mention the moisture on his skin, but he feels your trepidation through your skin alone. Cradling the back of your head, he settles further into the mattress.

“I’m always comin’ home to you. Even if I have to crawl,” he whispers.

You swallow the thick contractions in your throat before you sniff. “Promise?”

Simon kisses your forehead. His lips don’t move from your skin when he replies.

“Promise.”

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#ilium writing #sr ilia #everything you touch #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #cod smut

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lovedrruunk · 9 months ago

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'Forget her

In which you get played by your situationship. Jinx thinks you deserve better anyway. (drabble!!!)

You sat on the couch in Jinx’s hideout staring blankly at the sky, your fingers tracing over the ripped leather of the furniture. The bitter pit in your stomach hadn’t left since you heard it. Those carefully chosen words that meant everything and nothing at the same time, but you weren’t even sure why you were surprised. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known deep down that things wouldn’t work out with her.

But it still stung.

The situation had been complicated from the start. No labels, no promises, just two people who occasionally crossed the line into something that felt almost like more. You thought it was heading somewhere, but apparently she didn’t. And today, with a few short sentences, she made that clear.

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Classic.

You clenched your jaw, sinking back into the cushions. The room felt heavy and you hated that you’d let yourself get invested. You weren’t even sure why you had told Jinx you’d come over. You didn’t want to be a downer, but the idea of sitting alone with your thoughts had been worse. So now you were just sitting here, feeling like a total idiot for ever thinking she was serious about you.

“Ya know, if you keep sulking like that I might start thinking you forgot I exist,” Jinx’s voice cut through your mental spiral, drawing your eyes towards her. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed looking at you with a raised brow. “Not a good look for you by the way.”

You snorted, rubbing a hand over your face. “Yeah, well, it’s been a day.”

Jinx pushed off the door, walking over to flop down next to you on the couch. “A ‘day,’ huh?" One look at your face and she already knew. "Lemme guess. Her?”

You hesitated, not really wanting to dive into the whole mess, but the look she gave you made it clear she wasn’t about to let this go, she never does. Wasn't necessarily a bad thing you figured, you liked that about her. “Yeah… her. She finally dropped the ‘let’s keep things casual’ bomb. As if I didn’t already know that’s where it was going.”

Jinx let out a long whistle, pretending to look thoughtful. “Wow, shocking. Who could’ve ever seen that coming? Definitely not me, noooo,” she said with obvious sarcasm.

You shot her a look. “I know, okay? I knew it wasn’t serious, I just… I don’t know, I guess I hoped maybe it’d turn into something more.” The bitterness in your voice was hard to hide, even if you were trying to downplay how much it bothered you.

Jinx didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel her watching you, her usual smirk faltering a bit. “Look, I’m not saying I hate the girl—”

You raised an eyebrow. “You definitely hate her.”

“—I’m not saying I hate her,” she repeated, this time with a little more emphasis. “But, y’know, she’s kind of… what’s the word?" She tapped her chin pretending to be in thought. "Trash.”

“Jinx.”

“What? I said I don’t hate her!” She threw up her hands, giving you an exaggerated innocent look before settling back against the couch, her tone becoming more serious. “But... seriously. You deserve better. You know that, right?”

You huffed, sinking further into the cushions. “Yeah, well, better isn’t exactly lining up around the block.”

Jinx’s brows furrowed, her lips twisting in that way she did when she was trying to keep something secret. “If it were me…” she started, then hesitated, glancing away like she was debating whether or not to continue.

You sat up a little, noticing the shift in her tone.

She cleared her throat, her voice a little quieter. “I’m just saying… If it were me, I wouldn’t make you guess all the time. You wouldn’t have to wonder where we stood, y’know? ‘Cause I’d make it pretty darn obvious.” She said with a light chuckle, her eyes glued to the floor.

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in Jinx's tone. Her usual bravado had faded, leaving something raw in its place. You sat up a little straighter, turning to face her. “What are you saying?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was no teasing in them now. Just something deep, something real. She hesitated for a moment, like she was debating whether to push it further. And then she did.

“I’m saying…” She leaned in slowly, her voice barely a whisper “...I wouldn’t waste your time.”

You froze as she closed the distance between you, her hand brushing the back of your neck. For a second, neither of you moved. Her thumb grazed the skin just below your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, before you could even process it, her lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like she was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, she deepened it, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. Her lips were warm, and the way she kissed you made it clear, this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing. She had thought about this. Wanted this.

After the initial shock you kissed her back, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer. The frustration and hurt that had been swirling in your chest moments ago melted away, replaced by a new kind of warmth.

Finally pulling away you stared at her breathless, heart still racing trying to process what just happened.

She pulled back slightly, still grinning but this time it was softer, less playful. “What?” she asked, her voice lighter, teasing. “Not what you expected?”

You let out a small laugh, looking away feeling your face get hot. “Not exactly.”

“Well, I like surprising you.” She leaned in again, her lips ghosting over yours, but this time, she didn’t kiss you, just hovered close enough that you could feel her smirk widen. “So, you wanna sit here and keep sulking?...

Or do you wanna graffiti the bitch’s house?”

. . .

;p !!! this was super fast paced and unrealistic but its just practice! plus my first one shot in months! and tbf in what realistic world would jinx be in a relationship anyway lol... hope u liked!

#well she moved on fast...#cait or vi next? muhahaha... (｡•̀ᴗ-)#jinx x reader #arcane #jinx arcane #arcane x reader #jinx #arcane league of legends x reader #x reader

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painted-flag · 2 months ago

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I'LL BE SEEING YOU - b.b

☾⋆⁺₊✧ part of my Marvel soulmate series, found here. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ bucky barnes x fem!reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: allusions to past trauma, therapy sessions, and angst (with a happy ending). .𖥔 ݁ ˖ music telepathy soulmates. (6.6k words) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ you always passed by the man with frost-coloured eyes when leaving therapy each week, but did not know how much he could impact your life.

i'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces -billie holiday

The stifling atmosphere of the neatly arranged and sterile-like room was both unsettling and comforting. It had become a ritual to sit on the irritatingly comfortable couch while facing Christina Raynor’s analytical but also somehow scrutinizing gaze. As a person, she was fairly agreeable. As a therapist, she was as sharp and poised as her time on the battlefield; an experience that is both healing and disquieting.

