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angelseraphines · 8 days ago

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ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

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sonarspace · 9 days ago

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˗ˏˋ I’MA CARE FOR YOU, YOU, YOU (T. FUSHIGURO)

꒰ synopsis. what starts as a quiet attempt to keep toji sober on new year’s eve turns into something far more intimate—because for the first time in years, he’s found something worth staying sober for.

warnings. mentions of child abuse (toji’s lip scar), mentions of alcohol abuse. fem!reader. established relationship. nsfw. unprotected sēx, orāl (f! receiving), size kink + more (can’t remember lol).

toji never celebrated his birthday.

december 31st passed like a ghost every year—empty bottles scattered across the floor by the time the sun set, and his phone powered down before midnight could roll around.

but it wasn’t new year’s eve he hated.

it was his birthday. and it was the day he got the scar.

toji was six when the zen’in clan dragged him to the edge of the disciplinary pit. he remembered the cold first—how it bit through the thin fabric of his yukata, numbing his fingers as he tried not to shiver. the reason didn’t matter. maybe he mouthed off. maybe he looked at an elder wrong. maybe they just felt like reminding him of his place.

“a lesson,” they had called it.

when they pushed him in, he landed hard, his lip splitting against the jagged rocks below. the curses that lurked in the pit slithered closer, circling him in the dark. none of them touched him. not even when he lay still, too scared to move, his blood pooling beneath him.

by the time they pulled him out the next morning, the scar had already begun to form.

every year after that, december 31st wasn’t about celebrating life.

it was about surviving it.

and so he drank. drank until the memory blurred at the edges, until the whiskey burned worse than the scar ever had.

but this year…

this year was different.

because of you.

december 30th

“you’re not drinking that whole bottle tonight.”

your voice was soft but firm, cutting through the low hum of the apartment.

toji didn’t look at you. his gaze stayed fixed on the skyline outside the window, the glass in his hand half-full and swirling with amber light.

“and why not?” he muttered.

“because if you do, you’ll sleep through tomorrow.”

“good.”

you stepped closer, bare feet padding quietly across the floor.

“toji.”

the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes vanished when you sank onto the couch beside him, your thigh pressing lightly against his. without hesitation, you reached forward and pried the glass from his fingers, setting it on the table.

toji finally glanced at you—sharp, unreadable, but lingering longer than usual.

“you’re bossy,” he murmured, but there was no heat behind it.

“someone has to be.”

silence stretched between you, the distant hum of the city filling the gaps.

then, quietly, you asked, “what is it about tomorrow?”

his thumb traced absent patterns over the scar on his lip, a habit you’d seen before.

“the pit,” he said simply.

the words were rough, rasping against the air like they’d taken effort to drag from his chest.

your heart clenched.

“they threw you in?”

toji’s gaze flickered to the bottle, but he didn’t reach for it. instead, his hand drifted to your thigh, his palm warm even through the fabric of your leggings.

“on my birthday,” he murmured.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, lacing your fingers through his.

“they can’t touch you now,” you whispered.

he huffed, but it wasn’t quite a laugh.

“i don’t need comforting, sweetheart.”

“maybe not,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand, “but you deserve it anyway.”

toji didn’t answer, but the arm around your shoulders tightened slightly, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest.

the whiskey sat untouched on the table the rest of the night.

december 31st

toji didn’t expect to wake up to the smell of food.

most mornings, the first thing that greeted him was the stale reminder of unfinished whiskey and the sharp bite of morning light through half-drawn curtains. but today, something softer lingered in the air—cinnamon, maybe, and fresh coffee.

he cracked one eye open, arm thrown lazily over his face as the faint clatter of dishes drifted from the kitchen.

what the hell...

his gaze shifted to the clock beside the bed—9:00 am.

too early.

usually, he’d sleep through the morning. hell, he’d sleep through most of the day if left alone—anything to let december 31st pass by in a blur. but now, curiosity tugged at the edges of his mind.

dragging himself upright, he tugged on the nearest pair of sweats, padding barefoot toward the source of the noise.

there you were.

standing at the stove, swaying faintly to the low hum of music drifting from the speaker, one of his shirts hanging loose over your frame.

toji lingered by the doorway for a second, arms crossing over his bare chest, just watching.

you must’ve felt him staring because you glanced over your shoulder, offering that soft smile that always disarmed him.

“happy birthday.”

toji’s brows lifted, but the warmth pooling low in his stomach was unexpected.

“you’re up early,” he grunted, stepping forward to lean on the counter, arms brushing yours.

“had to make sure you didn’t drink the day away again.”

he huffed, shaking his head. “so you’re babysitting me now?”

“if that’s what it takes,” you teased, plating the pancakes with a little too much pride. “besides, if you hate your birthday so much, i figured we’d just make it a regular day. you know—coffee, pancakes, and some lazy movie marathon or something.”

toji didn’t answer right away. his gaze lingered on you, tracing the soft line of your features as the soft winter light kissed your skin.

normal.

the weight of that word sat heavy in his chest. when was the last time his birthday felt anything close to that?

you slid a plate in front of him, nudging his hand lightly. “eat. you can glare at me later.”

toji snorted but didn’t argue.

the sun had long since dipped below the skyline, and the apartment was wrapped in the kind of quiet that only came with late december nights. the tv flickered softly in the corner, casting faint shadows across the room, but the film had faded into background noise hours ago.

the glow from the tv barely lit the room, but it didn’t matter. your focus wasn’t on the screen.

toji’s arm lay heavy across your waist, his thumb brushing idle circles along the curve of your hip as the two of you stretched across the couch.

you nestled closer, your head resting against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

outside, fireworks crackled faintly in the distance, but the soft weight of his palm sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt was far more distracting.

“countdown’s soon,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

toji’s response was a low hum, his lips pressing lazily against the top of your head.

“hm? you excited?” he teased, palm flattening against the small of your back, his fingers trailing higher.

you smiled, shifting slightly to straddle his lap. the flicker of surprise in his eyes was brief, replaced by that familiar heat as his hands found your waist.

“maybe,” you replied, your lips brushing faintly over his. “you better make a wish.”

toji’s grip tightened, his thumb tracing the soft line of your spine.

“already got what i want,” he said, voice low, thick with something dark and rough-edged.

your lips parted in soft surprise, but before you could speak, his mouth captured yours—slow, deliberate, and impossibly warm.

his kisses trailed lower, each one leaving a path of heat against your skin.

the tv droned quietly in the background, forgotten as toji pulled the oversized shirt—his shirt—over your head, leaving you bare beneath him.

he leaned back just enough to let his gaze rake over you, dark eyes glinting faintly beneath strands of disheveled hair.

“been thinking about this all day,” he admitted, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing lazily over the sensitive peaks.

you arched into his touch, your breath hitching as his mouth followed, closing over one nipple with slow, teasing intent.

his tongue flicked, warm and soft, and when his teeth grazed lightly over the sensitive skin, your fingers instinctively curled into his hair.

“toji—”

“hm?”

he didn’t stop, his palm sliding between your thighs, pressing against the damp heat gathered there.

“fuck,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over your underwear, feeling how soaked you were.

“you’re already this wet?”

you swallowed hard, tugging at the hem of his sweats, urging him closer.

“just for you,” you whispered, your breath catching as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, teasing along your folds.

his eyes darkened, and in one slow, fluid motion, he shifted, dragging your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely exposed beneath him.

“better fix that, huh?” he muttered, spreading your thighs wider.

his mouth was hot against you—too hot.

his tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, pressing flat against your clit before flicking up in a way that left you breathless.

toji held you down easily, his grip firm around your thighs as he worked you over like he had all the time in the world.

you gasped, back arching when his fingers pressed inside you, curling just right as his tongue flicked again.

“s’good,” you breathed, tugging at his hair.

he groaned low against you, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core.

“fuck, you taste sweet,” he muttered, his voice muffled but thick with need.

his tongue dipped deeper, teasing your entrance before sliding back up to your clit, lapping at you with slow, lazy strokes.

your thighs trembled around his head, but he didn’t stop—not until you were whimpering his name, hips grinding desperately against his mouth.

when you came, it was with a sharp cry, your body tensing beneath him as the pleasure washed over you in waves.

toji didn’t pull away, dragging his tongue through every aftershock, his grip tightening around your hips to hold you still as you squirmed.

“good girl,” he rasped, pressing one last kiss against the inside of your thigh.

by the time he crawled back up over you, his sweats were gone, leaving the full weight of him pressing hot against your slick heat.

his cock, heavy and flushed, dragged through your soaked folds, the tip nudging at your entrance with every teasing roll of his hips.

“toji,” you whispered, the sound barely more than a breath, but the need behind it was unmistakable.

he caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to his until your eyes met.

“gonna take my time with you,” he rasped, lips barely skimming over yours. “make sure you feel it all the way into the new year.”

you barely had time to respond before he pushed forward, sinking into you in one long, unrelenting thrust.

the stretch stole your breath, toes curling as he sank in, inch by inch, until there wasn’t a part of you he hadn’t claimed. your nails dug into the hard muscle of his back, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as the slow drag of him against your walls left your head spinning.

"you feel that?" he rasped, his mouth trailing along the line of your jaw, teeth grazing just below your ear. "so fuckin’ tight—like you were made for me."

your only answer was a choked gasp as his hips rocked again, each roll deeper than the last, his cock pressing into that spot inside you that made your vision blur at the edges.

he moved with purpose—deep, measured strokes that left you trembling, each thrust pushing you closer to unraveling.

but soon, it wasn’t enough.

toji growled softly, his grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you harder, the sound of skin meeting skin drowned out by the faint crackle of fireworks outside.

his mouth found your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse before his teeth dragged faintly along the sensitive skin, leaving marks that you knew would linger long after the night faded.

when the clock struck midnight, toji was still buried deep inside you, his body heavy and solid as he pressed you into the mattress.

fireworks exploded outside, muffled cracks echoing through the thin apartment walls, but you barely noticed. not with the way he was moving—deep, slow thrusts that had your legs trembling and your nails digging into the broad expanse of his back.

his cock stretched you perfectly, thick and hot as he filled you to the hilt, the curve of him pressing up against that sensitive spot deep inside with every roll of his hips.

"shit," toji rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "so fuckin’ tight, baby. you feel that?"

you nodded, breathless, but it wasn’t enough for him. one of his hands—rough and calloused—gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his.

“tell me,” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. his green eyes were darker now, half-lidded with pleasure, but there was something else burning beneath—something that made your heart race even faster.

“i feel it,” you gasped, barely able to form words with how deep he was. “you’re so—so big, toji.”

his mouth curved into a smirk, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip.

“yeah? stretched you open real good, huh?”

your walls fluttered around him at the rasp in his voice, and his smirk only deepened.

“goddamn,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you again, swallowing the soft whimper that slipped past your lips. his weight pressed you deeper into the mattress, the hard muscle of his chest flush against your tits, but there was a softness to him too—the faint give of his stomach against yours, the comforting warmth of his body that made you feel safe even as he fucked you senseless.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the plush curve of his ass, and toji groaned low in his throat, his pace quickening just enough to make you gasp.

the head of his cock dragged against that sweet spot over and over, pulling breathless little cries from you with each thrust.

“so fuckin’ needy for me,” he murmured, lips ghosting along your jaw. his breath hitched when you clenched around him, the muscles in his thick arms flexing as he held himself above you. “greedy little thing. takin’ all of me so well.”

your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as he ground his hips deeper, filling you in a way that made your body arch into him. the stretch was intoxicating, just toeing the line between too much and not enough, but the way he touched you—like you were something precious—made it impossible to stop craving more.

toji pressed his forehead against yours, panting softly as the fireworks outside flared brighter, casting flashes of color across his sweat-damp skin.

