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allgirlsareprincesses · 21 days

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Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

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syrma-sensei · 1 year

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pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.

rating: fluff, implied smut.

warning: bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, antiquated mentality....

word count: 2.4k

summary: ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

tagging: @zepskies

→ masterlist | ao3

Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.

Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.

He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.

But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.

The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.

It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.

In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.

Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.

Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.

Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.

“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”

Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”

She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.

He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.

“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.

“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.

She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.

“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.

She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”

Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”

“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”

“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”

Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.

Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.

Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.

He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.

Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.

Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.

Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.

“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.

His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.

“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”

Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.

Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.

“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”

She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.

Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”

Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.

He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”

#soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #the boys smut #the boys imagine #the boys soldier boy

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goldengalore · 2 years

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Intimacy

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with someone in a long time, which makes her nervous about having sex with Harry for the first time.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: anxiety, smut (featuring soft dom!harry, fingering, thigh riding, oral - m receiving)

A/N: This is one last idea (for now) that I had for the anxious!reader universe. Lots of smut, but it’s very soft and sweet and full of love :)

***

His hands. Y/N can’t stop staring at his hands.

There are a lot of things she finds attractive about Harry. Too many. It’s actually maddening how one person can have so many attractive qualities. Lately, her brain has decided to fixate on his hands. They’re pretty and elegant, strong and masculine.

His long fingers are often decorated with an ornate collection of rings. Sometimes his nails are painted with vibrant colours; other times, they’re unpainted but still clean and neatly trimmed. She can often see the veins that travel up the backs of his hands into his toned arms. He moisturizes them well too, so they rarely look dry.

Y/N would be lying if she said her obsession with Harry’s hands is completely innocent and merely about aesthetics, that she hasn’t imagined how those fingers would feel in her mouth or between her legs and orgasmed to the thought of that while lying alone in bed at night.

It doesn’t help that he’s a highly affectionate person, finding any excuse to place his hands on her whenever she’s within reach. Even now, as they lounge on his couch, he pulls her legs into his lap and begins massaging them. She’s wearing a knee-length dress today, leaving her lower legs exposed. His hands don’t move up past her knees, but that doesn’t stop her imagination from running wild anyway.

“Y/N?” His smooth, commanding voice—another annoyingly attractive feature of his—pulls her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” Her eyes flick up to his emerald ones staring back at her. She realizes with embarrassment that she hasn’t listened to a thing he’s said in the past minute or so.

“What were you staring at?” He glances down in his lap, where her gaze was just a few seconds ago.

“Oh, just your hands.”

His brows furrow slightly as he starts inspecting his hands, turning his palms up, then down. “Why? Something wrong with them?”

“No! No, they’re just… nice. Nice hands. That’s all. Sorry, what, um, what were you saying?”

A teasing smirk forms on his lips. “Nice hands, huh? Never heard that one before.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. “Please. I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times.”

“Mmm, not really.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not believing him for a second. His smirk broadens.

“Anyway,” he says, resting his hands back on her legs, “I was just saying that I really missed you last week.”

Now she feels even worse about zoning out on him. He’s been out of town this past week for work. They reunited just this morning after his flight landed back in LA.

“I missed you too, H.”

“This week made me realize something.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Made me realize how much I hate being away from you. I know our friendship started over Zoom meetings and phone calls and whatnot since I was on tour, but…” He shrugs. “After spending time with you in person these past couple months, I can’t imagine being away from you for weeks or months at a time. I think I’d go mad.”

His confession feels like being swaddled in a warm blanket. While he was away, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. His fluffy hair and dimpled smile, his kind eyes and boyish laugh, even his cute nose consumed her thoughts from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night. She found herself cursing the slow passage of time frequently throughout the week. To hear that her feelings were reciprocated makes her giddy inside.

When she takes a while to respond, he says, “I hope that wasn’t too intense. It’s just been on my mind lately and I had to say it.”

“No, I feel the same way.” I think I’m in love with you, she says in her head but struggles to speak aloud. She has never been the first to say those words in a relationship.

He smiles, relieved. “Okay, good.” He holds her gaze for a few seconds, then shifts closer, her legs still strewn across his lap. His hand comes up to cradle her jaw as he leans in for a kiss, sucking her top lip into his mouth.

She scoots even closer, practically sitting in his lap now. The movement causes her dress to ride up. Harry rests his other hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it lightly. Her heart quickens. His hand inches along her inner thigh, hiking her dress up even further. Suddenly, her whole body tenses up and she shrinks away from his touch.

“Sorry, I—I can’t,” she stammers, quickly removing her legs from his lap and tugging her dress back down.

She sneaks a glance at his face and detects some hurt there. It lasts for a split second, but her brain registers it anyway. She feels awful. This is the second time he has tried to get intimate with her beyond just kissing. The first was the night before he was supposed to fly out of the city. They were cuddling in his bed. She was giving him all the signs that she wanted to take things further—letting her hands roam all over his body, grinding her hips against him—but as soon as he started returning her touches, she pulled away.

It’s frustrating because she fantasizes about it all the time, yet when it finally starts to happen, she freezes up. It’s like her mind and body are on completely different pages.

“I’m sorry, H,” she repeats.

“It’s all right.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “You’re not ready for that. I understand.”

“But I am ready. I just…” She looks up at the ceiling as if the answers to her puzzling emotions will be there. “Ugh! I don’t know.”

A long silence stretches between them, though it probably feels longer in her head than it is in reality.

“I should go,” she finally says, rising to her feet, but he grabs her hand before she can go anywhere.

“Already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“But I made things awkward!”

“No, you didn’t. Stop that.”

She was trying to avoid his gaze, but he tugs on her hand to make her look at him.

“We’ve been apart for a whole week. You think I’m letting you run off that easily?” He frowns a bit. “Wait, that sounded creepier than I’d intended.”