You were reaching the end of your session and began to feel the familiar sense of dread. It was a struggle to show up to these sessions as unwillingness and avoidance often clawed at your throat, but after you arrived, it would feel horrible to leave. It is a weird form of torture.

The coolness of the room had you shuffling in your seat as Dr Raynor readjusted her grip on her mug of what you could only assume was a now-cold cup of coffee. The earthly and intense smell of the drink had permeated the air, stifling out the low-burning and almost empty vanilla candle on her desk on the other side of the room.

“Setting your studies aside,” Dr Raynor took a momentary sip, “Have you painted lately?” You remained silent, still reeling from the interrogation-like assault she gave you moments ago about your studies. There was not much to tell; you had not bothered to go back to campus since…

Feeling the intensity of your shutdown, she pivoted her angle, “What about work?” Your arms crossed over your chest as if it could shield you.

She let out a sigh that was neither exasperated nor encouraging, “Selective mutism as a trauma response to what you’ve been through is common. Through these sessions, you’ve gotten quite better, though. Wouldn’t you agree?” Dr Raynor’s leg crossed over the other with her foot bouncing slightly as her head tilted to watch you.

“I guess.” You mumbled as you broke eye contact to look down at your hands that rested in your lap and picked at your cuticles.

“What about your soulmate? You mentioned that there was a change in music type last week.” Dr Raynor pushed further. A lump formed in your throat that you struggled to get rid of.

“Yeah, uh,” Your nose sniffled as you inhaled, “It used to be all swing music. You know, stuff from like the 30s or 40s. But lately, there was some new stuff. Uh, Fleetwood Mac I recognized, some Jim Croce, Pink Floyd, The Clash. All the classics, I guess. Mainly Fleetwood Mac, I think they like that the most.”

Speaking about your soulmate has always been a rough topic to touch on. When you were young, you would spend all of your free time next to a scratched-up pink Barbie CD player that was covered in stickers, some slightly torn off. Every disk you could get your hands on around your house would be stacked up in piles next to it. Methodically, you would go through each one, hoping that they could hear it.

Silence.

All you ever got in return was silence.

For years, you held on to the belief that they would respond. Some brush of notes to hit your ears, or possibly the lilt of singing. Nothing ever came. Not until a few years ago. Though it was only ever 30s and 40s music. There was a small fear that they were possibly some geriatric person in an assisted living facility who had reached the end of their days. That would not be unusual, the bond did not necessarily mean a romantic connection. It could simply be platonic, though that was rare.

Dr Raynor moved her hands gently to convey her words, “Maybe you could respond? Play what they play. Put on something else.” At your continued silence, she sighed loudly, “Simply communicate.”

“I don't…” Your eyes caught sight of the clock across from you and noticed the time, “We’re out of time.” You got out of your seat as quickly as you could without looking too rushed. Dr Raynor recognized the play you were making, but let it slide with nothing but a quirked brow.

“I will see you next week.” She responded. You nodded back gently, slightly flushed from the embarrassment of leaving so rudely. The door was a welcome sight, and your hand gripped the cool steel of the handle. When you yanked it open, your attention was focused on the floor.

As you turned to go down the hallway, your boot-clad feet thumped against the manilla-tiled floor. Since you were stuck in your own world, you did not notice a figure as you turned down a hallway.

It was like you hit a rock-solid wall. Abrupt and alarming, you almost would have fallen over if it were not for the strong arms that moved quickly to grab your forearms and stabilize you. When you finally looked at the person who you ran into, you sucked in a breathe.

You knew him from brief moments as you left your sessions with Dr Raynor and he went in. Bright, icy blue eyes bored into yours. They were startlingly cold, but also somehow warm at the same time. It was like standing outside on a late winter’s afternoon and feeling the warmth from the sun on your face for the first time in months. His hair, dark and cut short, complemented his eyes. Under the leather jacket he wore, it was easy to see how well built he was.

You were not an idiot, nor unaware of world news. You knew who he was, or rather knew the rumors of who – what – he was. Is he still active in the field? The answer was not entirely clear, but you did know those days as a weapon were likely long behind Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Hell, you remember your history teacher nearly drooling over the Howling Commandos during the WWII unit.

It was just your luck that you happened to run into the incredibly mysterious but equally incredibly handsome man.

Of course, your luck has always been shit. The familiar voice in your head sounded off.

“You alright?” He asked you. Holy shit, his voice.

Your mind was too cloudy to think of a proper response, not that it mattered much; it was difficult to talk to people, especially those you did not know.

You nodded meekly and shuffled out of his grip, suddenly very aware of how close he was. Once free, you gave him a shy smile as a thank you before quickly making your way to the exit. The rapid thudding of your heart did not let up the further you left, and there was a nagging feeling in the back of your head.

It was like an itch you could not scratch, only awakening after stumbling into him.

“Ah.” Dr Raynor put her mug of half-empty coffee on the small table beside her armchair as Bucky walked into her office. “Right on time.”

Bucky barely managed to resist rolling his eyes as he moved to sit on the couch in her space. He bit the inside of his cheek as he recited the same mantra he always did at the start of these sessions.

Only an hour. You can make it through an hour.

He was less than satisfied at being forced into this office for an hour each week. Dr Raynor was not exactly pleasurable company, especially when her eyes seemingly pierced through his skin and read the soul which lay underneath. If he had a soul.

Bucky knew he had a soulmate, so that must mean he had a soul, right? That was not something he wished to think about, even less while going through his court-mandated therapy.

“So,” Dr Raynor clicked her pen and leaned back into her chair with a notepad, “How has your week been?”

“The same. Just as they always are.” He put in no effort to disguise his dry and emotionless reply. Dr Raynor clicked her pen, pinched it between her fingers, and tapped it against the notepad as she tilted her head at him.

“The same?”

“The same.” Bucky reaffirmed. Another click of the pen, followed by a light sigh.

“You’re going to keep making this difficult, hm?”

Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean.” He often found some sense of humour in dodging her questions and sought to do it as much as he could. Dr Raynor, however, never tolerated it for long.

“Alright, you don't want to talk about that.” She mumbled while scribbling some notes down on the page, “How about a checkup? Did you listen to my suggestions?”

“I uh,” Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled slip of paper, “I didn’t listen to all of them, just a few.”

“And?” Dr Raynor stopped tapping her pen and quirked a brow.

“They’re not all bad. I liked uh,” His eyes scanned the list to find what he was thinking about, “Fleetwood Mac.” Bucky still found himself struggling to differentiate topics and names, often preferring to write things down in order to keep his mind from running away.