“you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped, one of his hands sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling it higher until it rested against his side. the shift let him sink even deeper, and you moaned, head spinning from the sensation.

“so deep,” you whimpered, nails dragging over the broad planes of his back.

“mhm. feel me right there?” his hand pressed flat against your lower stomach, the pressure making you keen beneath him.

“y-yeah,” you stammered, writhing at the added intensity.

the wet, sinful sound of him thrusting into you filled the room, louder than the fireworks now, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge.

and then he shifted again—leaning back, pulling his cock out almost entirely before slamming back into you, the force knocking the air from your lungs.

his lips trailed down the line of your neck, warm and soft as he moved lower, his breath hot against your flushed skin.

“fuck, these tits,” he growled, eyes dark as his large hands cupped them, kneading roughly. your back arched into him, desperate for more, and toji chuckled lowly, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you gasped.

“so soft.”

he wrapped his lips around one nipple, sucking deep and slow, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud in steady strokes that had your head spinning.

“toji—”

he didn’t answer, just groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing faintly over your nipple before he sucked even harder, leaving it swollen and sensitive as his hand squeezed the other roughly.

“could spend hours just like this,” he muttered against you, the vibrations of his voice sending sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.

you squirmed beneath him, hips grinding up against his cock, and toji pulled back just enough to smirk down at you.

“patience, baby,” he teased, giving your tits one last hard squeeze before guiding himself back to your entrance.

the tip of his cock slid against your soaked folds, teasing, before he sank back in, slow and steady, until he bottomed out with a deep groan.

for a long moment, the only sounds were the ragged breaths you shared as you both let go and the distant crackle of fireworks still popping outside.

toji leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the bruising way he’d just taken you.

“happy new year,” you whispered, brushing your lips over the scar near his lip.

he huffed softly, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a sliver of space between you.

“yeah,” he muttered, his voice softer now, almost fond. “it is.”

an. happy birthday toji 😓, you are so loved. HAPPY NEW YEAR’S EVE 🥳! new fic (unrelated to this) will be uploaded tomorrow! so turn on post notifications :)

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timmydraker · 3 months ago

Text

Tim Drake is a selkie.

No one outside of Janet Drake knows this, and she ensure it is kept a secret purely for the fact that if it gets out people will quickly realise that neither she nor Jack is a selkie themselves.

They would realise that Janet had an affair.

The man she had met on their trip overseas had gotten her pregnant and then vanished, seemingly disappearing into thin air.

It wasn’t until Tim was born that she was sure it was the other man’s child, if not for the distinctly black hair than the smooth pelt like band around his wrist.

His father had one similar and he refused to take it off.

The first time Tim transformed was luckily when Janet was still sure she wanted to be a mother and was bathing him at just four months old. When the little boy with bright blue eyes suddenly went quiet and then rolled over in the bath, she watched as he turned into a small baby seal.

Janet had screeched and backed up in shock, only to watch as the seal looked at her with big black eyes and seemingly start to cry before he shifted back into Tim.

The band around his wrist came off and was the perfect shape of the seals pelt from earlier, sitting in the tub like it hadn’t just shifted Janet’s entire life out of balance.

Naturally she hid the hide and made sure Tim never saw it again, especially when there were no more shifting incidents.

Tim was nine when he found it and well accustomed to his parents lying to him about a range of things, all varying in importance. They lied about when they would be home, about stocking the fridge, about being at his science fair…

But when Tim was sneaking into his mums closet to try find one of her spare credit cards, he found the pelt and something in him felt whole.

Tim had always felt like something wasn’t right about him. He felt like his very body was missing, or maybe his soul, and no matter what he did he couldn’t find a way to fill that gap. Being in water helped, so did showers and sunlight, though it was never enough.

It was why he started skating and stalking Batman and Robin, just to distract himself.

Photography worked best though.

Yet as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the pelt he swore he could feel himself being put back together like a puzzle.

Tim didn’t shift straight away, not when he was left stuck in the blissful feeling of his skin feeling right for the first time he could recall.

It was when he watched the pelt shift to wrap around his bare arm like a sleeve that he shifted.

The seal form he took wasn’t what he expected, but of course it wasn’t.

From then on Tim would spend every chance he got with the pelt, learning to control both the shifting of his skin and how to disguise the hide on his person. He usually kept it as some kind of band that covered his arm or waist, keeping it close to his hand at all times so he could check that it was safe.

He never wore it when his parents were home, just in case.

Naturally, he did research and learnt what he was as best he could.

By the time Janet realised he was taking the hide out of its hiding spot he was thirteen and almost finished his Robin training. He had kept it hidden from Batman if only because he was scared and not even sure if his mother really knew what it was, but when he came home to find her in his room he knew it was over.

She had held out her hand and said in the calmest voice she could, “hand it over, Timothy.”

Tim didn’t.

Janet had stood up and gripped his wrist, quickly finding the pelt around his arm and yanking it off of him.

Tim had cried, not out of physical pain but mental. It was like he was being put under some kind of spell and he found himself unable to move to snatch it back as Janet held the now pelt in a too tight grip.

“You will not touch this again, you hear me? I’m going to burn it.”

And she tried, she really did, but then Tim started to scream. The loud, echoing wails rang through the entire mansion until Jack rushed to his son and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Janet only stopped when Jack started calling for her to call an ambulance and she came up with the badly damaged pelt to find her son seizing on the floor with his skin burning red.

Tim calmed down quickly once she put it under water, but he was still shaking and sobbing wildly.

He never found out how she managed to convince Jack to not call for an ambulance or to leave them alone, and Tim tried not to think about how little Jack had to care for him to accept so easily.

Janet had given him the pelt back and watched him sob as he held it to his chest and wailed.

The next trip they went on lasted seven months and in that time he spent as much as he could in his seal form to focus on healing his damaged skin.

It was still burnt, ugly scars covering the bottom and entire left side of his fur, but he learnt to maintain it.

After that he kept the pelt hidden under armour in the Robin uniform.

When Jason attacked him he cut the pelt through his armour, not knowing it was there. He managed to not cut it in half and in a twisted irony got right over where it wasn’t scarred.

Tim managed to hide it from Batman but at that point he was sure that Alfred suspected something.

Yet it wasn’t until Damian that anyone found out.

At that point Tim felt safe enough to have his pelt kept as a thick band around his wrist, out and open but only in the manner.

As much as he wanted to hate him, Tim couldn’t blame Damian when after a year and a half of him being there and the two working out a few differences and issues, he noticed. Tim hadn’t worn it visible since he first arrived and tried to kill Tim, but he had subconsciously felt safer around Damian and the boy was the best at spitting changes in others appearance.

“Oh.”

Bruce had looked up at Damian while Tim minded his business stirring his tea, “what’s up, chum?”

Damian pointed to Tim’s wrist, “I was not aware you were a Selkie, Drake. I apologise if I damaged you pelt in my attacks.”

Tim had tensed so badly that he was sure that Superman could hear his joints locking even though he was off planet.

Naturally Tim started to hyperventilate when Bruce asked with genuine confusion, “What?”

Tim bolted to his room as quickly as he could and shut the door before sliding down it and clutching his pelt-band to his chest with his free hand.

It could have been a few seconds or minutes, but it felt like a whole hour before Tim heard a knock at the door and the calm, gentle voice of Bruce talking through it.

“Tim? Can you open up for me please?”

Shaking his head even when the other couldn’t see, Tim let out a whimper and crawled quickly to the bathroom as his panic took over.

By the time he heard the door open he was in his preferred form of a half seal, his lower body only and the skin of his back shifted, and clutching his inhuman lower body.

Bruce came in and stared at him in shock for a bit before swallowing.

Coming to sit beside the tub, Bruce reached over and turned on the tap to let water begin to run into the tub.

Tim was grateful if not a little confused by the action and finally got the courage to look up at him.

Bruce looked awkward as hell, but was clearly trying if the small smile on his face was any evidence.

Reaching a big hand over, he held it palm up for Tim until the young man reached out to accept it and placed his own now damp hand in his.

“I… I don’t know what exactly you are, but I do know that you are my son. Damian seems to think I should know already and maybe I should, but not because you didn’t tell me. As much as it pains me to say it, I get why you wouldn’t trust me.”

Tim shook his head, “I trust you, Bruce. I just… the less people who know, the less likely I’ll loose my pelt again.”

Bruce frowned but said nothing about what that implied , though Tim knew he’d be asked about it later. It didn’t help that his lower half showed the most of his burn scars.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I can’t change what has been done, but I can promise you I will never, ever take you pelt form you. I don’t know ow exactly what it means, I’ve never heard of a selkie before, but Damian seemed to think it was important.”

Tim smiled even as he wondered how Damian knew what his pelt was.

Bruce gave his hand a squeeze, “He seemed to gain a lot more respect for you because of it.”

Damian spoke from where he was at the door, making Tim jump and Bruce inhale in a way that showed he was taken off guard, “Of course I have. Selkies are nearly extinct and Timothy had survived to almost nineteen without loosing his pelt.”

Tim fully shifted in his shock.

#batfam #tim drake #bat family #dc comics #batfamily #dc universe #dc #tim drake is red robin #tim drake is a menace #damian wayne #Bruce Wayne #Batman #batman and robin #Damian Wayne is Robin #selkie #Selkie tim drake

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aliyahwritings · 2 months ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST

Summary: Coming back from a theater night with your friends only made Rafe hornier for some reason

Warnings: smut, eating out, fingering, p in v.

Word Count: 3.3k

Aliyah's Notes: this is kind of all over the place but wtv. it's a cute little extra that i thought was fun

You: "Where the fuck are you?" You: "This is why you’ve never had a girlfriend." You: "I hope you guys tripped and fell into a river." You: "I’m serious, Rafe. Are you okay? I’m starting to worry."

You stood outside the cinema with Kiara and Sarah, arms crossed as the chilly New York breeze bit at your skin. Despite the gray hoodie you’d stolen from Rafe draped over your white crop top, you still felt cold, silently cursing Sarah for convincing you to wear such a thin outfit. Sure, it looked great, but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for a night like this.

The three of you had been waiting for what felt like forever while the guys—Rafe, JJ, and John B—vanished into the snack counter abyss. You hadn’t even decided on a movie yet, and deep down, you knew that when Rafe showed up, a heated argument about which movie to watch was inevitable.

It was almost tradition at this point: the two of you bickering over the movie choice while everyone else groaned in frustration. But like always, you were confident you’d win. You always did. Rafe would put up a fight for the sake of it, but in the end, he’d cave, and you’d get your way.

Kiara sighed loudly, tugging you out of your thoughts. "What’s taking them so long? Are they buying snacks or building them from scratch?"

“With the time they’re taking, I’m starting to think they’ve decided to move in back there," you muttered, shoving your hands into the hoodie pockets.

Kiara snorted, throwing her hands in the air. “Seriously, what’s their deal? Did they forget we exist?”

“Knowing JJ and John B? Probably. They’re probably debating over candy, and Rafe’s just stuck there, pretending to care," Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And he’ll come out looking all innocent,” you added, smirking. “Like, ‘What? It wasn’t me.’”

Kiara grinned, brushing her hair out of her face. “Meanwhile, JJ’s going to show up with enough snacks to feed a small country.”

Sarah laughed. “Honestly, we should’ve started a timer on them. This is ridiculous.”

"Or a betting pool," Kiara added with a mischievous glint.

You chuckled, glancing at the glowing movie posters plastered on the walls. Your gaze lingered on the title of the movie you’d been determined to watch all week. It was calling your name, and nothing—not even Rafe’s inevitable stubbornness—was going to stop you from seeing it tonight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guys emerged, balancing an obscene amount of snacks between them. JJ led the charge with a sheepish grin, precariously balancing a tray stacked with popcorn, nachos, and candy.