She giggles, feeling somewhat lighter. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

They order sushi for dinner and crack open a bottle of wine. The awkwardness she felt earlier fades as Harry starts telling her about a deep conversation he shared with the five-year-old girl sitting next to him on his flight. Y/N is glad she decided to stay because if she had gone home to spend the night by herself, her overthinking mind would have eaten her alive.

After dinner, they transfer back over to the couch with their wineglasses in hand. They sit cross-legged, facing each other. The wine has helped her loosen up some more, granting her the courage to explain why she’s been so reluctant to get intimate with him.

“I’m not a virgin,” she tells him. “I know it probably seems that way because of how I act every time we try to do anything sexual, but I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being one, obviously. I just thought you should know.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Although he doesn’t press any further, his eyes are curious and attentive in a way that makes her want to spill everything, just lay out all her secrets and fears and insecurities in a big, messy pile in front of him.

“I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t had sex in years,” she explains. “And I’ve always had to have a few drinks before doing it. I tried doing it sober once, and it was a total disaster. I was on the verge of a panic attack the whole time, and the guy didn’t know what to do. I just told him to keep going, so he did until he finished and—”

“Lovie, that’s not okay,” he interjects, brows pinching together in concern. “He should’ve stopped when he realized you were having a panic attack.”

“Well, to be fair, I told him to keep going. It was totally consensual.”

“Still. He should’ve at least stopped to make sure you were all right. Seems like basic human decency to me.”

“I guess....” She shrugs, knowing that he’s right but not wanting to think about it much longer. “Anyway, after he finished, he told me that having sex with me was like fucking a scared baby deer.” She forces a laugh, though the memory still makes her cringe inside. “Needless to say, I was mortified and never saw him again. And that’s the only time I’ve had sex while sober.”

“And all the times you weren’t sober, did you at least enjoy it?”

She hesitates. “Um, define enjoy.”

He appears even more concerned now. “If you’re having to ask that question, I’m afraid the answer is no. If you enjoyed it, you would know.”

“Well, I just asked because if by ‘enjoy,’ you mean ‘did I orgasm during it,’ then it’s a no. But my anxiety was a lot more under control, so I guess that could be considered a form of enjoyment… Right?”

Rather than answering her question, he asks, “You’ve never orgasmed during sex?”

She shakes her head. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but her cheeks still feel like they’re on fire.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“Oh, plenty. When I’m alone, that is.”

“I see.” He rubs his jaw and looks away, sinking deep into thought. She can’t read the expression on his face.

“So, now you know how bad I am at sex,” she jokes to fill the silence.

He looks at her with a raised brow. “I don’t know about that. If anything, it’s the guys you’ve been with who were bad at sex if they couldn’t even make you come once.”

“Oh no, they were all very experienced.” Y/N doesn’t know why she’s defending these men, as if they would do the same for her. Perhaps it’s because she’s spent her whole life thinking she was the problem and this is the first time someone has suggested a different perspective to the one she’s become so accustomed to.

“Experience doesn’t always equate to being good at something.”

“I guess not.” She bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do want to try again… with you. I just don’t know how to stay calm without having a few drinks in my system.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to work on that.”

His use of the word “we” doesn’t go unnoticed by her. We, as in this is our problem, not just yours. We, as in we’ll figure this out together, you don’t have to do it alone. She feels a surge of something in her chest, and the only term she can think of to describe it is love.

“I’m calm right now,” she says with sudden realization, placing her wineglass on the table so quickly that it almost topples over. “So, technically, we could try again—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’re not having sex for the first time while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk drunk though. Just a bit tipsy. I think we could still—”

“Y/N, it’s not happening,” he states firmly. “Other guys might have been okay with that sort of thing, but I’m not, okay?”

Her shoulders slump. She looks down in her lap. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want you to know that I want it as much as you do.”

“I know. Hey”—he tilts up her chin—“we’ll get there. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

He has no idea how much of a relief it is to hear those words. Her biggest fear this whole time has been him losing interest in her because she can’t seem to get over her anxiety around sex. It’s happened before. Guys often expect her anxiety to disappear after the first time. When it doesn’t, they take it as a blow to their ego and react by making her feel like a freak for being anxious at all. The humiliation leads to even worse anxiety the next time she gets intimate with someone. It’s a vicious cycle.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up or anything, but maybe that cycle finally ends with Harry.

***

When it comes to Y/N, Harry just doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Even before they met in person, he would dream of the day he could finally have her in his arms, how perfectly their bodies would mold together, how electrifying that first contact would be. For months, he’s been dying to touch and feel and kiss every inch of her, but after hearing about her sexual history, it’s no surprise why she’s so hesitant to take that step with him.

Taking things slow is not a problem for Harry. If anything, he feels lucky to be the one who gets to show her how fun and exciting and stress-relieving sex can be when the people involved actually care about each other’s pleasure.

It’s been a few days since that initial conversation. They’ve had several more discussions about it since then, and he thinks they’re ready to try something now.

He stares at Y/N lying on his bed, looking cute and cozy in his forest green Pleasing crewneck. Her lips are swollen from all their making out, her neck and collarbone littered with red spots where he licked and sucked on her skin like an ice cream cone.

“Question for you,” he says, leaning his head on his palm. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

“Hmm… A couple days ago?”

“Would you feel comfortable doing that in front of me?”

Her eyes widen. “Y—you want to watch me touch myself?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Her reaction already indicates that she’s not.

“Oh, I… I don’t think I am,” she admits, confirming his thoughts. “I mean, I don’t even like being watched while I cross the street. It’s like I forget how to walk.”

“Okay, different question. How would you feel about getting in a bath with me?”

She thinks about it. “I’d be okay with that.”

He runs them a bath lightly scented with a lavender oil he bought recently, while Y/N leans against the doorway and watches. Once he begins to undress, she follows suit. Starting with his crewneck, she removes her clothes at an extremely slow pace, as if she’s on the verge of changing her mind at any moment. He finishes undressing before she does and pretends not to notice her eyes bulging at the sight of his dick. Instead, he leans over to the tub to test the temperature of the water.