Dr Raynor nodded, “That’s good. Any response?”

Bucky leant back in his seat, baffled that she would touch such a sore topic for him so early on in their appointment. He imagined walking out of the room right then, but he knew that would only make their next sessions even more tense, while he would also technically be in violation of his court-ordered conditions.

Before his life turned into the nightmare it became, he could remember how disappointed he was as a child, having heard no music growing up. Absolutely nothing. It took a chunk out of his heart each time he heard Steve speaking about the latest song he had heard. He had been happy for his friend, but it ached to not have it himself.

The paper in his hand crumpled as he tilted his head to crack his neck slightly. His jaw was clenched, and he could feel the ache begin to build in his muscles. Dr. Raynor was silently waiting for an answer with those same calculating eyes he had come to both rely on and dislike.

“No.” Bucky nearly spat it out, but restrained himself.

“Well, perhaps if you–”

“I don’t see how relationship advice is conducive to helping me deal with my shitty past.” Bucky interrupted. He could see a certain look in Dr. Raynor’s eyes, like she had thought of something in that moment.

“Conducive? Ah, did not know we were using big kid words.” She tapped her pen against the pad rhythmically while both of her brows raised in challenge.

Bucky’s voice remained monotonous with an ounce of sarcasm. “Now, that is definitely not okay to say as a therapist. You know, I should report you for–”

“Well, you’ve been acting like a kid.” She reciprocated his attitude and cut him off, “Increasingly so, as of late.”

Bucky stayed silent, not wanting to continue speaking and make the hole he dug himself into bigger. Dr. Raynor let the silence sit over the room and settle in. He noted when they had begun her sessions that she was just as good at weaponizing silence as she was with words.

“You spoke about hearing their music during your time as him and the first few months after you stopped. But not much since. Is that still correct?”

He huffed, “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“Well, maybe you could listen to more music. Communication is important.” Dr. Raynor put down her pen to reach over and pick up her mug of coffee on the table that separated them and took a sip.

“Maybe they’re dead.” Bucky pushed back. He said it with a more joking tone, but deep down, it was a running fear that surfaced each day. Dr. Raynor put her mug down and looked at him with disappointment.

“Do you truly believe that?” She questioned.

“Yes.” There was little hesitation in his voice.

“You would have felt it. All I am saying is that it may do you some good to communicate. If not for your soulmate, then for yourself. Get up to speed with the times.” She clicked her pen, “Now, let’s talk about your sleep. Has anything changed since last week?”

Bucky sighed and decided to get somewhat comfortable. The same mantra repeated in his head.

Only an hour. You can make it through an hour.

The gentle breeze of a late spring afternoon cooled your warm skin as you walked through a quiet Brooklyn park. Fresh air always worked when clearing your mind. This park, and the subtle getaway from the cluttered city, was always welcome. The sounds of the city were only a hum in the background that you could ignore as you tried to ground yourself.

The day had started poorly. It was not a big event that set you off, but small inconveniences that added up. A wake-up alarm that did not start, an accidentally burned breakfast, and an expired bag of coffee you did not know about until you took the first sip were excusable. The final straw was when your jacket got stuck on a doorknob in your apartment, causing you to jerk backward. It took a few calm breaths in and out to think clearly.

That was how you found yourself in this park, desperate to grasp any shred of sanity you had left for the day.

It was in this contemplative mood that you lost all awareness of your surroundings and walked across the small trail mindlessly. At a sharp turn, you felt yourself slam into something hard. Hands shot out to grab your forearms and stabilize you. Your eyes glanced up to see who it was with words of apologies on your lips, but nothing was left.

Fuck. Again?

You bumped into him again?

Your face flushed with embarrassment at having bumped into the Sergeant Barnes. Again. As if you could not be any more mortified at your actions. All of the inconveniences you faced that morning seemed inconsequential now.

He probably thinks you are a klutz who can’t even walk straight.

“Woah. You alright there?” Bucky’s voice grounded you more while a look of recognition passed through his eyes, “I saw you at Dr. Raynor’s office.”

It was hard to get words out, and your mouth opened and closed a few times with no air passing through. You swallowed the saliva in your mouth. Your arms crossed over your chest like some sort of protection as you mustered the courage to speak.

“Uh, yeah.” You coughed lightly to clear your sore throat, “Sorry. It seems I’ve made a habit of bumping into you.” The words made you want to shrink in on yourself. Each time you talked to someone, it felt like each word you chose was weird and not something a real person would say. However, Bucky continued as normal.

“Well, it’s not so bad,” He said, sticking his hand out, “I’m Bucky.”

You hesitantly reached out to shake his hand, being startled by how large it was compared to yours and gave him your name. He repeated it once, and you tried to ignore how it made you feel a flutter in your stomach.

Something came over his face, along with a slight flush.

“I’ll not keep you any longer. Have a good day.” Bucky quickly spoke. Before you could respond, difficult as it may be, he left you standing in the park alone. You watched him leave and paid close attention to his strong shoulders and back. Blushing, you turned away and kept walking on the route you originally planned.

It was only after he left that you were able to feel an itch at the back of your head.

By the time you got to your apartment, after wandering for another hour, the corner of your small living room beckoned you. A small shelf, shaped into four square sections, was filled with vinyls that had long accumulated dust. Sitting on top of it was your record player, an Audio Technica that you managed to get on a lucky Black Friday sale. The plastic case that covered it had a thin coat of dust on it.

You stood there for a few silent moments, contemplating the choice you now have in front of you.

Dr. Raynor thought it would do you well. Communicate. Simply communicate. Has it ever been simple?

You walked forward, reaching to grab the familiar blue sleeve of the record you used to listen to daily. Slipping the vinyl out, you used your other hand to lift the turntable cover and place the record on it. You gently positioned the tone arm and the cueing level with muscle memory, positioning it at the second-to-last track; the song you used to play erratically every day.

Once everything was all ready, you sat down on your couch right beside it and let the familiar tones reach your ears. Sunlight by Hozier played through the speakers as you closed your eyes.

Maybe they were listening. Maybe they could hear as well.

When the song was over, you got up to stop it. Your breath ceased as you waited for some response. Anything like when they were playing music a week prior.

Minutes passed and there was nothing but the sounds of the city outside your window. A distant siren, some frustrated driver honking their horn, and chattering crowds. When there was no response, you huffed with disappointment and put the vinyl away.