“We’re back, ladies!” JJ called, panting as he reached you. He flashed Kiara a grin and casually slung an arm around her shoulder. “Took a little longer than expected.”

Sarah raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “A little? We were about to send a search party.”

JJ waved her off, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You just don’t appreciate the art of snack selection. It’s a process, Sarah. You can’t rush greatness.”

“Greatness, huh?” Kiara deadpanned, staring at the tray in his hands.

“Absolutely.” JJ puffed out his chest but immediately backed down at Kiara’s withering look.

As John B mumbled an apology and tried to lighten the mood, Rafe sauntered up, his gaze locked on you. His blue eyes seemed to search yours, scanning your face for any sign of annoyance—or maybe forgiveness. Without a word, he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close in one smooth motion.

"Are you mad?" he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm, let me see... You disappeared for ages, left me out here in the freezing cold, and probably picked the most ridiculous snacks. What do you think?"

Rafe's lips twitched, fighting a smirk. "So... that's a yes?"

"Obviously,” you crossed your arms, feigning a pout, though the warmth of his arm around your waist made it hard to stay committed to the act.

“C’mon, baby, it wasn’t that bad,” he teased, leaning closer. “You had Sarah and Kie to keep you company. I bet they were super entertaining.”

“Much better company than you,” you sassed, though the corner of your mouth twitched in betrayal.

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he leaned in even closer, so close you could feel his breath fan against your cheek. “How about I make it up to you?”

You quirked an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat despite yourself. “Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I’ll let you pick the movie,” he said, as if it was a monumental sacrifice.

You blinked, staring at him. “You were going to let me pick the movie anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I’m offering,” he countered, his grin widening.

Kiara’s voice broke through the moment, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “God, will you two just kiss already so we can pick a seat? It’s freezing out here.”

Sarah snorted. “Seriously, you guys are worse than an old married couple.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Rafe turned his head toward the girls, his expression smug. “Jealous much?”

“Of what? Your inability to tell time?” Kiara shot back, unimpressed.

Rafe chuckled, then turned back to you, ignoring their comments. “So, are we good?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “Fine. But you’re holding all the snacks, Cameron.”

“Deal.” He winked, stealing a quick kiss on your temple.

As the credits rolled and the theater lights slowly came on, you stretched your arms above your head, trying to shake off the stiffness from sitting for two hours. The group shuffled out of their seats, JJ loudly debating with John B about the "most iconic moment" in the movie while Sarah and Kiara chimed in with their own opinions.

You weren’t paying much attention, though. Your focus was on Rafe, who’d been surprisingly quiet during the movie, his hand casually resting on your thigh for most of it. Every now and then, you’d caught him glancing at you instead of the screen, though he played it off whenever you turned to meet his gaze.

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped out of the theater, the city alive with its usual buzz. You pulled Rafe’s hoodie tighter around you, already feeling the chill sink in.

“You cold?” Rafe asked, stepping closer.

“A little,” you admitted, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Without another word, he slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The gesture was so natural, so un-Rafe in its quiet thoughtfulness, that you almost didn’t know how to react.

“You’re lucky I let you pick the movie,” he teased, his voice low and warm against your ear.

“You didn’t let me do anything,” you countered, glancing up at him. “I just won, like I always do.”

“Debatable,” he shot back, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

The group paused near the sidewalk, debating where to go next. JJ was rallying for a late-night diner run, while Sarah and Kiara wanted to head home. You stood back with Rafe, content to let them figure it out.

Rafe nudged you lightly. “What’d you think of the movie?”

You smirked. “I loved it, obviously. It’s called having good taste. You should try it sometime.”

“Careful,” he warned, his tone playful. “Or I might change my mind about letting you pick next time.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “We both know you’ll cave again.”

Rafe stared at you for a moment, his smirk softening into something gentler. His arm slipped from your shoulders, and before you could protest, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You were right. It was a good pick.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. “Is this your way of saying I have good taste?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, though his grin gave him away.

Before you could respond, JJ called out, breaking the moment. “Ayo, Rafe! Quit making googly eyes with your wife and help me convince them to hit the diner!”

Rafe groaned, rolling his eyes. “This guy…”

You laughed, tugging on his hand. “C’mon, we should at least hear him out. You do owe me for taking so long earlier.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” you said with a grin, leading him toward the group.

As the group finally parted ways—JJ still grumbling about the lack of a diner stop—you and Rafe headed back to his car. The ride was quiet, the city lights casting soft glows through the windows as the hum of the engine filled the space.

Rafe rested one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand perched casually on your thigh, a touch he hadn’t bothered to remove since the movie started. You glanced at him, his profile sharp under the streetlights, and felt your thighs rub against each other. You hated how effortlessly sexy he looked, even when he was doing something as mundane as driving.

When he pulled into the parking garage of his building, you expected him to make a teasing comment about how you’d owe him for letting you win the movie argument. Instead, he turned off the engine, sat back, and looked at you, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, feigning nonchalance, though your voice betrayed the way your heart had started to race.

“Nothing,” he said, though the way his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk told a different story. “Just thinking about how much I want to fuck you right now.”

Your breath hitched, but you rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Is that your way of saying you’re admitting defeat? Again?”

“Defeat?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned closer, his hand still warm and steady on your thigh. “Baby, you have no idea who’s about to win.”

Before you could reply, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with a mix of urgency and purpose. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your head spin.

You barely registered the sound of the car door closing behind you or the way he guided you toward the elevator, his lips never leaving yours. By the time the elevator doors slid open to his penthouse, you were breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he walked you backward into the living room.

“Rafe,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“What, baby?” he hummed, his lips moving to trail kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“We—” Your words dissolved into a gasp as he nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “We’re home,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Exactly,” he muttered against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips and pull you flush against him. “And no one’s here to interrupt us.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Rafe silenced you with another searing kiss, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. The warmth of his touch against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and any coherent thought you had vanished entirely.

His hands on your body were all you were thinking about. It was so addictive.

He was laying you down on the couch, taking your—his—hoodie off your body, then your crop-top. “You’re so fucking pretty. My wife,” his thumb ran over your hard nipples as he rapidly took your black bra off, throwing it god-knows-where in the living room. “Mine to fuck,” he bit down on your nipple. “Mine to ruin.”

His hand slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, fingertips teasing the edge of your soaked panties. A shiver raced through you as his touch lingered, deliberate and torturously slow. By now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care how desperate, how utterly undone you sounded. Each broken moan and shaky breath betrayed how much you craved him, how badly you needed him. Nothing else mattered but this moment.

“Please, Rafe… please…”

“What, baby? What do you want?

Before you could even muster a response, his hand was already slipping beneath your panties. His fingers found your sensitive bud effortlessly, stroking it with deliberate, teasing motions that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch as if it was second nature—a dance the two of you had performed countless times before.

He watched you intently, his eyes dark and smoldering, drinking in every gasp, every shiver you gave him. Slowly, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, tasting you with a deliberate flick of his tongue.

“Fuck! I could taste you for a thousand years and still be so obsessed after all those years,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his gaze never leaving yours as he savored every bit of you like it was a privilege. “You got no idea how fucking obsessed I am with you, baby.”

He didn’t waste a single moment, his hands working to tug your pants down before tearing through the delicate lace of your panties with a sharp rip.

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, a mix of frustration and disbelief in your tone. “Those were expensive!”

He only smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief as he let the ruined fabric fall to the floor. “I’ll buy you a dozen more,” he promised, his voice dark and dripping with desire.

Without hesitation, Rafe’s tongue found your swollen folds, his movements deliberate yet desperate, as if savoring every tremor of your oversensitive body. The sharp gasp that escaped your lips was like music to him, fueling his obsession with every intoxicating second of pleasuring you.

“God, Rafe!” you cried out, your voice trembling as the tension inside you threatened to snap. “I-I’m so close… gonna explode!”

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core as his tongue flattened, dragging languidly across your slick heat. His rhythm was unhurried, teasing yet relentless, each stroke chasing away the weight of the outside world, grounding him in this moment with you. “You taste so good, babe,” he murmured, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

“You like that, huh?” he rasped, his voice heavy with need as he nipped at you softly, savoring your helpless writhing. “You like riding my face, don’t you, sweetheart? Taking what you need like this?”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and a broken moan escaped you. “Y-yes! Fuck, yes!”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as he held you tighter, his grip possessive. “This is all I could think of while we were watching the movie,” his hand tracing a path down your chest, he brushed over your nipples, a deliberate pinch causing a sharp gasp to escape you. “The sound of your moans, the way your pussy tastes, imagining myself between your legs... I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

Your body was writhing beneath him, every subtle arch and tremble betraying just how close you were. The way your breath hitched, your cries growing sharper and more desperate, told Rafe everything he needed to know—you were teetering on the edge. His voice dropped into a low, coaxing growl, his lips brushing against your ear.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his tone both commanding and soothing, a mix of rough encouragement and deep affection. "Let go for me. Cum for me, beautiful."

And just like that, hot pleasure ran through you like lightning, body trembling as you came all over your husband’s pretty face. As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs.

You must have done something right in your past life to have him as your partner.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done, and gazed up at you with that trademark smirk—the one that made your heart race and your blood boil in equal measure. As you struggled to catch your breath, he chuckled low in his throat, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"The only time you stop running that smart mouth of yours," he drawled, his eyes dark and playful, "is when I’m buried between your thighs. Not so sassy now, huh, baby?"

Your chest heaved as you processed his words, heat flooding your cheeks. Rolling your eyes, you shoved at his shoulder with your foot, a laugh bubbling past your lips despite your best efforts to stay annoyed.

"I hate you," you shot back, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile.

He shook his head slowly, the smirk softening into something dangerously close to fondness as he leaned in. Pressing a trail of lazy kisses along your body, working his way from your navel to the hollow of your throat, he murmured against your skin.

"Sure you do..."

You’re catching your breath, trying to steady yourself, when Rafe begins to undress. His gaze doesn’t waver from you as he pulls off his clothes, revealing his sculpted muscles and toned physique. Every inch of him is perfect, his body chiseled and taut, like something crafted from stone. Even the sight of his cock, already leaking with arousal, makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s so hard, it almost feels wrong—like you should apologize for how badly he wants you.

With ease, he spreads your thighs apart, his hands firm yet gentle. "Missionary, so we can keep arguing?" he repeats, teasing you about something you’d said earlier on social media. The words echo in your ears, and a blush rises to your cheeks.

His body leans down toward yours, and his hand grips your hips, holding you in place as the other strokes your cheek with tenderness that contrasts the raw hunger in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks into you, inch by inch, a steady rhythm that makes your heart race. You’ve been with him enough times to know the feeling, but each time is different—he stretches you just right, filling you completely, making you gasp.

Perhaps it was because he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make every moment feel electric, or maybe it was the deeper connection you felt with him that stirred something inside you. The way your feelings for him took root and grew, so intense. It was as if he wasn’t just a man you were with—he overwhelmed you, consumed you completely, leaving no room for anything else.

“Shit, Rafe! It’s too much,” you whined, nails raking down his back.

Rafe’s pace slowed just enough for you to feel every thrust in excruciating detail, and you couldn't help but moan at the feeling. But then, as if on cue, he smirked. "You know," he started, his voice low and teasing, "this whole ‘too much’ thing? Kinda sounds like you’re not enjoying it."

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back a grin despite the rising heat between you. "Are you seriously talking about this right now?" you shot back, the words almost slipping from your lips in frustration. "You’re the one who—"

"Who what?" He cut you off, his thrusts picking up again, harder, deeper, forcing the words to die in your throat. "Who made you this wet?" He grinned at your flustered expression. "I think you’re enjoying it just fine."

“Y-you’re so… ah… full of yourself," you muttered, though the words come out weaker than you intended.