“I’ll get in first,” he says. “Then you can sit between my legs. Sound good?”

She swallows. “Yup.”

He steps into the tub and submerges everything but his head and upper chest into the water. His back rests against one side, his long legs outstretched in front of him.

In the meantime, Y/N finishes undressing. He forces himself not to stare, knowing that it’ll only make her more nervous. She moves quickly now, striding over to the tub and climbing in on wobbly legs. He holds out his hand for support.

“Careful,” he says.

She sits down between his legs with her back facing him. There’s still a lot of space between them.

“Just lean back against me,” he tells her.

She hesitates for a moment, then leans back until she’s flush against his torso.

He smiles. “There you go.”

“Okay, what now?”

“Nothing. Let’s just sit for a minute.”

They enjoy the next few minutes in companionable silence. The warm water seems to dissolve all the tension in her body, which is exactly why he suggested this idea in the first place. Her shoulders relax. She sinks deeper into him.

After a while, he says, “I’m going to try something. If you don’t like what I’m doing or you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. My ego can handle it. Okay?”

She responds with a tiny nod.

“I need you to answer me verbally, lovie,” he says softly in her ear. “Just so I can be sure we’re on the same page.”

“Yes. Got it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Don’t have to apologize.”

“Sorry,” she says again, automatically. “Fuck! Sorr— Shit! Why do I keep—” She starts to sit up, but he places a hand in the middle of her chest, gently pulling her back against him. He can feel her heart galloping like a racehorse.

“Y/N, relax. You’re okay. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

She inhales a deep, shaky breath, then releases it.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

Her heartrate gradually decreases with each breath she takes. Once she appears to have calmed down, he moves his hand from the centre of her chest to one of her breasts, cupping it tenderly in his palm. His other hand comes to rest on her belly before making its descent between her legs. She squirms a little once the pads of his fingers make contact with her clit.

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“Y—yeah.” She takes another deliberate breath.

He rubs her clit in small, tight circles and kneads her breast at the same time. Her hands rest at her sides on top of his thighs. As he pinches her nipple, twisting and pulling it lightly, her fingers dig into his thighs and his cock twitches between their bodies. He wonders if she felt it. His middle finger prods around her slit now and slips inside without resistance. He pumps it in and out a few times before adding a second one, using his thumb to rub her clit.

Y/N is completely silent, but the slick substance coating her pussy and the subtle rocking of her hips is confirmation enough that she’s enjoying this. He peeks at her face to find her eyes closed and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth like she’s afraid of accidentally making a sound.

That is another thing they’ll need to work on. Harry likes being vocal during sex and equally enjoys when his lovers are vocal too. He doesn’t want Y/N to hold anything back around him. But they can work on that another day.

“Does this feel good?” he asks.

She nods, then remembers what he said earlier and answers out loud, “Feels good, yes. Really good.”

Satisfied by her response, he presses a third finger inside and pushes all three of them deep into her with every thrust, turning her into a squirming, quivering mess in his arms. Her back arches off his torso as she comes, the smallest whimper slipping through her self-restraint. He gradually lessens the stimulation on her clit, then removes his fingers completely. She lets her head roll back against his shoulder.

“Wow,” she sighs. “I’ve never… That’s never happened with someone before.”

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, it was great. Um… thank you?”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

Suddenly, she sits up and looks over her shoulder at him. “So… your turn now?”

He waves his hand, splashing some of the water with it. “Don’t worry about that.”

She frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, trying to act cool as if he can’t feel his dick throbbing furiously under the water right now.

He could take her up on the offer, but he wants to focus on her today. Y/N is too nice to admit it, but he has deduced from their recent conversations that her previous partners were too greedy in the bedroom, exploiting her selfless nature for their own benefit. It’s quite unfortunate. Someone like her deserves to be spoiled, not exploited. At least now that she’s with him, he can make sure she gets the treatment she deserves.

After they’ve cleaned up and stepped out of the tub, he grabs one of the towels off the counter and starts handing it to her, then stops.

“Can I dry you off?” he asks.

She seems surprised but not opposed to the idea. “Sure.”

“Okay, just one moment.” He quickly pats himself dry, then grabs the other towel and walks over to her.

Timid eyes gaze up at him. They fall shut as he raises the towel to her face and dabs away all the little water droplets. Next, he moves down to her neck, shoulders, chest, and so on… After he’s done with her upper body, he sinks down to his knees on the mat and works on her lower half, taking his sweet time and humming softly to himself. He glances up to find her smiling at him.

Once her entire body is dry, he leans forward and plants a kiss to her belly before standing up with the towel thrown over his shoulder. Y/N’s eyes follow him as if in a trance.

“All good?”

She just blinks at him.

“Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you.” The words rush out of her like a whoosh of air that had been trapped in a sealed container. “God, it feels weird saying it out loud. It’s been in my head for so long and I didn’t want to say it because that makes it feel more… real.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

She doesn’t reply.

“Because you think I don’t feel the same way?”

“Do you?” She winces slightly as if she’s bracing herself for possible rejection, as if the answer to that question could be anything but “absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent yes.”

“Of course I do, Y/N. I thought I’d made that pretty obvious.”

“You should know by now that nothing is obvious with me.”

It’s true. Even when they were just friends and Harry began dropping hints that he wanted to be more than that, they pretty much all went over her head. Y/N is a smart woman; she just happens to be totally oblivious when it comes to love and romance, which he finds deeply endearing about her.

“Well, take this as your confirmation that I am, in fact, very much in love with you,” he states, taking her face in his hands and giving her a big, sloppy smooch on the lips, which she accepts with a laugh.

***

“That’s it, lovie. Keep going. You’re doing amazing.”

Y/N rocks back and forth on Harry’s thigh, her cunt positioned directly over his tiger tattoo. His thick, firm quads provide the perfect amount of friction against her needy clit.