As you made a move to walk to your kitchen for some much-needed food, the sound of a piano caught you off guard. It sounded slightly grainy with age, and the familiar voice of Billie Holiday was ushered in with an alto saxophone. It was familiar, and you could remember your grandfather playing it for you when you visited. ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ was a personal favourite of his and yours. They were playing a song.

It was at a low point in your life and you wanted the comfort of his company. He put on a record, and suddenly it felt like a warm blanket had been put over your shoulders. The melody calmed you.

They heard. They heard and they responded.

The fuzzy feeling in your body took hold of your heart and you decided to sit back down on your couch and let the sound soothe you.

You were sitting in Dr. Raynor’s office with your leg bouncing with impatience. The room was cool and a refreshing change from the increasing heat outside. The end of your session was nearing, and you wanted nothing more than to rush home. You wondered what your soulmate was doing at this moment.

“And what has changed since then?” Dr. Raynor’s voice broke you from staring at the clock mounted on the wall behind her.

“Well, they responded. It's become a habit for us now. I play a song, they play one back, and then it repeats.” Your hands were folded in your lap, squeezing one another like it was some kind of support.

“That’s good,” Dr. Raynor scribbled something down in her notepad. “Communication like that is important to foster.

“Except it’s mainly stuff from the 30s and 40s.” You interjected. Frustration had begun to build in you. At how long this session has felt like, at your inability to express emotions well, the on-and-off ability to speak that you so desperately wished to have control over.

Dr. Raynor stopped writing, “Well, they have a particular taste, then.”

“With my shitty luck, they’re old and in a care home.” You spoke dryly. Dr. Raynor shifted in her seat and her head tilted with a familiar disappointed look. There was a glint in her eyes, like some unknown secret.

“You may be surprised by how the world works everything out.” She responded.

“Why do you always say that?” Your frustration had gotten the better of you, “This everything works out schtick.”

“In my experience, it does-”

“If that were true, then none of what happened to me would have-” Your voice had steadily risen, only for you to cut yourself off. Taking in a deep breath, you grounded yourself. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

Dr. Raynor placed her notepad and pen down on the coffee table and got out of her chair. She walked over to one of the bookshelves in her office that held a speaker dock.

“What was the first song you played that got a response?” She asked. Your vision glanced back at the clock and noticed it was almost time for you to leave.

“We’ve only got a few minutes left.” You noted, but she only turned back at you and waited for an answer, “Sunlight by Hozier.”

Dr. Raynor nodded and turned back to type it into her phone. She fumbled around for a moment. “I was never good with tech.”

Before long, the familiar song was playing again through the speakers. You sat in silence while listening to the melody play. Dr. Raynor appeared not to mind it, though you do recall from one of your sessions many months ago that she had a preference for heavy metal and not much else; so this was definitely a change. You remembered being surprised for only a moment when she told you that, but thinking about it more, it did not sound surprising at all.

You gradually got up and grabbed your bag as the song came to a close. “I’ll see you next week.”

Dr. Raynor smiled as a goodbye, and you took that as a cue to leave the room. When you turned down the hall that led to the exit, you spotted Bucky making his way in. He was dressed in his usual colour of black, except this time it was riding leathers. Your cheeks burned at the sight of his biceps straining against the leather jacket.

He gave you a small grin as he passed, “Morning.”

You nodded back and tried not to stutter at the sight of his frost coloured eyes, “Morning.” It was only one word, but it felt like it took all the effort you had just to say it.

Bucky watched as you continued on your way, mentally cursing himself in the process. With your back to him, he could finally let his shoulders slump, and a sigh passed between his lips.

Morning? That was all you could think of? You sound like a recluse.

It had been decades since he last attempted to flirt with a lady. Clearly, there was work to do. Though he never intended to try and fall back to that side of himself again. He used to be so smooth, eliciting giggles from the ladies he would pass.

That Bucky was buried deep in the snow at the bottom of a ravine in the Swiss Alps.

However, slowly, painfully slowly, he had begun to resurrect the battered corpse of his former self. Each new day was an attempt to breathe life into it, but it was not always successful. Some days took what little he had given, resetting him back to the beginning.

He tried, he really did try to bring his old self back, but he was not Dr. Frankenstein at bringing that corpse back. Most days, he just felt like the monster.

Walking into Dr. Raynor’s office, he stopped immediately. She was fiddling with her phone on a dock, and suddenly the familiar sound of the song that had been repeating in his head for the last week came through the speakers.

“Sorry,” She muttered while fiddling with it, “I was never one for technology.”

“What-” Bucky swallowed as she turned the song off abruptly, ��What was that song?”

You were relaxing in the gentle atmosphere of a hole-in-the-wall record store on some side street you happened to stumble upon during a mindless walk. With the routine you had started with your soulmate, you had begun to get low on albums you had not played for them and decided it was best to pick up a few more. Pricey, yes, but worth it.

Being swept up in the rows of organized boxes full of more vinyls than a person could ever listen to in their life, you did not notice the person near you until their looming shadow towered over your figure. You were startled out of reading and glanced up to see Bucky standing right by you with an amused look on his face.

“I’m starting to sense that I should wear a bell.” He spoke first. You tried to recover and steady your breathing, but it was difficult to cool down near him. It seemed your body was always set alight.

“Well, at least I did not bump into you this time.” You retorted. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious. How long had he been here? Did he see your horrible posture as you slightly hunched over to view the records?

You did not have time to overthink as he laughed at your response. He laughed. Not at you, but at something you said.

“True. What brings you by here?” Bucky asked. It was then that you understood that he wished to have a conversation with you. You had thought your timid nature and dry responses would have him back off, but he has not.

“I’m running out of new records. Looking for something new to shake things up.” You spoke. Bucky nodded and smacked his lips together as he appeared to think.

“You takin’ suggestions?” He asked. You nodded stiffly, still nervous around him. Bucky walked over a few aisles until he reached a specific section, and you noticed what was there.

Of course, this was the stuff he must have listened to before…

Vinyls from the 20s, 30s, and 40s cluttered up the space, organized by decade and inside each by genre. He looked comfortable here, as if he had spent countless hours puttering around it.

“Well, you could never go wrong with this.” Bucky searched through a square section and pulled out an album. The familiar covers brought you back to childhood, wrapped in the comfort of your grandpa’s arms as music played through the room.