Rafe chuckled darkly, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. "You love it," he said with that same smug smirk. "You can’t get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up, Cameron," you snapped, trying to push past the wave of pleasure that clouds your thoughts. "You think you’re so perfect, but—"

"Perfect, huh?" He suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You really want to keep arguing while I’m literally inside you?"

The tone of his voice shifted, becoming possessive, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten as he pulled you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of him. "I’m not—fuck—perfect, but I know what you want."

You exhaled sharply, trying to suppress a moan. "You’re annoying," you bit out, though there’s no real malice in your words.

Rafe laughed, his lips brushing your ear. "I know." He gave you one more slow, deep thrust, and you couldn’t help but gasp. "But you love it."

You glared at him, your body still trembling from his movements.

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saturnsorbits · 9 months ago

Text

Skintight

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Suggestive, Word Count: 2.1k.

Summary: Sero's got an embarrassing problem.

A/N: This is a new flavour of Sero for me, but I love this one just as much.

'You can't laugh...' Sero's voice is thick in the back of his throat forcing him to attempt to cough out it's awkwardness.

It doesn't work.

There's still the tell tale pinkness of a deep blush around his cheek bones, one that streaks down his neck and vanishes beneath the high, black neck of his suit.

Holding open your front door, you raise your eyebrows already on the cusp of giggles. He's leaning on your door frame, his arm pinned above his head, elbow pressed into the wood in a way that was almost charming. 'Okay...'

'Can – Actually...' He leans back, glancing down the corridor. 'Can I come in?'

'Of course.' Stepping aside, you watch as he slips into your apartment keeping his back almost flush with the door. You watch as he goes, side-stepping his way into your living room before turning quick on the balls of his feet to face you – the same sheepish smile etched into his features. Pausing, you tilt your head. 'Are you okay?'

'Y – yeah, uh...' He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he fidgets.

You raise your eyebrows, tipping forward slightly on your tip-toes.

'I – ha... See it's funny really because -.'

'Hanta, spit it out.'

He sighs. 'I'm stuck in my suit.'

You can't help it, a chuckle bubbles up your throat and spills helplessly over your lips.

Rocking his head back on his shoulders, Hanta groans. 'I said not to laugh...'

Sucking in air through your teeth, you struggle with party balloon lungs until the wheezing subsides and you can stand a little straighter again. 'Yeah, yep, sorry...' A stray gasp leaks from your lips, forcing you to bite down on the seam to silence it. 'Go on.'

'It gets worse.' He sighs. Squeezing shut his eyes, he licks over his lips before admitting. 'I'm naked in here.'

'I'm sorry, what?' You cough, disguising the tension in your lungs. It's hard not to look then, to really look, given the new information you've just been presented with.

Black spandex, strengthened with some obnoxiously named polymer stretches over the expanse of his shoulders. He's wide there, wider than you'd expect given his slight frame, but there's no denying the muscle that lingers under the material. The black extends, covers the swells of his pecs and then tapers, cutting into odd triangles that frame the ripples of his stomach. He's not as well muscled here as he is in his shoulders. Instead of the rough blocks of abdominal muscles, his are streamlined, forming two long, thick stripes of muscle that are almost totally visible through the pale of his suit.

Letting your eyes sink lower still, your gaze lingers on the thin strips of malleable metal that serves to strengthen his suit, but also inadvertently seems to perfectly highlight the deep creases that mark out his torso. You swallow. Hidden under a black square of material, barely contained by what you have to assume is at least two layers of material is a thick bulge. The swell is obvious, casting darkened shadows onto the twitching muscles of his thighs.

'Naked, me, under here...' Gesturing his crotch, he widens his eyes.

'The fucking zip snapped and I can't ask anyone to fucking help peel me out because whoever does it is going to get an eyeful of, well... Me.'

Blinking repeatedly, you swallow the saliva collecting in your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his. His jaw is tight, his stare worried and wild as he looks at you for an answer to a question you're not sure he's got the balls to ask.

Although, new information could prove you wrong.

It's in that instant that the silliness of the situation hits you right back over the head again. You manage to hold your laughter for a solid three seconds before it's tumbling out of you again. This time, it catches you off guard, rolling through you and almost reducing you to a crouch as Sero winces in front of you. 'Why couldn't you get one of the boys to help? Surely they've seen everything before...'

'And have Denks take the piss forever? No thanks.'

'Oh...' You fold your arms across your chest. 'And you think I won't take the piss? Is that it?'

'No.' He answers too quickly, but manages to trap the rest of his half-baked confession behind his teeth before it drops into the palm of your hands. The truth is, he doesn't think he'd mind you taking the piss – he doesn't think he'd mind you doing anything to him, in all honesty. Maybe that's why instead of slinking back to the agency and hoping that Hatsume was in her workshop, he'd found himself here, almost twenty minutes out of his way. He shrugs. 'But, maybe you'll be nicer about it?'

Locking eyes with him for a moment, you pause to watch him sweat before rubbing your hands together. 'C'mon then...' You smirk. 'Let's see how big that dick is.'

'Can you not?' Sero snaps, shivering when your palm meets the muscle of his shoulder. You slide your touch across him, moving in one solid stroke from his deltoid to the thick muscle of his back. The touch, as innocent as it is, makes his stomach tighten, molten lava churning as he submits to your teasing. A soft giggle slips your lips, sliding into his ear like sweet sherbet, making him half regret his decision to ask you, but then, your fingers are playing at the dips just above his collarbone and stealing coherency from him once more.

The suit is cooler than you'd expected. You can feel it, the tips of your fingers growing colder as you search across his chest, fingertips pressing against him in a search that quickly becomes fruitless.

Scratching, you use your nails to rake down his chest and attempt to ignore the way you can feel him respond. His whole body bristles, muscles tightening as a ripple uses his spine like a fire pole. You lick over your lips and hope he can't hear the shake in your voice. 'Where the fuck is the zip on this thing?'

Stretching back his shoulders, Sero swallows. 'It's, uh, around the back...' Gathering the loose hair

Immediately, you lift your hands as if burnt. Now, your groping feels gratuitous – sexual in a way that it wasn't meant to be. Not really. When you step behind him, twisting your hip to avoid bumping it against his, you don't let your fingers wonder.

It's not hard to find it, not now you're laser focused. There's a small bump. The slightest overlap between the two sides of his suit as it wraps around the base of his neck. A few hours ago there had been a zip, the thin strip of metal poking, just, from the material, but now, there's nothing there: Just the slight bump.

Laying one hand flat against the muscle of his back, you use your index finger to skate up the zip – parting the fabric as you go. At the top, you hook your finger under the suit and begin to work at opening it.

Each touch sends a series of short static shocks up through his body, forcing him to tense the plain of his stomach to keep him from folding over. He can feel it, the delicate slip of your fingers as you manage to shift the zip from the top of his spine to near between his shoulders. Inhaling, he starts to wonder if this was a bad idea after all.

'You want me to just keep going, yeah?' You move slowly now. It's almost obscene. A private strip show. One you're participating in, that wouldn't even be happening without you. The thought has you fighting your own composure, forcing you to lock your knees to keep them from shaking.

'Ye – yeah.' He forces a laugh into his voice, but it catches behind his Adam's apple and slips out of his mouth a rasp. 'It stops like, like,' he coughs. 'Like just above my ass.' The bridge of his nose crinkles, a cringe folding his features as he stops talking.

'Okay.' Your fingers feel like they're burning as your decent reveals more and more skin. The smooth plain of his back is revealed, the muscle underneath rippling as it's loosed from it's material confines.

It's intimate in a way you'd never expected as with the slick of his suit, so too are hidden secrets revealed. There's a mole just under the curve of his right shoulder blade. A scar that runs parallel to his spine, the skin still pink and fresh. The edges of black ink that wraps around the edge of his left hip.

When the zip finally draws to a stop, you can see the cleft of his ass. If you were to slip your hands inside, splaying your fingers across the warm breath of his lower back you'd be able to sink your thumbs into his back dimples. You imagine he'd sigh. Let his head roll back on his shoulders as you press close to him. Maybe you'd let your hands slink further, following along the grooves of his hips; lines that would lead to lower and lower, until...

'All done?' His voice is wound tight when he speaks, locked somewhere in the basin of his throat and released as if thrown out on a breath.

Your reluctant to step back, to recede from the heat of his body, but you manage it. 'Yep.' You pat his back, feeling the muscle relax under your touch. 'All done.'

He turns, already wriggling his shoulders free from the material of his suit. 'Thanks, thought I was going to be trapped forever in this thing. It's so...' Slipping his fingers under the latex clinging to his left shoulder, he stretches it from his skin. 'Difficult to fucking get out of.'

You chuckle and watch him struggle. He twists around himself, peeling the second skin of his suit away only for it to snap back and illicit a hiss from between his teeth. 'C'mere, before you do yourself some serious harm.'

Sero shivers as your hands skate underneath the suit and peel him from it. He'd close his eyes to hide from the intimacy of your slow undressing of him, but all that would do is conjure images of what he wishes would come afterwards. Images of him repaying the favour, slipping you from your oversized hoodie and sinking to his knees then repaying you again in a wholly different way. He can already imagine how easy it would be to have you, and yet... 'Thanks,' he mumbles.

'No worries.' You giggle, catching his eye before you step back: his shoulders and arms freed. 'Tell you what though...' Your eyebrow arcs, a coy smile playing at the edge of your lip. 'That really doesn't hide anything, does it?'

Eyes widening, he swallows hard. The knowledge of your staring, dare he even dream admiring, sends a shock wave of tension directly south. He cock kicks, his ass clenching as if to try and disguise the too obvious bulge against the front of his costume. In an instant, his hands sink, the top-half of his suit bunched in his fist as he plays the move for comfort and hopes you don't notice a thing. 'I...'

'I'm just joking around, Han.' You chuckle around the lump in your throat. There's a notable pulse in your stomach, one that sinks by the second and has your thoughts turning savoury.

'I'll...' Sero hedges. There's an energy in his muscles, one that makes him want to bounce on the balls of his feet and do something silly.

'Do you want a t-shirt?'

The more he looks at you, the more kissable you look. You always look kissable, but right now, with the sun coming in from your living room window and that small curious smile itching at your lip... You look phenomenal. He shakes his head. 'I'll just swing home. I'll be too high and too quick for anyone to notice that I'm semi-shirtless... My place isn't far.'

'Oh, okay.' You try not to let your disappointment show, but there's a notch that forms between his eyebrows that makes you wonder just how successful you'd been at disguising it. Slinking to the door, Sero has one foot over the threshold before he turns.

Fuck it. He thinks.

'Can I tell you something?'

Your eyes shine, head tilting. 'Of course, anything.'

'I really, like, really wanna take you out to dinner.'

Your lips break into a smile, forcing apples into your cheeks as a chuckle slips through your teeth. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' His smile matches yours, reaching his eyes and making him glow. 'Next week? That new place down town?'

You nod, chewing at your lip as you try not to feel like an excited school girl. 'It's a date.'

Sero's heart stutters, thudding in his chest. 'It's a date.'