A week ago, the idea of riding his thigh while he watched her would have made her extremely self-conscious. But since then, they’ve spent each night exploring each other’s bodies. He has given her several more orgasms with his fingers and mouth, while she has given him some with her hand. They’ve masturbated in front of each other. One night, he gave her a full-body massage that turned her on so much that he hardly even had to touch her clit to make her come.

She doesn’t mind being watched anymore. Not by Harry, at least. His gaze is never judgemental or critical. She doesn’t need to fret over saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining the moment. This has made her fall even more head over heels for him.

“Look so pretty getting yourself off on my thigh like this,” he says, toying with her breasts.

A moan starts to leave her mouth until she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to trap it in. Harry reaches up and drags her lip back down with his thumb.

“Let me hear you,” he says. “Wanna hear how good this makes you feel.” He grips her chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping her mouth open.

She’s close now, the heat of her orgasm building in her core. Her hips grind faster against him. He lifts up his thigh to heighten the pressure on her clit. The tight knot in her lower abdomen unravels, and she comes with a loud moan, soaking his thigh with her juices.

“You make the sweetest sounds when you come,” he says, releasing her chin.

She pecks him on the lips and, before she’s even recovered from her orgasm, gets on her knees between his legs.

He frowns. “What are you doing?”

She looks at him like it should be obvious. “Returning the favour?” As she begins to reach for his cock, he grabs her wrist.

“Nope,” he says. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you have to pay me back for every orgasm. Sex doesn’t have to be so transactional, you know?” The smirk on his face conveys that he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from having the sudden, embarrassing realization that perhaps she does treat sex like it’s transactional and just wasn’t aware of it until now.

“I—I know that,” she fibs a little. “I just want to make you feel good.” That part, at least, is not a lie.

Harry has been spoiling her heavily this past week, which has been delightful. She can tell he’s making every effort to gain her trust in the fact that he doesn’t expect anything in return for how incredible he makes her feel. But Y/N likes making him feel good too. She likes the way he hisses and shudders when she finds his most sensitive spots. She likes watching his usual composure crumble simply from her touch. She lives for it.

“Please?” she adds to her request, giving him her best doe eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “If you really want to.”

“I do.”

He lets go of her wrist, allowing her to reach for his stiff cock again. Nerves make her hands tremble, as she remembers how long it’s been since she gave someone a blowjob. She wants it to be perfect, but realistically, she’ll probably be a bit rusty.

She strokes him in her hand and runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft until, finally, she feels ready to take him in her mouth. Her lips wrap around his tip and slowly move down his length, tongue gliding against him. She considers deep-throating, then decides against it because it’s been way too long since she’s done it and she needs time to work up to it again. Any insecurity she felt about that disappears the moment she glances up at Harry. His eyes are closed and jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Emboldened by the look of absolute ecstasy on his face, she bobs her head up and down his shaft and massages his balls with her hand. She moans around him, and he releases a low groan at the sensation it produces. Then she lets his entire length slip from her mouth, teasing him by flicking her tongue over his tip and leaving little kisses along his shaft until his fingers are weaving through her hair in desperation.

“Didn’t know you could be such a tease,” he says with a breathy laugh.

She grins innocently, then takes him into her mouth again, determined to suck him to completion this time. His hand feels good in her hair. She imagines him holding her head in place while he fucks her mouth. She never thought she would be into that sort of thing until now.

“I’m gonna come soon, Y/N,” he warns her as he gets close.

She doesn’t pull away. He thinks she didn’t hear him, so he repeats himself. She makes eye contact to convey that she heard him, that she wants him to come in her mouth, which he does moments later. She relishes the taste of it, swallowing every last drop. As she draws back and wipes her mouth clean, he stares at her in amazement.

“You’re really fucking good at that,” he tells her.

“Thanks! I had this boyfriend in college who only wanted blowjobs all the time since that didn’t involve having to make me come, which was basically impossible for him. He was kind of demanding, but he taught me how to give a damn good blowjob.”

Harry grimaces. “You know, the more I learn about your previous partners, the more I want to hit them over the head with something.”

She laughs. “I think I make them seem meaner than they were.”

“No, I think you make them seem nicer than they were.” He pats his thigh. “Get up here.”

She stands up and sits on his thigh with her legs dangling between his this time. His arm wraps around her back.

Locking his eyes on hers, he says, “You are worth so much more than being some guy’s blowjob dispenser, all right?”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I was just young and naive back then, but I know better now.”

“Good. Don’t ever let any man or woman treat you that way. Okay?”

His eyes are so full of care and concern for her that she thinks she might just cry.

“Okay,” she replies.

***

Harry loves writing about the initial euphoria that comes with falling in love. It’s intoxicating and exhilarating and all-consuming. Many of his most successful songs were inspired by this peculiar feeling. It’s no wonder that he keeps heading into the studio lately to harness all this creative energy and inject it into his music.

Today, Tom, Tyler, and Mitch are all in the studio with him. Mitch is riffing on his guitar while Harry adlibs over it when Jeff pokes his head into the room.

“H, Y/N’s here to see you,” he says.

Harry raises his brows. “She is?” She didn’t tell him that she’d be visiting the studio today.

“Yeah, she’s waiting out front.”

“Is she all right? Did she say why she’s here?”

Jeff shrugs. “No clue. She seemed fine.”

Y/N always seems “fine.” She’s quite skilled at pretending everything is okay when it’s not, which can be rather concerning. Harry tells the guys he’ll be back, then heads to the front of the studio where he finds his girlfriend staring at a wall decorated from top to bottom with framed album covers of legendary musicians.

“Hi, darling,” he says as he approaches.

She turns to him, eyes illuminating as soon as they meet his. “Hi! Sorry, I told Jeff not to go get you, but he did anyway.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “I hope you weren’t in the middle of something. I swear if you were writing your next Grammy-winning single and I just ruined your flow, I’ll be so mad at myself.”

“Stop it. You haven’t ruined anything.” He steps closer, taking her hands. “Now tell me what brought you here. Are you okay?”