“Already have that.” He looked surprised at your answer and you clarified, “My grandfather was a fan. Lead Belly, Blind Willie Johnson, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and-”

“Billie Holiday,” He finished your sentence and put the record back in its spot. “Well, your grandfather had good taste, but that rules this one out. Hmm.” Bucky glanced around for a moment. You could tell he was very familiar with this section.

“Here.” He pulled one out and showed it to you, “Count Blaise’s greatest hits.”

“Sounds familiar. I think I’ve heard some of his stuff.” You accepted the vinyl and took it, nearly fumbling when his fingers brushed against yours. You flipped it to the back, partly to read but also to try and cover your cheeks that are likely more red than you would care to admit.

“You know this section well,” You spoke, “I imagine it must be a little overwhelming coming back and having to catch up on all this.” You hoped you did not push the subject of conversation too far, but he appeared not to mind at all.

“Overwhelming is an understatement. I don’t think I could ever catch up, but I’ve been exploring the seventies and eighties lately.” Bucky spoke. Your eyes lit up at that, and you gestured for him to follow.

“What have you listened to so far?” You asked.

He sighed and thought for a moment, “Jim Croce, Pink Floyd, The Clash. Though I prefer Fleetwood Mac the most.”

You nodded and glanced around the new section the two of you walked into, “Then another recommendation from the early eighties.” Fingers skimmed over some of the record sleeves, flickering between them before finding what you were looking for and handing it off to him.

Bucky held it in his hands and scanned the front, “Siouxsie and the Banshees?”

“Good group. That's Juju, but Tinderbox is another good album.” You paused for a moment before speaking again, “Now, this may be a little out of your current comfort zone as it's the nineties, but I cannot in good faith allow you to leave this shop without it.”

You moved down a few more sections and grabbed another vinyl case. You held it out in your arms like you were a kid presenting their science fair project with glee.

“The Cranberries?” Bucky looked at it with skepticism.

“One of the greatest groups to grace this planet.” You informed him. Bucky reached out and took it. You could have sworn he intentionally brushed your fingers that time, but shook that thought from your mind quickly. It was a dangerous game to play, to pretend there was something there, especially with a man like Bucky. It was hard not to though, he was too damn good looking.

“Then I’ll try both.” Bucky smiled at you. A momentary pause happened between you two as you simply looked at one another. You became more flushed under his gaze and shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

“Well, I, uh, have to go.” You awkwardly gestured with the pointing of your thumb to the exit. Bucky appeared to snap out of his thinking and nodded.

“Yes. Uh, thanks for the recommendations.” He vaguely swung around the records in one hand. A fluttering feeling bloomed in your stomach. Who knew he could be adorably awkward? Giving him one last nod of goodbye, you turned to go to the register at the front and leave him be.

Hours later, you were still contemplating that short conversation as you were making dinner. You knew your appointment with Dr. Raynor was the next day and a part of you was almost excited. Those brief moments of passing by Bucky as he was on the way in had become as ingrained into your routine as mealtimes. You looked forward to seeing him and catching a glimpse of those frost-blue eyes.

As you sautéed some vegetables, a familiar song started to play in your head. You froze in place as you identified it.

Siouxsie and the Banshees. Siouzsie and the fucking Banshies.

Clarity hit you right in the head, and you moved to grip the counter as realization flooded over you. It added up, it all added up. The lack of music in childhood, the 30s and 40s songs always playing, and the introduction of bands from the 70s and 80s coincided with his exploration into other decades. It was all so obvious you could hit your past self.

No. No. No. No. This cannot be happening.

It explained why you were so comfortable talking to him despite your struggle with mutism. It explained why he had so easily and quickly become a fixture in your life, even if the presence was small. And it sure as hell explained why your heart could not stop beating erratically when those diamond blue eyes looked your way.

Bucky Barnes was your damn soulmate.

You were nervous, more than usual. Dark circles hung under your eyes, indicating how little you had slept that night. It was impossible to get even an hour of rest. Your bedsheets were crumpled because you turned over more times than you could ever count. He was your soulmate. There was no other explanation.

Music played in your head as you entered the building to Dr. Raynor’s office and walked down to hallway. The song your soulmate – or rather Bucky – played after you reached out consumed your head. Billie Holiday’s melodic voice echoed around your brain.

I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places,

It was weird, being in a headspace where you were thinking so intensely but also unable to fully understand it. The closest feeling you could attribute it to was that haze you have between sleep and awake; there, but not truly there.

That this heart of mine embraces, all day through,

Now, as you made your way to Dr. Raynor’s office, you knew you would have to mention it. You were fully convinced that if you did not fess up yourself, she would be able to tell you were hiding something immediately. The woman was a bloodhound for finding secrets.

In that small cafe, the park across the way, the children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well,

You tried to ignore it as you turned down another hallway and approached the slightly ajar door of Dr. Raynor’s office. Your gaze immediately went to the speaker dock in the corner of the room, the same song playing in your head was playing through those very speakers. What the fuck?

I’ll be seeing you, in every lovely summer’s day,

Turning to the figure out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bucky standing there. His eyes were soft, but his posture was stiff like he was nervous. It was a weird emotion to see on him. Your mouth was open in slight shock.

He knew. He had to.

Fuck. What do you do now?

“Hey,” You finally spoke after moments of silence.

Hey?

That’s what you say to your soulmate?

“You know,” Bucky responded. It was not a question, but a statement said with trepidation. Was he… scared? The air in the room was cool, but tense.

“I do. Last night, when you played that album I recommended. It uh, it all came to me.” You were not sure what else to say. As much as you struggled with speaking, talking with him before you knew he was your soulmate had been surprisingly easy. Now, there were expectations and outcomes thought to come from this connection that felt paralyzing.

“When did you find out?” You asked.

Bucky took a step closer to you, “Last week, when you were leaving your appointment. Dr. Raynor played that song, and though I had no concrete evidence,” He took another step closer. “It felt right.”

“Oh,” You nodded slowly, mouth still open, “Disappointed then?” You tried to cover it as a joke, but inner you was frightened. You felt inadequate, or maybe not exciting enough. You had a regular life, normal and as non-adventurous as most. But would he even care for that?

He took a final step to be right in front of you, speaking with his voice low as those familiar frost blue eyes gazed into yours.

“Absolutely not.” He whispered. You did not know when the song ended, but suddenly the room was thrown into silence. Nothing but the sound of your light breathing remained.