-> Masterlist

#sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #mha x reader #sero smut

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noxcheshire · 3 months ago

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I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

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aurorawritestoescape · 7 months ago

Text

I KNOW BETTER THAN TO CALL YOU MINE

Pre outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader || 7k

Summary: Joel lets himself have a treat. You.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, slight age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel is 30), sex work, idiots in love, soft Joel, praise kink, size kink, f/m oral, cum eating, alcohol consumption, m!masturbation, sex toy usage, bondage, protected/unprotected piv, creampie, light pussy spanking, somno, aftercare, mention of degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, honey). Reader has hair, wears dresses. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is for @janaispunk ‘s 1500 kisses challenge. My prompt was ‘first kiss’ with Joel Miller. Congrats again, Jana, and thank you for the fun challenge!😘 The pic in the m/b is from this post by @liminaltourist. Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘🫂 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 The title is from the lyrics of ‘Let’s fall in love for the night’ by FINNEAS. Hope you will enjoy this story! Love you all!💖

MASTERLIST

Joel met you at Tommy’s birthday party and was instantly attracted to you. You were beautiful, sweet, funny, a little shy which he found charming. You told him that you worked as a waitress, meanwhile looking for a steady job after graduating college. He spent the whole night talking to you. The whole night being a couple of hours when he had a sitter for Sarah. Joel noticed a trace of sadness in your gorgeous eyes while you two were saying your goodbyes and for a second he regretted the way his life turned out. A single father at the age of thirty, working tirelessly to give his daughter the best life he could. But all the regrets vanished into thin air the moment he returned home and saw Sarah, sleeping peacefully in her bed. He planted a gentle kiss on her temple and quietly went to his empty bedroom. She was his life and he was ok with it.

Next time when Joel went out with Tommy for a drink, he asked about you in passing. He tried to make it seem like a simple curiosity but his younger brother still gave him a knowing smirk. Joel really liked you but his life was hectic enough. Work and being a single parent took all his time and he couldn’t squeeze in a relationship. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, he thought, and you deserved only the best. But your image— your eyes, your smile, your body, was flashing behind his eyes again and again, reminding him that he had needs and desires.

After a few beers and tequila shots, their conversation circled back to you and Tommy blabbed out that you worked as an escort. Joel was astonished. You seemed shy and sweet. He had never been against sex work but he always imagined a different type of people in that business. He didn’t know what to make of it but he felt his cock twitch, thinking of how sexually liberated you were.

He thought about asking for your number, but Tommy would tease him to death and he decided not to.

The next time you met Joel was at another Tommy’s party. Joel agreed to come, wanting to see you again. You talked and laughed like before but the air was almost electric between you two. The glances were darker, your hand brushing his skin here and there made him want more— touch you, feel you close against his body. He could save up and do all that if you agreed. So he made a decision and offered to drive you home when the party was over.

As soon as Joel parked his car at your driveway, he cleared his throat and asked if he could see you sometime.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your voice was soft and a shy smile tugged at your lips.

“Ehm… fuck, I —I know what you do,” Joel admitted, turning to you slightly in the driver’s seat, “Tommy told me when he was drunk. Forgive him and me, please, ok? And— I don’t know what you call that, but— can I meet you for an appointment?”

Your face fell and you were blinking at him with a mouth agape. Joel’s heart froze- what if Tommy had been fucking with him and you didn’t sleep with people for money.

After a few longest seconds of his life, you took a deep breath and gave him a little nod. Joel asked you about the details and you explained to him what he needed to do to book a session with you and though you were talking about sex, it sounded cold and dry. You gave him a little smile before getting out of the car and he drove off with the thought that he had made a mistake.

He really didn’t plan to call you, thinking he had killed whatever spark and connection you two had, but his thoughts returned to you again and again. He was hearing your laugh everywhere and your face was behind his eyelids every time he went to sleep.

One night after a few beers he imagined you in his bed and his hand flew to his already stiffening cock. He shut his eyes and saw you next to him, naked and ready for him. Pleasuring himself, Joel imagined your hand wrapped around his length, sliding up and down, then your mouth sucking on his tip and soon he was spurting his load all over his stomach and fist. He could have you, you already agreed to it, and he deserved to feel good, to treat himself once in a while. With those thoughts on his mind he texted you and booked a session.

Joel tried to be on time for your first meeting, but everything seemed to go wrong that day and when he arrived at a hotel, you were already waiting for him at the bar. He showered you with apologies for being late but you assured him that it was ok. He felt the flames of desire, when he took you all in. Your black dress was hugging your body perfectly and he couldn’t wait to take it off you.

You had already got a room for them so Joel followed you to the elevator. He had never been that nervous in his life. You must have noticed it, so you took his hand and gave him a warm smile.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this, Joel.”

“Never done this before,” he admitted when the elevator doors opened and you walked to the room.

“It’s ok, Joel. I’m sure we’re going to have a great time,” you said, smiling to him, and opened the door.

When Joel stepped inside, he saw a typical hotel room with one big bed. You turned to him and asked,

“Before we start, do you have any questions or suggestions about what you want us to do?”

Joel swallowed loudly.

“I want —, he scratched the back of his neck and continued, “just the usual, I guess.”

“The usual?” you repeated with a little smirk.

“Yeah, just sex.”

You pouted your lips in thought, then smiled with mischief in your gaze and slowly came up to him.

His breath hitched when your behavior changed in front of his eyes, like a little kitten turned into a panther in a matter of seconds. You looked the same but there was an allure in your every move, each glance was magnetic, as if you were calling for him to touch you, fuck you. You were irresistible. Your body was inches away from him, your perfume subtle but enticing, enveloping him, and you purred,

“I don’t think we want it to be ‘just’ sex, Joel. How about we make it special.”

Your tongue caressed your lower lip and he slowly leaned down. You swiftly swerved him and instead of tasting your lips, he nuzzled your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Joel— I don’t kiss on the lips during sessions.”

“Oh fuck, sorry.” Joel felt really bad and explained, “I got carried away... I’ve read the rules you sent me… I remember no kissing part, like in “Pretty Woman”,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his scruffy cheek in a nervous gesture.

You giggled, too, probably trying to make him feel more comfortable, “Yes, just like in “Pretty Woman.”

Without noticing it, he tried to memorize the sound of your laugh, how pretty it was. You slightly pulled away from him and tilted your head.

“How about I take the lead at first and then we’ll see how it goes?”

Joel nodded. He wanted to take your dress off, carry you to the bed and fuck you till you screamed his name. But he was afraid to do something wrong, he’d never been in that type of situation. You took his hand and gently caressed it, your fingers dancing over his hardened skin. Then he watched you bring it to your red lips and kiss his palm. You glanced up at him with your big beautiful eyes, not taking his hand away and his whole body reacted to your gentle touch. He was getting hard.

You led Joel to the bed, your fingers intertwined with his, and gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. You slowly took your dress off and he tried not to start drooling like a cartoon wolf, seeing you in front of him in a black lacy set.

You stood between his spread thighs and bent over to tug at the hem of his dark tee. He helped you to take it off and when you kneeled in front of him, he almost moaned. Your beautiful face was so close, he wanted to kiss you so much but he couldn’t and he’d never do anything you didn’t want.

You unbuckled his belt and softly asked him to take his jeans off.

Soon Joel was sitting there in his boxer briefs with you on your knees between his spread thighs.

"You're so hot, Joel," you whispered, as your dark gaze slid over the expense of his broad shoulders and chest, and your nails slightly scratched his muscular thighs.

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you look, wearing your lingerie and your high heel shoes, how much he'd been thinking about you since the day you'd met but his mouth was dry and he felt himself like a teenage boy who was trying to compliment a hot girl.

You weren't aware of his inner torment. As always calm and confident, you leaned closer to his torso and kissed a spot on his chest, right over his heart. Joel took a sharp breath and shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm down. He couldn't believe what just a gentle chest kiss from you was doing to him, but he was already painfully hard.

Your lips glided lower and you started leaving open mouth kisses, tracing a path down to the bulge in his boxers, and he opened his thighs wider to give you more space. When your face was close to his clothed cock, you rested your head on his left thigh and looked up at him.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed and growled at the sight of you so close to his already throbbing manhood. You were so pretty, so obedient but even on your knees he felt that you controlled the situation.

“Joel?”

“Yes, baby?”

You smiled hearing the pet name and asked,

“Can I take you in my mouth?”

His cock visibly twitched when he heard your soft voice and the words you uttered.

“If you want.”

You bit your lower lip and asked, rubbing your cheek on his hairy thigh.

“I do but would you like me to?”

Joel nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly but he didn’t care. He wanted you so much.

With a content smile, you sat up straight and shifted on your knees, getting comfortable. Then you pulled at the waistband of his boxers and in a second they were on the floor and his cock was bobbing in front of your face. Your breath visibly hitched and you glanced up at him.

“You have a gorgeous cock, Joel Miller,” you whispered and he wanted to kiss you again, hearing the praise. But instead he brought his hand to your face and cupped your cheek. You purred into his touch but parted from his palm in a second when you lowered your face and kitten-licked the fat tip of his cock. Joel sighed and bucked his hips already impatient for more. You didn’t make him wait long.

Your lips soon welcomed his cock between them as you started taking him deeper, covering his length with your warm saliva as your hand was firmly wrapped around his girthy base.

Joel moaned loudly at the sensation, he didn’t care what sounds he was making, completely lost in the pleasure your soft lips and skilful tongue were giving him.

Your mouth was slowly caressing his cock as your curved up lips were sliding over his sensitive skin and your tongue danced around the fat head, now and then stroking the leaking slit. There was so much precum, he saw you swallow it again and again. Your hand was gently massaging his balls and his big palm was lying on your head, not pushing, just showing you how much he needed you at that moment. Joel was in heaven.

Soon you took all of him and your throat contracting around his length was the last straw. He was dangerously close to coming and painting your mouth creamy white. But he had other plans for you.

“Shit, baby,” he cupped your cheek and gently pulled you off his ready-to-explode cock, “you’re too fucking good at it. I won’t last. And I wanna..”

He lost his words as you were looking at him with sparkling eyes, full of understanding and warmth.

“Of course, Joel.” You slowly got up on your feet and took off your high heels. Then you padded to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Joel saw a few toys lying there and his heart started to beat faster when he imagined using them on you. Maybe he could suggest it, he mused inwardly, but when you started sliding your panties and bra off your body, he lost his train of thought.

Now completely naked you came up to him and placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Then you planted your knees on each side of him and got on his lap.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said in a low voice as his hands found your hips and he rubbed your skin with his calloused thumbs.

You thanked him, smiling, and opened the package with your teeth. You brought the condom to his hard cock, slid it on and then got up on your knees, your pussy hovering over Joel’s tip.

You searched for his eyes and as soon as your eyes locked, you started sinking on his thick length.

Joel watched pleasure twisting your face while his cock was slowly parting your insides. He moaned at the sensation of your wet warm pussy welcoming him, grasped your hips tightly and when you took all of him, your ass was flush with his balls, you both loudly sighed.

“You feel so good, baby. So warm and tight.”

“Thank you, Joel. Your cock is so fucking big.”

He took a sharp breath, hearing you curse, and at the back of his mind he wondered if you said it to every client but he drove the thought away. He needed you too much.

Your breasts were right in front of his face and he asked, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess he was praying to.

“Is it ok if I kiss your body?”

“Yes, Joel, please. You can do anything to me.”

“Just not kiss your beautiful lips?”

“Joel,” you whined and he felt you clench around his hard cock.

He scolded himself for those words as soon as they left his stupid mouth. It was the thing you kept for yourself, he understood and accepted it but his desire drove him insatiable.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know it’s a rule. I understand it. It’s jus’ my brain doesn’t work properly, all the blood is down there.”

“Oh, right,” you softly giggled, “Let me shut you up then.”

You lifted your hips, making his cock almost leave the heaven of your cunt, but when the tip was close to slipping out, you sank back down on his manhood inch by inch, gliding your hands over his broad chest.

Joel’s mouth got slack and you both moaned at the ecstatic sensation of him, filling you up again.

With a groan Joel swiftly put his mouth on your breast and you whimpered when he swirled his tongue around your perky nipple. While he was gently sucking and licking your tits, you were languidly riding him, as soft whimpers were leaving your half parted mouth. At one point you nuzzled his forehead and your hot breath on his lips let him imagine you kiss him. His fingers dug into your hips but just for a second. Afraid to hurt you he glided them over your back and arms. He raised his lips to your neck and kissed your skin there.