He studies her as she replies, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m not here for any particular reason. I just…” She hesitates. “I needed to see you.” As soon as she says it, her eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, that sounds so needy.”

“That’s okay. We all get needy sometimes. Do you want to sit in the studio with me?”

She bites her lip, giving it some thought before shaking her head.

“Okay.” He brings her hands between their bodies, swinging them apart and together again. “Then tell me what you need.”

“I—I need…” She glances down in the general direction of his crotch.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “You need…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

He tilts his head to side, feigning innocence. “Say what?”

“Baby…”

He wanted to make her say it, but the pleading look in her eyes makes him cave. “You need my cock, is that it?”

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Her head spins around to make sure no one heard them.

He laughs. “There’s no one around, lovie.”

“Still!” She sighs and presses her hands against her flaming cheeks. “It’s not fair. You’ve been teasing me with it this whole week, and it’s all I can think about. Couldn’t even focus on my art today because I kept thinking about how…”—she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper—“how you would feel inside me.”

It’s been exactly a week since Y/N first hinted that she’s ready to go all the way with him. Harry was the one who wanted to put it off a little longer. He predicted that if he made her wait long enough, her hunger for it would overpower any anxiety that might crop up during the act.

Smiling, he brings his hand up to her cheek, her skin hot against his cool palm. “Aw, I know, sweetheart. You know the only reason I’ve been teasing is to make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I know. And I’m ready now. I really am.”

“Okay, but we can’t exactly do it here, you know that?”

“Why not? Isn’t there a bathroom in here somewhere?” She pushes up on her toes to look over his shoulder down the hallway where he came from.

“We’re not fucking in the studio bathroom, Y/N.”

She groans and lifts her hands up to his chest, scrunching his shirt between her fingers. “But I can’t wait any longer!”

“Yes, you can.” He wraps his hands around her wrists. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and wait until I pick you up from your flat tonight.”

She pouts and concedes, “Fine.”

He kisses her pout and gives her a hug that lasts for several minutes because she doesn’t want to let go and he never lets go until she does, so they’re in a standoff for who’s going to let go first until finally, Y/N releases him.

After that, the rest of the day moves at a snail-like pace. Harry can hardly focus; he’s too distracted by the thought of what’s to come tonight. Every lyric he comes up with sounds too raunchy to put in an actual song. Even his friends jokingly speculate about why he’s acting so strange—especially Tom, who just loves to make him squirm.

That evening, he has to make a conscious effort not to speed all the way to Y/N’s flat. The plan was to pick her up, take her back to his place, and maybe eat dinner before having their fun, but he thinks he’ll have to skip most of those steps.

Y/N buzzes him into her building. She’s on the second floor, so he doesn’t even bother with the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time. As soon as she lets him in, his mouth is on hers. She kisses him right back, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing up against him. They make their way to her bedroom and remove all their clothes, ending up on the bed with him on top of her.

“Naughty girl,” he says between kisses to her neck. “Came all the way to the studio because you were needy for my cock, hm?”

She covers her face with her hands. “H, don’t tease! I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

He gently pulls her hands away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you want me that badly? Got me all hot and bothered at the studio. Could barely keep myself together for the rest of the day.”

A mischievous little grin makes its way onto her face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s the effect you have on me.” His hand drifts down between her legs to find that she’s already drenched, so he grabs his cock and runs the tip up and down her slit. When he looks back up at her face, there’s a hint of apprehension that wasn’t there before. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just remembered that I haven’t had something so, uh”—she swallows, glancing down at his cock—“big inside me in a while.”

“Do you want to be on top? That way, you can go at your own pace.”

“What if my pace is too slow and you can’t come?”

“What if I come two seconds after I’m inside you? Would you still love me?”

“Of course!”

“There’s your answer then.”

She squints at him, her lips curving up. “Well played.”

They switch positions so that she’s on top of him, straddling his hips while he leans back against the headboard. She carefully guides his cock up to her entrance, inserting the tip before lowering herself onto him. Her tight walls stretch and expand to accommodate him. She winces from the discomfort. He massages her hips, reminding her to take her time.

It takes her several attempts to get him all the way in, but once he’s there, the feeling is indescribable. He curses under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” he responds in a strained voice. “It’s perfect.”

She seems reassured by his response and starts moving her hips in slow circles, getting used to having him inside her. Then she lifts up and sinks all the way down again. Soon enough, she’s riding him at a steady pace, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts swaying gorgeously in his face, beckoning him to place his hands over them. He has pictured this moment so many times, he can’t believe that it’s finally happening.

He starts thrusting up into her, meeting her halfway. As his thrusts become sharper, her jaw drops open.

“Harry—”

The sound of his name slipping out of her mouth like that, all salacious and full of yearning, is a drug he can see himself getting addicted to.

“Please,” she whines.

He slows down, worried that he might have been too rough. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just— Please don’t stop. It feels so good.”

“Feels good, huh? Someone finally fucking you like you deserve?”

She nods, her eyes rolling back as he resumes the movement of his hips.

“This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he tells her. “Remember this.”

“Oh, I will.” She barely finishes her sentence before he pounds into her again.

He feels himself about to crest and reaches down to rub her clit. A final medley of moans and grunts leave their mouths as they come. Her pussy spasms around his pulsing length. As the waves of pleasure subside, her body goes completely slack in his arms, worn out from the intensity of the experience they just shared. She rests her head against his shoulder, basking in the afterglow while he brushes his fingers through her hair.

Her soft voice breaks through the silence. “I didn’t know it could feel this good. I’ve been missing out.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to catch you up. Don’t you worry.” He kisses the side of her head, earning a contented sigh from her.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #domrry #dom!harry #anxious!reader #my writing

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kairawrites · 1 month

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old habits.

🌺masterlist 🌺

Pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader

Author’s note: pls listen to fever by lucky daye, i beg you!