“Of all the songs to respond with, why this one?” You asked.

“When did you first hear that song?” Bucky asked back. You would be lying if you said it took a while to find that memory. It was burned into you, something that you turned to in dark moments.

“I was young. Bad day at school, well, bad days. My grandpa was visiting home and was there when I came home crying. My parents, uh, worked a lot,” You sniffled lightly, pushing away at the burn in the back of your eyes. “He held me in his lap and played his favourite songs. That one stuck with me the most.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward at your heartfelt expression, and you felt one of his hands grab yours. He looked down to fiddle with your fingers as if it was hard for him to maintain eye contact before he spoke.

“I wasn’t frozen when that song played. I was, he was, on a mission. It was the first time hearing it since they took me-” His voice cut as he let out a shaking breath, “It brought me right back to before… all of that.”

You used your free hand to capture the one he was holding your other with. Your fingers rubbed smooth, methodical circles on the back of his hand. It felt like instinct to comfort him, like a part of you relied on it. You wanted to sway the topic as it clearly was not something Bucky wanted to delve into this early.

“How the hell did you get Dr. Reynold’s in on this?” There was curiosity in you about how he set this up. By now, your appointment was supposed to be happening.

“It was actually fairly easy to convince her. She knew for a while.” Bucky answered. Your face shot up to look at him and your brows furrowed.

“She knew?” You would have been angry, but it was so like her to know. She dug up secrets like it was nothing. “And she didn’t say anything?”

“HIPAA or something like that, I guess,” Bucky answered. The two of you shared small smiles.

“Of course she knew.” You let out a quick laugh. Bucky raised his hand that was clasped with yours and tugged you a little closer. Red flushed over your face, and you could swear his super soldier hearing could hear your heart rate pick up.

“I still haven’t listened to that other album you recommended. I was thinking you could come over? I’m a little intimidated, after all, it is outside my current comfort zone, as you put it yesterday.” Bucky uttered with a tone of playfulness you had yet to hear from him.

“You? Intimidated? I doubt it.” You respond with a teasing tone.

“You know, I’m trying to subtly ask you out.” He reasoned.

You quirked a brow, “Subtle? Music playing, a surprise meeting, and a confession? Yes, very subtle, Sergeant.”

Something darkened in his eyes when you addressed him like that. You swallowed some saliva that had built up in your mouth. His eyes scanned over your face like he was trying to memorize it as much as he could, as if you were at risk of being taken away.

“You gonna give me an answer?” Bucky remarked. There was something on his face akin to fear as he waited for a response.

“Yeah, I’ll come over and listen with you.” Your voice whispered, entirely too afraid to think this was all a dream and you would wake up any moment. He smiled gently at your answer and his posture perked up.

“Good. I’ll make you dinner as well.” He spoke the words like a promise.

“Dinner? Well, now you’re spoiling me.” You tilted your head. It was nice seeing something other than a straight face or a scowl on him.

Bucky came alive with that smile, and you wanted nothing more than to keep it that way.

Bucky pulled you in closer with your hands quickly moving to land on his chest. “That’s the plan, doll.”

It was not intentional, the change that your apartment underwent in the following months. It was subtle at first, but swift. The vinyl shelf acquired more additions over time, those that he would bring over. You would do the same when you went to his place for a dinner date and a listening session. However, it became more frequent at your place.

Soon, it was not only the records that moved over. A drawer full of his clothes turned into multiple, the toothbrush sitting in the cup on your sink got a friend right next to it, books on your shelves were intermixed with his, until one day Bucky was simply there.

There was no need for an official declaration or a fixed time for him to fuse so fluidly into your life. Truly, you two were always together through time. It was only natural for time not to keep you apart any longer.

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wroteclassicaly · 11 months ago

Text

Daddy Steve

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Steve finds out you’re pregnant.

Warnings: Language, hurt/comfort, best-friends to lovers, Daddy!Steve, mentions loss of virginity, alludes to smut, nausea, throwing up, and pregnancy stuff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Ever since that Daddy Steve comment in season three, my brain can’t get a breeding kink addicted Steve outta my filthy ass head! And thus, I bring you more trash that you didn’t ask for, lol!! I might do a part two with smut?? Enjoy! - Kristen <3

“C’mon, you love this stuff, honey,” Steve mumbles around a mouthful of buttery popcorn.

You’re smashed between him and your shared best-friend, Robin Buckley—on the sofa, watching some newly released horror film that went straight to video, and right into Steve’s VCR. You have to fight everything inside of you not to gag on the smell of popped kernels, urges to inhale, an automatic reflex that only serves to make your predicament worse. Robin wrinkles her nose in distaste, reaching across you and shoving his wrist away.

“Because having greasy ass butter on your chin is really encouraging her to try it out, Harrington.”

“Mhm,” You say, a half whimper slipping out. Your stomach rolls, making you automatically grip onto your baggy denim over shirt, the small swelling of your tummy a comfort.

Fuck the morning sickness… when did this start happening?

Robin’s eyes glance at you with a pitying worry, raising a brow in silent communication. You shake your head, giving her an ‘I’m fine’ signal, dodging Steve’s last classic film snack advance. When you catch sight of his tongue working to clean off his mouth’s corner, that ache teeters between your thighs, a rush of words tumbling off your lips.

“I have to go pee.” You scramble from the couch, nearly tripping over worn converse in the process.

And, as it turns out, your excuse is an even more idiotic thing to say. Steve’s voice halts you in your footfalls.

“Again? That’s like, the fifth time in an hour. And unless you’re chugging from some secret flask, I haven’t seen you drink much of anything, either.”

“I…”

“Dude, do not ever question a woman again about her bathroom habits, okay?” Robin interjects, giving him the Robin look.

“If she’s on her period she can just tell us that. You think I give a crap? We’re all friends here.” Steve shrugs a shoulder, tossing the empty popcorn bag down and ducking his salty fingers into his mouth with a delectable ‘pop’.

You’re momentarily lost within the realm of your raging hormones. Your doctor had told you to expect fluctuating moods, surprising shifts in your appetite; sexually, emotionally, physically, and nutrition wise. That explains why you’re always stealing Dustin’s sour candy and eating spoonfuls of peanut butter at 3:00 AM, crying at reruns of Cheers, and currently ogling your best-friend like he’s always been yours, and isn’t currently pining for someone else. Steve isn’t yours, despite what he’s put inside of you after one needy night together. His dark irises suddenly find you gawking, leaving him confused.