Joel knew that he was getting close. His hand slithered to your pussy and he slipped his thumb between your folds. He found your clit hardened and throbbing for attention. He began stroking it slowly and you reacted immediately with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Joel,” you breathed out and he clenched his jaw, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Want you to come on my cock, baby.”

You stopped bouncing on his member and he saw you furrow your brows in concentration.

He made his thumb dance faster over your bud and soon your pussy was pulsating around his cock. Your contracting walls sent him over the edge and he started coming, filling up the condom inside you. Oh, how he wished to paint your walls with his creamy load but rules are rules.

As you both started descending from your highs, panting heavily, Joel held you in his big arms and you rested on his broad chest. You were breathing into the crease between his neck and shoulder and at one point he thought you’d fallen asleep.

But the next second you sat up straight on his lap with a satisfied smile. You gently kissed his scruffy cheek and he tried not to purr like a happy cat.

You cuddled a little bit more but soon his time was over.

“Can I see you again?” He asked when you got out of the bed.

“I’d love to, Joel,” you replied, putting on your underwear, “Text me when you have a day in mind.”

You looked like you wanted to say something but stopped yourself. You put on your clothes, kissed his cheek again and left.

After the first time with you Joel knew immediately it wasn’t the last. The need to have you, to be with you again squeezed his heart as soon as that hotel door closed behind you. But he wasn’t rich. He couldn’t spend all his money on you. So he started saving up here and there, anything he could, without damaging the level of life of his daughter.

He texted you as soon as he had enough to pay you and you told him that your regulars got a discount which was a nice surprise for him.

Joel invited you to his place. Sarah was at a sleepover and he had the house for himself for a night. He needed just a couple of hours, no way he could afford a whole night with you.

When you arrived at his place, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tank top, his mouth immediately started watering. He tried to be a gentleman and a good host and gave you a tour of the house, but when you stepped into his bedroom, all his decency came crashing down. Soon your jeans were discarded on the floor while his head was between your trembling thighs. Joel was licking up your juices straight from the source, grunting into your wet cunt and fucking his tongue into your clenching hole. He was fully clothed, grinding his hard cock against the bed and staining his gray sweatpants.

You were singing for him so beautifully when he began plunging his thick fingers in and out of your heat while his mouth was gently sucking on your throbbing clit. Your back was arched and your hands were clutching his dark curls. He curled his fingers, pushing on that soft spot inside your creaming pussy once, twice and you came, crying out his name, while your walls were fluttering around his digits.

When he parted from your puffy glistening cunt, he saw tears in your hazy eyes. Joel was happy he still got it but what filled his chest with pride was that he made you cry and writhe with ecstasy.

"I'm here, baby. You did so good for me," Joel praised you, climbing up the bed and taking you in his arms. You were trying to catch your breath and he gave you a respite, manhandling you so your head would be resting on his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Joel, you didn't have to," you mumbled.

"Have to? Sweetheart, it was my pleasure."

He heard your giggle, followed by a content sigh. His hard cock was tenting his gray sweatpants but he didn't care. He was happy to hold you, breathe in the fruity scent of your hair, and when a few minutes later he saw you peacefully sleeping in his embrace, his heart almost burst with affection. He closed his eyes for a second and drifted off too.

Joel woke up in the middle of the night when he felt you move in your sleep. He must have woken you up as you started to shuffle next to him and then sat up straight.

“Fuck! I fell asleep?” You asked, eyes widened, covering your naked thighs with a bedspread.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel. It’s never happened before. Oh my god, it’s so unprofessional.”

He hastily sat up next to you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, no. It’s ok. I loved sleeping with you— next to you.”

He smiled, leaning closer to you and rubbing your hands with his thumbs, trying to reassure you and it seemed to work because you gave him an apologetic smile but he felt you relax a little.

“I won’t take any money from you today.”

“No, you spent so much time with me. I owe you even more.”

“Joel, you ate me out, made me come, and then I fell asleep. I definitely don’t deserve to get paid,” you giggled. “The way I see it I owe you now.”

“I’ll think about the career change,” Joel chuckled and at the same time he felt his cock get harder when you talked about the oral. The arousal he had felt before falling asleep came back with a renewed force and swept him away.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his gaze slid up and down your body and the air in the room got heavier.

“What did you like the most?” he asked as his eyes darkened.

Your breath hitched and even in the dim light of the room he saw your pupils dilate. You dropped your gaze for a second and when you raised your eyes, they were filled with need and desire.

“I loved how much you enjoyed it. How good you were. It felt amazing when your mouth was on my clit. When you were sucking it,” you bit your lip almost shyly and your words went straight to his cock.

You whispered, “Should I go or…?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Joel interrupted you, palming his stiffening bulge, and you quickly nodded before throwing away the bedspread and taking off your top. Your tits bounced as you straddled him and he wrapped his big arms around your naked body.

Joel let you take off his shirt and when your lips latched onto his neck he held you closer and flipped you on the bed, covering you with his body.

You gasped at the fast shift but then moaned when Joel pulled his cock out of his sweatpants.

It was already hard as a rock and wet with precum under his fingers. He gave it a few pumps to spread it over his heated skin.

“Shit, condoms.”

He hastily reached to grab a pack from the nightstand. He opened one, while your fingers were caressing him, dancing over his torso and arms. As soon as the protection was on, you pulled him closer and he pushed his length into you without any warning. He had already stretched you with his tongue and fingers so his tip easily slipped into your crying hole.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Joel breathed out and started rolling his hips. His lips were caressing every spot he could reach and you were kissing his shoulders and neck.

Without pausing he braced his hands on the bed, hovering over you, his dark gaze locked with yours. He wanted to memorize every lip bite, every twitch of your brows when his cock was sliding in and out your needy cunt. You were so wet for him, he felt your juices on his balls and inner thighs and he closed his eyes trying not to come too soon.

“Look at me, Joel,” you purred and he immediately did what you asked. Your gaze slid from his dark eyes to his lips and it took everything from him not to kiss you right now.

He leaned down and instead gently kissed your heated cheek, leaving a wet spot on your soft skin. With a whimper you wrapped your legs around his waist and started grinding your hips, chasing your orgasm by rubbing your little clit against his pubic bone.

“Do ya wanna come, sweetheart?

“Only if you want me to, Joel,” you breathed out and he furrowed his brows, reminded of the nature of your relationship.

“ ‘course I do.”

With that he pulled away from you and sat up on his knees between your sweaty thighs. “Let me…,” he pulled out and you whined.

“Oh, baby, so impatient.”

You bit your lip with a sly smile but Joel quickly wiped it off your face when he took the condom off and asked,

“Can I slap your pretty pussy with my cock, sweetheart?” He gripped his cock at the base, squeezing it a little to postpone his climax and when you whispered a sultry ‘yes’ he slapped your clit with the tip of his throbbing length.

“Oh my god, Joel!” you cried out with a jerk, looking up at him with your brows pulled together and eyes rolling back.

“You like it?” He asked and when you nodded he started slapping your pulsating bud with his cock again and again until he saw some slick, seeping out of your clenching hole. He rubbed his red tip against it, coating his manhood with your juices, and began grinding it between your folds. His tip was bumping into your clit rhythmically and your taut muscles told him that you were close to your climax.

“Come for me, baby, please,” he asked softly and slapped your clit one more time. A jolt of pleasure made you shut your eyes and a loud moan escaped your lips. Wanting to prolong your orgasm and chasing his, Joel pressed his tip to your clit with his hand and started thrusting his cock, rubbing your twitching clit and at the same time massaging his whole length against your soft pussy and his own palm.

The overwhelming sensation, your sweet sounds and the sight of you coming in his bed made him explode and he began spurting creamy ropes of cum on your belly and sternum. He growled when a few drops landed on your bouncing breasts.

When you both stilled and the ecstasy started dissipating he sat down on his heels and watched you for a few seconds.

Joel wanted to remember that image- you, beautiful and satisfied, eyes shut, chest and belly heaving, was splayed on his bed, body glistening with sweat and cum. The happiness soon mixed with regret and the feeling of longing for more, wishing you were really truly his tightened his chest. But the reality was cruel. You didn’t need a single father in your life, you were free and your whole life was ahead of you.

Your curious gaze interrupted his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about, Joel?” You asked with a warm smile.

“I'm thinking my bed has never looked better than now.”

Your smile turned into a grin and you started to sit up but Joel stopped you with a raised hand.

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart.”

He went to the bathroom to get a wet towel and then gently wiped away his cum off your skin.

Before you left, he hugged you, breathing in the scent of your hair one more time and you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

You kept seeing each other for another month. Joel preferred his place to hotels and whenever he had the house for himself and got enough spare money, he would text you. In his own home it was easier to imagine you as his girlfriend, or even wife. He knew that it wasn’t healthy and he was getting a little delusional but it made him happy to think that you were his. If only in his dreams.

Sometimes Joel would literally dream about you. He’d wake up hard, yearning for your touch, your lips on his body, your gentle fingers running through his hair. It was easy to imagine you there with him. His hand would pump his needy cock and the image of you behind his eyelids was enough to make him come, groaning into his pillow.

As time passed Joel got more confident in expressing his desires. The possibilities were endless and you always looked excited whenever he suggested trying something new.

Like the time your eyes glinted with mischief when he asked if he could edge you the next time. Just the idea of making you beg for a climax made him rock hard. So during your next session he had you tied to his bed, as you were whimpering and pleading for a release, a vibrator in his hand pressed to your puffy clit. Though he caved in quite fast and finished you off with his thick fingers massaging your core, his teasing made you squirt and Joel lapped it all up with the wildest eyes and an aching cock. You returned the favor by drinking him till the last drop after he shoved his cock down your throat keeping you in place with his hands clutching your hair.

He loved experimenting with you, loved being rougher. But more often he craved making love to you, wanted you softly purring under his big body, as his cock was buried deep inside your heat, your pussy fluttering around him. He still couldn’t kiss you but your neck, your breasts, your cheeks were enough for him. Yet he couldn’t deny it— he was down bad for you.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asked you, pulling away from your neck that he was peppering with open mouth kisses a moment ago.

You were sitting on his lap, wearing a pretty summer dress and his only thought was to tear it off you but when his hands started roaming your body, you jerked and sniffed.

“Nothing. Everything’s ok, Joel,” you replied softly and nuzzled his neck. He knew something was wrong and you were hiding your pretty face. During the time he had known you, he learnt to read your body language and even feel your mood. So Joel stopped his ministrations immediately and kissed the top of your head.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. If you want.”

For a few minutes, he was holding you in his arms, rubbing your forearm with his thumb. Finally you took a deep breath, not raising your head off his shoulder, and opened up.

“I had a session with a new client yesterday. It was horrible.”

As soon as he heard your soft voice, saying that, his insides burned.

“Who? What did he do to you?”

He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up to face him.

When he saw tears in your eyes, he immediately wanted to rip that asshole apart. But your expression told him that you needed him to be gentle, to be there with you and he wanted to give you that.

“He was really degrading. Clients want it sometimes but it hadn’t been discussed and the things he said— made me feel like a cheap hooker. He didn’t hurt me though,” you added hastily but Joel saw that he had. Not physically but that fucker had made you really upset.

“I should talk some sense into the asshole. Can you give me his name?”

“No, no,” you were shaking your head, “I can’t. It’s all confidential. I’ll get over it and won’t see him again of course.”

You took a deep breath before mumbling,

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood.”

Then you reached for his belt buckle but Joel’s hand stopped you and he placed your hands between his big palms.

“No, you’re not in the mood. It’s ok. Can we just cuddle?

“But— I will be in a second. I’m professional, Joel.” You shot him almost a fiery glance and pouted your lips.

“Hey, baby, your client here—,” Joel pointed a thumb at himself with raised eyebrows and a sly smile, “wants to role play a big spoon tonight. Can we do that?”