Summary: A break somehow turned into a permanent separation. It’s been seven months since he’s been in your presence, but once he’s in your orbit, Trent throws your world off its axis.

Words: 3268

The bass thumped through the floor of the crowded club, the vibrations resonating in your chest as you swayed to the rhythm. Those around you were lost in their own world, arms raised, heads thrown back in laughter and carefree joy. But despite the fun, you were hyper-aware of Trent’s eyes on you, just like they had been all night.

You knew exactly why. The dress you’d chosen was one of his favorites. He’d always said it brought out something in you, made you glow. Maybe that’s why you wore it tonight, why you let your friends drag you to the weekend at the villa, despite knowing he’d be there too.

As you dance, your hips move fluidly to the beat, trying to focus on the music, on the warmth of your friends' energy. Trying to allow it to suppress all the stress from work. You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as you let the rhythm take over, begging the music to drown out the thoughts of him.

To drown out the way his eyes had lingered when he’d opened the door of the Uber to help you out upon your arrival to the club. His gaze first met yours, holding it for a moment that felt both too brief and too long before it dropped to take in the rest of you. He looked at the dress, the way it hugged your curves, the tantalizing cutouts that revealed just enough to keep his imagination running wild. His eyes traced the smooth expanse of your skin, lingering on the delicate straps of your heels that accentuated the length of your legs.

To drown out the way he'd only managed to get out a few words, his voice a little rougher than he’d intended. “You alright?” he asked, the simplicity of the question betraying the hours he'd spent rehearsing what he would say when you finally came face to face again after seven long months. "You alright?" was nowhere on that list, and he silently cursed himself for fumbling in the moment that mattered most.

But then, you’d smiled—just a small, knowing curve of your lips—and that familiar, bashful smile you adored crept onto his face, softening the intensity in his eyes. It was the smile that had always made your heart skip a beat, the one that reminded you that you were the only person in the world to make him feel this way.

To drown out how his touch lingered on your hand longer than necessary as he helped you out of the car, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but the warmth of his skin against yours sent a ripple of memories through you. Before you could respond, your friend gave you a playful nudge from behind, urging you to move so the rest of the group could file out. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder as you moved with the crowd towards the door, catching his eyes still locked on you, following your every step.

To drown out how in that brief moment, it was as if the months apart had dissolved, leaving behind the undeniable connection that had always been there. The weight of his gaze on your back had felt like a tether, begging to pull you into a past you weren’t sure you were ready to let go of, even as you walked further away.

You appeared to be having the time of your life as you danced. But across the room, Trent was struggling. Every time he glanced your way, he felt a tug of something deep in his chest—something he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried. You were captivating, lost in the music, your laughter ringing out as you moved with the girls. His friends kept trying to engage him in conversation, but his attention was always drawn back to you.

It was maddening—how you still had this effect on him, how the sight of you in that dress could unravel him so completely. He took a long sip of his drink, trying desperately to divert his attention, but the shimmering lights had other plans. They cascaded over your skin, highlighting its rich, deep tones and casting an enchanting glow that accentuated every curve as you moved. The play of light and shadow left him mesmerized, utterly dazed by the way you seemed to glow with an almost ethereal beauty, each flicker of light intensifying his longing.

He was yanked headfirst into a memory—the last time he’d danced with you. He could almost feel the tingling at his fingertips, his body aching with the phantom sensation of yours pressed against his, the way your hips had moved perfectly in sync with his, how you grinding against him left his head cloudy-spinning, the heat that built between you as you both surrendered to the moment.

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand as he recalled the way your smile had lit up his world the last time you’d shared a moment like this. The way your eyes had met his with that spark, a silent communication that only the two of you understood. He remembered how he’d pulled you close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered something that made you laugh and press even closer to him.

Now, as he watched you dance, Trent couldn’t help but imagine stepping forward, closing the distance between you, and pulling you into that same embrace. But instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, his chest tightening as he realized that the days of being the one who got to dance with you were over. Trent’s eyes followed your every move, memorizing the way you looked in that dress, the way your hair caught the light, the way your smile hadn’t changed a bit.

As the night began to wind down and the club’s energy slowly ebbed away, exhaustion crept in. Your feet ached from hours of dancing, but your body still buzzed with the lingering thrill of the music—and the heat of his eyes on you all night. When you all returned to the villa, the others started to disperse, seeking the comfort of a hot shower and bed. But you couldn’t shake the restlessness coursing through you, so the kitchen beckoned, offering a moment of solitude. As their laughter and conversations faded into the background, a wave of relief washed over you, the quiet of the villa a soothing contrast to the club’s pounding noise.

You made your way to the kitchen, the dim light of the freezer casting a soft glow as you opened it. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw it—a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sitting right there on the top shelf. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you reached for it, the familiar weight of the pint in your hands bringing back memories of all the nights you and Trent had spent just like this. It was a ritual you’d never grown tired of, something simple that had always brought you closer together. The fact that he’d remembered to stock the freezer with it tonight made something warm unfurl in your chest.

Instinctively, you opened the drawer and picked up two spoons, but then you paused. The reality of your current situation hit you, and with a quiet sigh, you put one of the spoons back.

You hopped up onto the kitchen island, the marble cool beneath you as you peeled back the lid of the ice cream. The first bite was pure bliss, the sweetness melting on your tongue. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

As you ate, your mind drifted back to the night’s earlier moment, to Trent’s simple question: “You alright?” You’d wanted to tell him the truth—that you weren’t. Seven months later, you still found yourself reaching for him in the middle of the night, still fighting the urge to text him whenever something significant happened. Despite feeling this way, you couldn’t share it because it was you who had suggested the break in the first place

Your job demanded too much of your focus, while he was entrenched in the demands of playing for Liverpool. You’d hit a rough patch, both of you fearing you’d finally lost the three-year “honeymoon phase” all of your girlfriends envied. Asking him for space had seemed like the only solution at the time, but it quickly turned into hardly speaking and not seeing each other at all.