The way his nose is shaped, his jawline structure, that delicious neck he permitted you to mark at one point, that gorgeously soft hair you spent all night pulling, to that sinfully beautiful mouth—you’re speechless and very overwhelmed.

I need him…

He starts to move, but you hold up a hand. That would be sensory overload. “I should definitely go home after. I’ve got an early shift at the store tomorrow.” You lie.

“After what? Peeing?” Steve laughs.

Another ever changing hormone snaps your irritation, causing you to roll your eyes, desire lightly dissipating. “Obviously. That cool with you, King Harrington? Or do you need to further bore me with your pathetic excuse for a movie pick?”

Robin starts to edge back from Steve, his own anger at your snapping at him seeping through, coming off him in dangerous waves.

“Okay, what is with this goddamned attitude? We always watch bullshit movies and you’ve never complained about it before!”

“Mr. Former Prom King isn’t keen on attitudes now? Sounds like a problem that’s not mine.” You push, unable to stop yourself. After all, it’s better than feeling like garbage listening to him go on and on about Nancy, not even knowing he took your virginity and got you pregnant in one go.

If Steve could tuck his eyebrows into his hairline then they’d be there. His hands pinch his hips, lips pursed as he’s clenching his teeth.

“You know what, you should leave. Between your bitching, constant bathroom breaks, and acting too stuck up to watch a movie and eat some popcorn with your friends, you’re not much fun to be around anyways.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds.

“What? Princess is allowed to act like she’s too good to hang out lately and we can’t be upset about it?” Steve motions to you with a tipped hand.

There’s a burning brimming your eyes before you can stop it. You’d prefer the anger. Steve’s hands tighten at his sides, jaw twitching, a biting question, battling his urges to comfort you and apologize for upsetting you. “Why are you even crying right now?”

“Let’s all just calm down and breathe, okay?” Robin stands now, tiptoeing to meet in the middle of you.

“I was calm. I think you need to talk to her about all this. As a matter of fact, call her tomorrow after I call her a cab and she leaves, because I know she’s not working in the morning, and she just lied to our faces.” Steve adds.

Your face flushes, stomach tightening. That sickness is overpowering you, taking control. You can’t stop that watering in your eyes, blurring your vision, making your two best-friends blobs in the distance. They start arguing back and forth, Steve’s evident confusion at Robin defending your behavior, and Robin pleading with him to give you a break. You don’t say anything, but turn on your heel and make the walk down the hallway, barricading yourself in the bathroom and taking care of your pressing bladder, head in your hands as you silently cry.

Being a simple band geek that harbored a crush on Steve for years, turning into his best-friend too when you and Robin began working at the mall with him, to leaning on each other when Starcourt fell into shambles and monsters became very real to you, finalizing one shared night three months ago—it all happened so fast. Steve never said anything more after, just thanked you for being there for him and checked in on you with phone calls and a work chat. You couldn’t bear staying with him that night, either, so you had left, leaving your virginity and your scent behind on Steve’s sheets. You wanted to, you needed him as much as he had to have you, but you weren’t sure how to feel about it, and Robin had picked it up right away—scolding you, before asking how it was and if you were alright. She’s been there for you through it all, and you’re double on the guilt at dragging her into this mess.

“Honey?” A heavy rasping of knuckles and a deep voice, a softer tone is sighing out on the other side.

You imagine him in that Steve Harrington lean, his ankle crossed over the other, palm on the framework, posture leaning into the doorway. Heaving out a breath you shouldn’t have held, you finish and wash your hands, throat constricting around a painful gulp as you unlatch the lock and pull open the door.

You’re right.

His lips making that familiar motion, dark eyes saddened, worried, guilt ridden. You don’t even let him speak, locking your arms around his striped clad waist, arms sliding down, wrists brushing his leather belt. You inhale his laundry detergent, cologne spritzed scent, sniffling your apologies in quiet words. He lets you go on, pulling away a minute later to grip your shoulders, squeezing. “If you are on your period… or you’re upset about something, or I pissed you off, will you please talk to me?”

Your heartbeat gallops full speed ahead, thrumming sporadically against your throat. “I’m not on my period, Steve.” The words feel dry, your lips too chapped to even speak.

“Then what is it, and why can you tell Robin but not me?” He sounds hurt. Really hurt.

You find yourself at a loss, tongue stumbling to scrape up scraps of words. Nothing comes.

“She hasn’t told me shit, but I know that she knows what’s going on?”

You escape his words, chickening out. “My cab ride will probably be here soon, I better go.”

“I never called a cab.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest now. “And I wasn’t going to, you just pissed me off.”

“Yeah, well… ditto.” You snark, not meaning to.

“Okay, care to share why? Because I do everything I can to make sure you’re safe and you’re smiling. It makes me feel like shit when you feel like shit.”

Every scenario you imagined telling Steve about carrying his baby in, you never thought it would be him hovering over your blubbering, nauseated, hot mess form. But as you look into those eyes of his—glittering with undiluted concern, pulse vibrating off your lungs, ping ponging off your jugular, the words come on their own.

“I’m pregnant.”

That very popular symptom of sickness overtakes you, having you abandoning Steve in the doorway with your confession, your knees hitting the floor, head over the toilet bowl as it all comes out. And you sob. Over exerted from physical exhaustion, mentally tired over a guilty conscious, and ready to go to sleep—you pathetically cling to the Harrington’s guest toilet, panting, mouth wet, trembling hand reaching for your hair, only to be swept away. When you look up your heart takes a painful blow, stuttering in your chest. Steve’s eyes are watering, teeth gnawing on his lower lip.

He looks wounded, defeated. Like you kicked him into a gutter and left him there. Alone.

Still, he helps you lean back, stretching his long arm to flush the toilet and reach for a decorative hand towel, using the bathtub faucet behind him to wet it and press it along your forehead, edging down your neck, finally cleaning your mouth. He’s so gentle, so delicate in his touches, aside from his own emotions. You grip his wrist, seeing the dried tears matting his gorgeous lashes, holding his hand in yours. “I’m sorry.”

“How long have you known?” Is all he can croak, voice shaky and damp. He settles back against the wall, you following suit, still holding his hand in yours.

“Two months.”

“We had sex three months ago.” He reminds you, as if maybe he’s unsure how to approach it.

He remembers?

“I found out when I was already four weeks. Besides, it can’t be anyone else’s when I’ve only slept with you.”