“You’re so kinky”, you said with a giggle and lay down on the bed. In a second he was holding you, his chest pressed to your back, his strong arms embracing you, giving you comfort.

He was semi hard and surely you noticed it. He felt the warmth of your skin through the thin material of your dress and it drove him insane but the way you flinched at his touch, your tears, your shaky voice told him you wanted him to just hold you. For the second time you fell asleep in his arms and he woke you up with a kiss on your soft cheek the next morning.

Another month passed. As weird as it might have sounded, you became a huge part of his life. He knew every crevice, every curve of your body, knew every hope and dream. He kissed every spot on you, except for your beautiful lips. He tasted them a million times in his imagination but with time it stopped being enough. So he decided to invite you to celebrate his birthday with his family and the closest friends and finally ask you out on a real date.

Joel was nervous when you stepped into his house that day. Tommy raised his eyebrows, surprised to see you there, but fortunately didn’t ask or say anything. You seemed anxious as well at first, but after introducing you to everyone, Joel was happy to notice you chatting with the other guests, giggling with Sarah about something and when his daughter pulled you upstairs to show you her drawings, warmth spread in his chest. He was glad and relieved that you two got along. He wasn’t looking for a mother for his child, he would never ask you to take such a responsibility, but it was important to him that you two could be friends.

Just before dessert you asked him if you could talk privately. Tommy gave Joel a wink, lips twisted in a smirk, when you two headed upstairs, and the older brother just rolled his eyes.

When you stepped into Joel’s bedroom, his cock twitched in his jeans. It was a Pavlovian reflex at this point. He was used to seeing you there naked, your gorgeous body wriggling in his bed, whimpers and moans escaping your mouth.

But Joel told himself to calm down when you came up to him with a serious expression on your pretty face.

“Joel…,” you started and dropped your eyes, fumbling with your fingers.

“Yes, baby?” His heart started pounding in his chest. Always calm and self assured you seemed really nervous and the change scared him. What if you decided to break off whatever weird relationship you two had, what if…

You interrupted his thoughts when you raised your face to him and a little shy smile tugged at your lips.

“I want to give you your birthday present.”

He opened his mouth to say that you hadn’t have to do it, seeing you there was enough but he paused when you inched closer, your big sparkling eyes staring right into his soul. Then your gaze slid down to his lips and Joel seemed to stop breathing. He felt your palms on his forearms and then you slightly pressed your lips to his. They were barely there at first, hesitant, waiting for him to react.

He had been imagining that moment, dreaming of it for so long, so his hands immediately flew to your waist and he pressed his body closer to yours, welcoming your kiss with his whole being.

Joel’s lips started moving against yours, gently and slowly as if he was afraid to scare you away, to ruin the moment. But when he heard you sigh happily against him and your body relaxed into his, Joel wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. He wished that moment to last forever, wanted to never have to let you go.

His tongue brushed your lower lip, asking for permission to breach the last divide between you two, and you graced him by opening your mouth and letting him taste you fully. His tongue was caressing yours while his hands were gliding over your back. Then Joel gently cupped your cheek and tilted his head to give you the best kiss he could. You were so sweet and soft, so warm and lovely on his tongue and he didn’t care that you could probably feel his cock swell against your belly. Your ability to make him hard in seconds was not a secret to the both of you and he bucked his hips against your body with a soft groan.

Joel felt your smile on his lips and playfully squeezed your ass cheeks.

You giggled, your mouth parting from his.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you whispered, putting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck.

“Thank you for the best birthday present, baby.”

Joel kissed your forehead and you fluttered your eyes shut with a happy smile.

“Sweetheart?” he called.

“Yes.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

You lifted your head and your eyes locked.

“Like— on a date?”

“Yes.”

Your lips twisted into the widest grin he’d seen on you and you nodded.

“Really?” he asked, making sure that he was really that lucky, “Fuck, I know I’m not a catch. My life is chaotic and I’m a single dad and…”

“Shh,” you placed your finger on his lips and said softly, “I’d love to date you, Joel Miller.”

Joel beamed at you and embraced you in a tight hug.

“I quit escort,” you murmured against his chest and Joel furrowed his brows.

“Is it because of me? Sweetheart, I’d never ask you to quit your job. If you like it I won’t …”

“I don’t. I don’t like it anymore. After that guy I realized I wanna do something else.”

“Ok. Whatever you decide, baby,” he said and then added with a little smile, “I can still pay you though.”

You laughed at him and playfully punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Joel.”

He took your face between his big palms, marveling at your beautiful face, and whispered, “You know how to shut me up, baby.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his.

Joel opened his eyes to see the early morning sun peeking through the blinds and your face twisted in pleasure just before his. He soon realized that your wet warm pussy was wrapped around his hard cock and you were slowly grinding against him, lying on your side, face to face, your leg thrown over his waist.

He moaned at the sudden pleasure and you noticed that he was up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, honey. I just— I wanted you so much I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were breathing heavily and he wrapped his arms around your naked body and began rolling his hips, helping you to reach your high and chasing his.

“Never apologize for this, baby. I woke up in heaven thanks to you.”

You smiled and kissed him while his hand slithered between your slightly sweaty bodies and he slid his thumb between your folds to stroke your hardened clit. He was swallowing your moans and tried to get his own ecstatic growling under control, not wishing to wake up Sarah.

Soon you both exploded in each other’s arms and Joel flooded your pussy with his warm cum while you were writhing and trembling with euphoria against him.

When your climax subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder. He was drawing patterns on your back until you lifted your head to give him one more kiss.

“Sarah wanted pancakes for breakfast. I’m gonna go make some batter,” you said, getting out of bed and putting on your robe.

“I’ll help you. Be up in a minute.”

You smiled at him and bent over to give him a peck on the cheek but he swiftly pulled you back into his embrace, searching for your lips. You giggled and soon melted into his arms, while he was kissing you, passion and love in every stroke of his lips and tongue.

You were his, fully and completely, and all the fears evaporated when he realized that you were the final puzzle piece, missing from his life. He would do anything to make you happy.

“I love you,” Joel whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you murmured back.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more stories for you, lovelies!❤️

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hoseoksluna · 5 months ago

Text

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors.

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow.

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing.

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed.

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along.

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you.

Multiple times.

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date.

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl.

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind.

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong.

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream.

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him.

You didn’t do what the others did.

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside.

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code.

And so did you.

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists.

He did it because he unreservedly loved you.

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music.

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him.

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing.

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours.

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight.

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe.

A different star. A special one.

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck.

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants.

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song.

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that?

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust.

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing?

This can easily be his very last night alive.

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up.

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass.

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad.

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once.

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better.

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit.

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction.

The fucker is grinning.

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger.

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer.

He needs you and he tells you.

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts.

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.”

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully.

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders.

He knows why you did that.

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious.

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you.

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?”

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face.

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast.

Too fast for his liking.

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek.

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness.

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made.

One he will pay for.

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch.

One hit for your dignity.

A second one for your tears.

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed.

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?”

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill.

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest.

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face.

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right.

But his body doesn’t listen.

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears.

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God.

But nothing happens.

Radio silence.

White noise.

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable.

He begins to pray with his own voice.

Because there’s nothing else to do.

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her.

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible.

The ringing lessens.

And then his lips move.

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it.

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body.

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home.

To solitude.

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give.

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him.

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car.

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you.

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head.

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held.

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet.

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that.

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is.

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.”

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now.

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission.

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either.

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him.

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.”

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life.

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you.

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound.

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it.

“What happened? Tell me.”

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body.

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you.

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car.

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash.

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene.

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you.

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose.

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture.

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole.

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly.

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him.

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes.

Letting himself be taken care of by you.

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode.

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe.

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful.

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely.

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite.

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it.

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food.

You can handle it.

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh.

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you.

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all.

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble.

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.”

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers.

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner.

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you.

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst.

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down.

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange.

It’s an expression of his servitude to you.

Of his lessening and your heightening.

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self.

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere.

He is at home.

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt.

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling.

And he lets you know.

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue.

And he stops—just to beg for those words.

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.”

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden.

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable.

You help him remember.

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.”

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God.

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you.

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do.

He invites you in.

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm.

And it just makes him hungrier.

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy.

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits.

It doesn’t take long for you to come.

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore.

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations.

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face.

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens.

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.”

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it.

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all.

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.”

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen.

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland.

He thinks it would be an honor.

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship.

Everything is new.

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.”

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him.

Not all the way, though.

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for.

You do take him all the way.

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home.

Heady, oriental and feminine.

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock.

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus.

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something.

He hasn’t put a condom on.

“Wait.”

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well.

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?”

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him.

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes.

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material.

Gently.

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you.

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger.

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him.

Peasant with his queen.

You ride him like it.

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation.

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing.

One more thing and he’s done.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.”

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.”

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth.

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are.

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way.

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.”

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back.

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple.

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore.

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss.

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you.

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love.

And you give it to him.

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly.

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize.

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you.

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.”

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity.

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you.

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.”

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips.

Gentle.

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.”

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it.

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat.

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted.

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream.

And you’re there when he wakes up.

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

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vamptizm · 2 months ago

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NOT A SECRET — paige bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x wnba!fem!reader

synopsis : the bliss of winning the wnba championship causes a big slip up that exposes your relationship to the world

warnings : explicit language, alcohol, cigars and sexual innuendos (if you don’t like the new york liberty, you can replace it with your favourite team idc)

note : i haven’t checked for typos that thoroughly so… my bad

word count : 2.6k

What’s better than succeeding in life in almost every aspect? Sharing that success with someone you love and that loves you back, unconditionally and wholly. Meeting Paige Madison Bueckers had undoubtedly been one of the best things that life had blessed you with, other than your flourishing career. The two of you had met in 2019, both playing for team USA. Later on you would meet again at UConn, playing and succeeding alongside each other for the past four years. It wasn’t until barely a year ago, that the two of you decided to be brave enough to confess your love. But sadly, everything must end for a new chapter to begin, and here you were, living a two and a half hour drive from her to chase your dreams.

Luckily for you, Paige was the most dedicated and passionate girlfriend in the world, making it her mission to attend as many of your games during the playoff season as possible. Today was no different. It was her birthday, her special day, and here she was, supporting you. Hoping to celebrate you, rather than celebrating herself.

You were pacing around the open kitchen of your—extremely overprized—apartment, the nerves and anxiety eating at you like maggots, heart pounding in your throat and hands sweaty. This was by far, one of the most important games in your life so far, if not more important than the game against Iowa only six month ago.

“How about you stop walking around in circles and c’mere?” Paige spoke up from her spot on the malta-beige couch, arm slung over the back rest as her neck craned slightly to look back at you.

“I can’t, I feel like I’m about to throw up.” You spoke, your voice coming out almost like a choked whine, wiping your hands down on your sweatpants for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

You only had an hour left until you had to be ready and at the Barclays Center. Two and a half hours until the final game against the Minnesota Lynx began. You were a mess, and no one could blame you.

Sighing at your distressed state, the blonde lifted herself off of the couch, walking towards you with sympathetic eyes. She hated seeing you this way. It wasn’t the first time, and definitely wouldn’t be the last, but it never burdened her. If you needed to cling to her like a lifeline, she would be there. Every. Single. Time.

“Oh, baby. C’mere.” Her arms opened wide once she was standing a mere foot away from you, wrapping you into a hug. So tight and warm, so comforting and safe that for a moment, it felt like all your worries vanished into thin air. The only thing that mattered was the intoxicating scent and the protective warmth of your girlfriend.