Because for Trent, it was all or nothing. He couldn’t be in the same room without wanting to touch you, without his fingers aching to brush against your skin. He couldn’t talk to you on the phone without slipping into nicknames only he’d ever use for you, names that held more meaning than simple words. He couldn’t follow you on Instagram without liking your photos, leaving comments that made it clear he was still very much invested, that those pictures were posted for him, and him alone.

He couldn’t bear to see other guys looking at you, chatting you up, their interest undeniable. It would be excruciating to hear your laughter directed at another man’s jokes, knowing that the laughter you reserved for him was now shared with others.

He couldn’t bear to call you a friend when the gang got together to hang out, because his own eyes betrayed him every time. They followed you, lingered on you, reflecting the longing and unresolved feelings he couldn’t hide, making it impossible to keep up the pretense of casual friendship. That’s why he took your request for space so literally. He tried his best to keep a clear distance between you two, strategically meeting up with friends when he knew you wouldn’t be tagging along. For Trent, the line between wanting you and being without you was too blurred to navigate, so he chose to keep the space as wide as possible, even if it meant missing out on the simple joy of being around you.

The sound of soft footsteps broke through your thoughts, and when you opened your eyes, Trent was there, leaning casually against the counter across from you. His presence seemed to fill the room, his dark, warm eyes locking onto yours as if no time had passed since you were last this close. He wore a fitted white t-shirt and dark, well-worn jeans—the kind of look that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks for the ice cream, T,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of something deeper, something unspoken. “You didn’t have to.”

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, one that you hadn’t seen in months. “Old habits, I guess.”

You nodded, taking another bite. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. Trent’s eyes followed your movements, the way your lips wrapped around the spoon, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. There was a hunger in his gaze, a longing that he was barely trying to hide.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to study him, really study him. The sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his stubble framed his face– his hand instinctively reached up to rub at his jaw under your watchful eyes.

“Old habits,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would shatter the fragile peace between you.

Trent pushed off the counter, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. His hand found its way to your leg, resting just above your knee. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. It was a simple gesture, but it carried a heavy weight, a history that lingered between you.

You stayed still, not pulling away, as his fingers began to trace slow, deliberate patterns on your skin, moving from your knee down to your calf. His touch was familiar yet electrifying, sending shivers up your spine and making every nerve in your body come alive with awareness. Your heart raced as he unbuckled and gently slipped off one of your heels, the action tender and almost reverent.

The cool air hit your bare foot, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his hands as he began to massage the arch. His fingers worked into the muscles with practiced ease, and the tension in your body began to melt away. You had to bite back a sigh of contentment; it felt so good, so right, that it was impossible to ignore how your body responded to him, even after all this time.

As you tried to find a distraction from the overwhelming sensation, you sighed, “About the Euros…”

Trent’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, his expression one of genuine surprise. “You watched?”

You rolled your eyes, a soft, playful smile curving your lips. “Of course I watched. I always watch for you.”

His surprise gave way to something warmer, softer, and you saw his eyes soften, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t think you would care.”

“I always care,” you said quietly, the words carrying a weight of truth that neither of you had been willing to confront.

His hands continued their work, kneading the tension away, and you couldn’t help but relax further into his touch. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the sensation of his fingers, which seemed to know exactly where to press to make you feel good. Another step in an unspoken routine.

Old habits.

The massage was thorough, gentle yet firm, and as he moved to your other leg, you found yourself completely at his mercy. The tension in your body unraveled with each stroke of his hands. When he finished, his touch lingered, his fingers drifting up your calf, sending a final shiver through your entire body. He watched your reaction intently as he traced the last patterns of his touch.

His thumbs brushed instinctively against your thighs, and you opened your eyes to meet his gaze. He flashed a cheeky smile and teased, “Guess I still have that magic touch.”

You bit back a smile, the warmth of his words and the electricity between you making it difficult to maintain any pretense of nonchalance.

You shifted slightly under his intense gaze, the brushes of his thumbs against your thighs making it hard to focus. “So,” you started, your voice betraying a hint of nerves as you swirled the spoon in the pint, “how was LA?”

Trent’s lips curled into a slow smile, his brow arching as he caught the glint of curiosity in your eyes. “It was fun.”

“That’s good.” You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the memories of the headlines and the pictures that had circulated flashed through your mind. You had known about the trip because of your mutual friends, but it was impossible to avoid the media’s spin on it. The tabloids had been relentless, insinuating that Trent was finally enjoying his newfound freedom, soaking up the sun in LA, surrounded by beautiful women and living the carefree life of a single man in his twenties.

As he stepped closer, settling between your legs, his touch drifted to your hips, creating a new, electric sensation. This close, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes—his skin now a shade darker, the golden tan accentuating the sharp angles of his face, and his hair, slightly longer than usual.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out, your fingers gently threading through Trent's hair. The motion was instinctive, familiar.

Trent's eyes softened as your hand moved through his curls, and he instinctively reached up to brush his fingers against where yours had just been, a small smile playing on his lips. “I need a cut before the season starts,” he remarked, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go of this moment.

You hummed softly in response, your fingers lingering in his hair a little longer before trailing from his hair to the nape of his neck, where his skin was warm and smooth. The intimacy of the gesture made your heart ache with a mix of nostalgia and longing. His breath hitched, just slightly, at the contact, and you felt the way his muscles tensed under your touch before relaxing again.

“I like it when you grow it out,” you admitted quietly, your thumb grazing the soft skin there.

His eyes locked onto yours, the warmth in them deepening as he leaned in a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking with every passing second. His right hand moved to the small of your back, fingers splayed out pulling you to the edge of the counter, the contact sending a shiver up your spine.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice low, the words carrying more meaning than just a casual question.