“But we were just together for one night.” He looks confused, scrubbing a hand over his face, sniffing.

“Yeah, Steve, we were.” You hope to god that he gets the message without you having to say it.

It takes him moments, which feel like eternity. And then you are very aware of his pointed stare. “Are you telling me I’ve been the only guy to ever take you to bed?”

“Looks like it. Congrats.” You mutter, lifting your knees, an indulging stance your little swollen bump won’t let you complete. You grab over it, an instinctive reaction. Steve’s directing a watchful eye over your bulky denim, swallowing, his words coming out meek, gently. “Can I see?”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, moving to drop his hand, but he holds on, fingertips drawing circles over the back of your palm. “It’s okay.”

It relaxes you enough to agree, using your right hand to lift the denim, your simple lavender top stretched over the small swell that’s nestled at your navel, expanding towards your hips. You feel Steve move your joined hands over the fabric, scraping, scratching, dipping down underneath the bottom, hovering. “It won’t hurt it if I feel, right?”

This makes you laugh softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t pay attention in health class at all, did you?” At his exasperated dumbfounded look, you continue. “S’ okay, Steve. Just please don’t push on anything, because I can’t promise you the front of your shirt won’t look like the Exorcist after.”

“That bad, huh?” He questions, sincerity dripping through his words.

“You have no idea.” You help him raise your tee beneath your breasts, that cute and developing bump in all its glory. Your skin, already getting a couple more stretch marks, shines in the low light of the bathroom, your breathing and Steve’s all that is audible.

Times like this you wish you had your Polaroid to take his absolutely fascinated stare in. His big hand closes over it, pressing feather light, his watch showing 10:01 PM. It feels so damned good to have him know, to have someone touching you like this. And oddly… it’s as if this is how it should always be.

Steve is on the precipice of unknown, a possessive derailment wiggling its way into his normally calm exterior. His baby. Parts of him that fused with parts of you, growing an entire human being. And the sheer fact that you’re swollen with his child? He has to fight every way that pummels a fire into the pit of his stomach.

“I took your virginity when we made this?” He is marveling.

You clear your throat, embarrassed. “You did.”

He sniffles once more, then he’s palming circles across your stomach, before respectfully tugging your shirt down and adjusting it. He makes a move to halt you from shaking the denim back down. “You don’t have to hide it anymore. Please, don’t.”

You give a watery look of incredulous admiration, grateful he’s still the Steve Harrington you have come to know.

And love…

But he doesn’t have to be privy to that part.

“They said I should be able to hear its heartbeat next week.” A lightened load off your chest has you audibly relaxing against Steve’s shoulder—unintentional, but natural—his arm resting around your shoulders, kneading out mounts of week long tension.

“How big is it? I mean… can they tell?” His fascinating questionnaires have you giddy.

Ever the inquiring man.

You move your neck from side to side, attempting to fixate on the knots, trying to get some squeeze off your muscles. Steve takes notice immediately, his fingers tucking beneath your shirt collar, pinching your flesh and rolling it under his easy grip. “Don’t worry, I got you. How’s that?”

“Mhm, s’ good, Stevie.” His nickname tumbles free, making him squeeze you affectionately. “A plum, by the way.”

He does rear back this time, bewildered, a ‘huh’ pressed into the line between his brows.

You laugh, his ministrations on your neck’s nape continuing. “The baby. It’s the size of a plum, is the way they described it to me. Or whatever I wanna think of that is that size.”

“Can I come?” When you frown, he’s quick to continue, his voice a raspy whisper, still tear-dampened. “To the appointment, I mean.”

You won’t deny how your heart is racing, how his wanting to be involved is both scary and welcomed, but you’re also on the defense, walls up. You can only imagine what his parents will think, what everyone will think. And Nancy… You don’t want to ruin anyone’s future from one one sided night of meaningless sex.

Steve can see the wheels turning in your head, your muscles tensing beneath his touch. It’s a bit frightening.

“Honey—“

“I didn’t need anyone’s permission in deciding to have or keep this baby, Steve. I don’t expect any help, I don’t want any pity support. I’ll be fine on my own.”

The familiarity of descending guilt slaps you in the face, Steve’s shocked look peppering his features. “You think I don’t want to help with my own baby? You think I’m that much of a fucking douchebag?!” He stands now, hands on his hips in that stern way.

You too attempt to stand, gripping the empty towel rack to keep steady. “I didn’t know if that’s what you’d want, Steve. We’re both still so young. It’s my body, so the decision to carry our child was up to me. If I wasn’t going to, I still would’ve told you. As for helping? Like I said, we’re both young and you’re attached… elsewhere.” You try, carefully avoiding her name. “S’ not like I was excited to be the Midwest mom that traps the former heartthrob.”

“Then that would make me the Midwest dad that should’ve worn a condom and taken care of you more. If we’re sharing blame here, let’s even it out.”

You’re very aware he meant something else, but it brings you right back to being beneath him, your legs wide open, thighs trembling, hands holding purchase, unsure, going with him, letting Steve lead. That burning loss of feeling Steve Harrington between your thighs is enough to cause you to squeeze your legs, drawing his attention. And whatever this fresh feeling is, he seems to be feeling it too.

Steve lets his arm shift, fingers combing your hair back behind your ear. “You thinkin’ about it?”

You’re pitifully admitting, hands cupping his back as you slink into his embrace. It’s warm, it’s safe, it’s Steve Harrington. There will be a time for talking, but now isn’t it, now is soaking each other in, being together, with your baby boy or girl.

“I’m thinking a lot of things.” Is your answer, but it’s enough for him to remember how you felt that night, the way you gave yourself to him and stayed right there with him.

There’s a soft air around you both, seemingly helping ward off your aching insides, letting the nausea vanish. Your hand wraps itself over the swell, Steve watching in admiration, hand lowering onto your own. It’s back and forth grins, and you’re pulling away as you remember Robin is still in the living room. Stepping forward and out of Steve’s too warm for your hormones to handle embrace, you turn on the bathroom faucet to wash your hands and cup some water into them, drinking and swishing the nasty taste out. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off you, even as you both find your shared best-friend in living room, brow raised in concern and amusement.

Your bump is on full display and she is shaking her short mane, eyeing Steve’s doe eyed gaze, the color on his cheeks. “Aww, congrats, Daddy Dingus.”

You burst into laughter, full on.

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