You buried your face into the crook of her neck, arms wrapping around her waist as you allowed yourself to breathe—really breathe—for the first time since you had woken up. “I’m just scared. What if I mess up? What if I disappoint everyone and then I’ll be the rookie that ruined everything.” You mumble into her neck, voice slightly muffled but she understood you perfectly.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Paige’s voice was firm, yet it didn’t lack the tenderness and gentleness you so desperately needed. Her hands snaked up, pulling away from the hug just enough to be able to cup your face in them. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re on top of the league right now, if not the world. This is not going to ruin your career. It is not going to diminish everything you have achieved and you’re sure as hell not going to disappoint everyone.”

With her hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks and eyes looking deeply into yours, you couldn’t help but tear up. Maybe it was the stress, maybe the nerves, or maybe it was the reassurance and praise that not only her words offered, but her entire presence in that moment.

“You’re going to be great, just as you’ve always been. How many times have you felt just like this and ended up wiping the floor with everyone?”

The way she was looking down at you almost had your knees crumbling, so gentle and sincere. “You think so?” Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper and if it had been any other situation, you would’ve cringed at yourself.

“Baby, I know so.” Paige didn’t have to say more than that. It was enough to boost your confidence from basement level, to the roof.

You didn’t say much either, choosing to bask in the moment, hands snaking up to lay over hers that were still cupping your face, looking up at her with glassy eyes and a faint smile. In that moment, it was only appropriate for you to inch closer, placing a soft and short kiss on her pillow soft lips.

A smile crept up on the blonde as you pulled back again, “So… How about ‘pre-game good luck’ head?”

“Well… Wait, No! I’m still in distress.”

The arena buzzed with a low hum of anticipation as you stood at the edge of the court, taking in the packed stands, the flashing lights, and the sea of Liberty blue and green. Your heart was pounding—though you'd had nerves all day, they'd sharpened now that the moment was upon you . You scanned the crowd, gaze catching Paige's in her seat near the front. Paige's steadying smile softened the sharp edges of Your anxiety, and you exhaled, focus narrowing. This was it. The moment you had been working your ass of for. It was now or never.

As the whistle blew, your nerves dissolved like mist, replaced by the razor focus of competition. Everything outside the court vanished, your only objective now to take down the Lynx and bring home a win for the team. But as the first quarter unfolded, it became clear this game wouldn't go as planned. Your team struggled to find their rhythm, their usual crisp passes and quick plays seeming off. Shots were bouncing off the rim, free throws missed their mark, and the Lynx defense was ruthless. Every time you managed to drive toward the basket, you felt hands clawing at your arms, hips bumping you hard off course. You fought to keep your form steady, but even your own three-pointers—normally a guaranteed lifeline—fell just short. Beside you, Sabrina was playing through visible pain, her movements cautious, hindered by her UCL injury.

Paige's chest tightened with each missed shot and lost point, her eyes tracking your every move. She could see your frustration mounting, shoulders tensing after every failed attempt, and every bit of her wanted to rush down there, to shield you from the weight of this game. Tell you that she believed in you more than anything.

By halftime, the Liberty had fallen behind by nearly double digits. You felt your stomach knot and churn as you walked back down the tunnel toward the locker room, breath shaky, mind racing over every failed shot, every error. Before you knew it, hot tears were spilling down your cheeks, stinging with the shame of coming up short. You barely noticed the footsteps trailing you until you heard Paige's voice calling out her name, a beacon of comfort piercing her distress.

You slowed and turned, and there was your girlfriend, just outside the locker room door, her eyes brimming with concern. A teasing voice broke the tension—Stewie, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Hey, save some of those tears for the win, rook. You're not out of this yet."

Despite yourself, you let out a shaky laugh, and then you were in Paige's arms, face buried against her shoulder. You clung to her, breathing in the familiar scent and drawing strength from your girlfriend's embrace. "I'm playing like shit right now," you mumbled, voice thick with disappointment.

She tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes with steady determination. "Hey, look at me. You've been through worse than this. Most of these people today are here to watch you. You're gonna go back out there and you're gonna play your game. I know you. You're not done." Her words wrapped around you like armor, steadying your nerves. With a last kiss on the cheek, Paige whispered, "Go show them who you are, Ma."

Buoyed by the reassurance, you returned to the court for the second half with renewed fire only ten minutes later. Your team began to close the gap, each player digging deep as they fought to find their rhythm. Your shots began to connect, and your movements were sharper, cleaner, feeding off your team's newfound energy. You could feel Paige's eyes on you from the stands, grounding you with every step.

By the time the game went into overtime, your team had clawed their way to a slim four-point lead, the clock ticking down the final seconds. With a fierce determination, you seized her moment—gripping the ball just past half-court, you made the reckless decision in a split second. You set your stance and launched a deep three-pointer, watching as the ball arched high into the air. The arena fell silent, everyone holding their breath as it spun toward the basket.

And then—swish. The ball dropped cleanly through the net, and the crowd erupted, an unstoppable wave of sound crashing over the court. Your teammates surged around you, pulling you into hugs and shouting in joy, their faces bright with triumph. You felt the overwhelming relief, the weight of victory sinking in as tears of happiness filled your eyes.

Amid the chaos, your gaze instinctively searched for Paige, who was already standing by her seat, pride radiating from her. Without thinking, you ran toward her, your heart full to bursting. When you reached Paige, your threw your arms around her, catching her in a fierce embrace. Before either of you registered what you were doing, you pressed a kiss to Paige's lips, the world melting away in that single moment. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down, anytime soon.

Paige held you close, tears shimmering in her own eyes as she whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Baby. You fucking did it."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of every struggle, every doubt, lifted, replaced by the solid warmth of love, victory, and the freedom to embrace who you truly were.

But then it dawned on you. The sudden realization of what you had just done and your face dropped, heart pounding impossibly faster in your throat all while Paige continued to hold you close. "Oh my god... Oh. My. God." You could barely manage to find the words, the guilt of what you had just done so impulsively hitting you like a wave and throwing you off that thrown you had been sitting on just a mere minute ago.

"I'm so sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Oh god, I fucked up. The whole world just saw that, what do we do?" It was clear as day that you were panicking, the fear of disappointing your girlfriend eating away at you.

Paige however, didn't seem to have lost that smile on her face, her bright eyes almost blinding with the sparkle that shimmered in them, all while gazing at you. "I don't care. We've talked about this before, I want the world to know."

"Really?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, not trusting yourself to keep it from cracking in that moment.

"Yes, really. I would be fucking insane if I had anything against the world knowing that I'm not only dating the most wonderful person alive, but also a champion."

Your frown quickly turned upside down into a small smile, heart searing with love and pride. Not only were you a winner tonight, but with her on your side, you'd be a winner for the rest of your life.

"Now go and celebrate, you deserve it." The blonde began to release you from her grip, a soft grin playing on her lips.

"Come with me." You suggested instantly, not wanting to be apart from her for even just a second, if you didn't have to. "I wanna show off my prettier trophy on her birthday."

Paige's grin melted into a smirk, the sparkle in her blue eyes suddenly clouded and you had to make sure that your own eyes weren't playing tricks on you. "Your trophy, huh? Oh, I'm gonna fuck you so good when we get back home, champ."

Back in the locker room, the team was in full championship mode. As you and Paige stepped in, you were instantly drenched with a spray of ice-cold champagne, your teammates laughing and cheering as they each took turns celebrating. The room was filled with a mix of joyous shouts, laughter, and the sticky-sweet smell of champagne spilling from bottles held high. You could feel the bubbles fizzing on your skin, jersey soaked through, but none of that mattered—this was the taste of victory, and you drank it in like the best moment of your life.

Stewie grinned, grabbing a cigar and offering it to you with a proud nod. “Here you go, rook. You’ve earned it.”

You took it with a chuckle, feeling the weight of the cigar in your hand as you looked around at your ecstatic teammates. You didn’t smoke often, but right now, it felt like the perfect way to mark the moment. As you lit up, you took a slow draw and exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air, feeling an odd thrill in the movement. Around you, your teammates roared in laughter and cheered you on, playfully tousling your hair and congratulating you as you relaxed further into the moment.

Paige stood slightly apart from the chaos, watching you with an expression of open admiration. Paige’s gaze lingered on you, catching every spark of joy in your eyes, every smile, and every bit of laughter that spilled from your lips. She let herself soak in the sight, wanting to imprint it on her memory—this perfect image of you, triumphant and glowing, a little champagne-drunk and flushed from the celebration. She didn’t care about the sticky residue of the champagne on her own skin or the faint smell of smoke in the air; all she could focus on was you, looking impossibly beautiful.

As you took another drag, exhaling the smoke with an air of confidence that was as charming as it was unfamiliar, Paige’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way you held herself tonight, bold and carefree, that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine.

You caught Paige’s eyes and, with a giggle, took a playful step toward her, the effects of the champagne clear in your soft, relaxed gaze. “Are you okay over there?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, clearly catching on to Paige’s stare.

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk, her voice low as she leaned in, brushing a hand along your arm. “Oh, I’m doing great,” she murmured, her tone filled with a hint of mischief. “Just… can’t wait to get you home.”

Your eyes sparkled with a playful challenge as you smirked right back, the faint scent of champagne and cigar smoke hanging in the air between them. “I’m all yours in an hour or so,” you whispered, leaning in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“Longest hour of my life,” Paige replied, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as they lingered on your smile.

The locker room buzzed around you, but in that moment, you both were in your own world, two people tangled in a look filled with promises for later, ready to savor every bit of this win—together.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #wnba #uconn huskies

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 11 months ago

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5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.

Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.

Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics

Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t.

After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state.

“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot.

“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.”

Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip.

Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you.

“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.

As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in.

Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds.

You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack.

“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering.

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step.

Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window.

“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening.

He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in.

The next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans.

Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.

Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could.

So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission.

As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake.

“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep.

“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.

“The floor then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.”

You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in.

By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you.

He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission.

By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee.

“Why can’t we just ask for directions?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes?”

“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.”

“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back.

You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together.

5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.

The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering.

“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.”

Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent.

“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together.

“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat.

Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark.

Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work.

Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage.

Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him.

“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it.

You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag.

“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?”

“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms.

Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing.

But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it.

Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much.

In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.

He felt sick.

Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding.

They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone.

But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him.

He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you.

Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk.

Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.

“She’s so fucking drunk -”

“Absolute embarrassment -”

“Can’t believe they let her in -”

Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him.

You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear.

“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music.

“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!”

You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost.

The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk.

“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-”

“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.”

Was he still here? Fucking asshole.

Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist.

“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music.

You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it.

“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?”

Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose.

“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?”

Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away.

Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it?

“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut.

He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door.

“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step.

“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.”

He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop.

“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control.

“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?”

“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.

“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?”

“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs.

“Sure.” He sighed.

Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed.

“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”

“Stay.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need-”

“Stay.”

And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt.

Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place.

You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene

“Hey, you want another beer, doll?”

Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water.

He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast.

He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him.

“Hmm?”

“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.”

He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water.

“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.”

Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something.

“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it?

“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway.

As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break.

In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch.

“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow.

“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”

Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.”

She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring.

“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-”

A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised.

“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food.

“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled.

You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first.

“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him.

Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -”

“I’ll sleep on other sofa -”

“You’ll share with me, right doll?”

The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.”

“Bucky -” Sam started.

“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-”

His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.

Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose.

Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping.

Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted.

Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest.

Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.

The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you.

Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t.

Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?

You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds.

In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone.

“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you.

“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed?

“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”

After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room.

Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip.

By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible.

He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see.

Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky.

“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re right.”

You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone.

In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver.

“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered.

Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did.

“I miss you too.”

You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -”

Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away.

“Hi.”

“Hi, doll.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“What if I want to?”

He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter.

“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek.

“You do?”

And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him.

“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.”

“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips.

“Uh huh, I did,”

“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling.

“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.”

“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss.

“How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses.

“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start.

With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you.

“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I guess we do, doll.”

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