You nodded, your gaze never leaving his. Your touch found its way to the front of his shirt, drifting up his chest. As your fingers brushed against the fabric, you felt his heartbeat thrum steadily beneath your palm.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he chuckled softly. The touch of his fingers on your chin was gentle but insistent, guiding your face upward.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and you could see the shift in his expression—his gaze softened, filled with a mix of longing and hesitation. His eyes revealed his desire to kiss you, yet it was clear he wouldn’t be the one to initiate. It was up to you to bridge the gap, to ask him to take back the space he had given you. He needed you to reverse the separation that had grown between you and to reclaim the love he’d declared for you.

He took a soft breath, and you leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you. Your lips met his in a hesitant kiss. It was a fleeting, featherweight touch.

As you pulled back, you saw the look on his face—a mix of relief and something profoundly soft, a vulnerability that spoke volumes. His eyes held a gentle warmth, his touch lingering on your cheeks, thumbs gently grazing your skin as if he wanted to savor every moment of this reconnection. His nose brushed against yours, your eyes drifting shut.

He closed the gap between you again. His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, exploring and rediscovering the familiar contours of your mouth. The urgency of his body caused you to tip back towards the kitchen counter, a giggle escaping your lips. His hands quickly gripped your hips, lifting you up and off the counter in a swift motion leaving your head spinning.

He stumbled through the kitchen, lips refusing to leave yours, his steps uneven as he tripped over his own shoes kicking them off, his focus entirely on you. The dim light cast shadows around him, making it difficult for his mind to settle on anything but the pressing need to be close to you. His brain struggled to find a clear path in the darkness, to the sofa, barely registering the familiar layout of the room. All he knew was that there was no way he would make it up the steps, down the hall, and to his room.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x reader #trent alexander x you #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold x black reader #football imagines #footballer x reader #x black reader #black! reader #black reader fic #black reader

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thissortofsorcery · 5 months

Text

This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race!! It's been so much fun so far, and I'm so excited to share my piece!

Thank you so much to @kuroubojin for passing the baton to me 💕

Billy thought that finally getting King Steve into bed would be different.

Well, he didn’t think he’d actually get King Steve into bed, in the first place. But as much as Billy hates to admit it, now that he has, he’s feeling a little out of his depth.

In the many, many times he thought about what sex with Harrington would be like, he’d pictured something a little more… Wild. He thought fucking Harrington would be like a fight, biting and clawing and pushing to see who’s gonna come out on top. He thought he’d have to wrestle King Steve down and show him who the real king was, and it would be rough and hot and loud. Impersonal, though. Billy likes to get off fast and easy, after all. There’s no reason to draw it out or to linger after.

But. But.

Harrington caught him off guard. Billy never expected the teasing and the pigtail-pulling to pay off in the first place. He didn’t think he’d actually see Harrington’s fire turned on him, giving as good as he got, every barb out of Billy’s mouth being met with burning words and an upturned nose. It only egged Billy on more.

It came to a point where Billy couldn’t put his eyes on Harrington without his whole body responding, heart thrumming and veins singing with adrenaline, palms sweaty at the sight of an answering smirk.

And now, well.

Running into each other at the quarry turned into a shared case of beer and a cigarette, turned into this.

Billy pinned down on the backseat of Harrington’s damn BMW, leather seats sticking to his sweaty back. Billy doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing; all he knows is that he lost his shirt somewhere in the middle, and his jeans are open and rucked down to his hips. Harrington’s skin is hot, feverish under Billy’s fingertips, soft skin covering firm, defined muscles that roll with every movement of Harrington’s hips.

Billy’s never cared much about kissing, but he can’t get enough of Harrington’s mouth. It’s obvious that he likes it, having latched onto Billy’s lips however long ago and not relented since. Billy’s not complaining. Harrington finds places in Billy’s mouth that he never thought could feel this good, takes over every one of his senses easy as breathing. He’s a tall wave bowling Billy over, taking up all the space in his head and chest and lungs, and it’s all he can do to hold on.

There’s no fighting while they fuck, no raucous and derisive laughter, taking potshots at each other like they have something to lose.

It’s good.

Billy was sure it would be, but… It’s like nothing he’s felt before. Harrington is everywhere; the scent of his hair products in Billy’s lungs, the taste of his sweat on Billy’s tongue, his body a heavy weight on top of Billy’s. His name on Billy’s lips, a litany of Steve, Steve, Steve that Billy barely registers is coming from him.

Harrington’s mouth never leaves his skin, not for a second, the maddening slide of his tongue leaving a line of fire wherever it goes. Harrington’s breath is hot on his neck.

Billy can’t figure out why it feels so overwhelming, why this feels so different from anyone else he’s fucked before. After a while, he stops trying to.

By the end, Billy doesn’t know which way is up, if it’s been minutes or hours. He can barely hear himself breathe over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. He forgets that he’s not supposed to drag this out, that he’s not supposed to linger, too busy riding the aftershocks of the pleasure Harrington brought out on his body.

He’s struck dumb. Or fucked stupid, more like.

This is nothing like he thought it was going to go. It was supposed to be about getting off, but Harrington turned it around on him.

The backseat is cramped, and Billy’s skin is uncomfortably sticky against the warm leather, but his body sings when Harrington rearranges them so Billy’s lying on top, on his stomach, and with his nose tucked into Harrington’s neck.

“C’mere,” is all Harrington says. Then he drapes his dumb members only jacket over Billy’s back. “I know how cold you get.”

Billy thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this. He’s not even itching for a cigarette.

“You good?” Harrington says, and Billy grins against his chest. Harrington’s chest hair tickles his lips.

“You gotta ask?” Billy laughs, a soft, light thing. He didn’t know he was capable of making a sound like that.

Billy still can’t feel his toes, but he’s not gonna tell him that.

“Dunno,” Harrington mumbles. There’s a note of uncertainty to his voice now, a dip in his confidence that Billy wasn’t expecting, not now.

Billy lifts his head to rest his chin on Harrington’s chest. He’s staring at the darkened car ceiling, but his hand is tight on Billy’s hip.

“Could be better,” Billy says, and Harrington’s eyes jump to him, a touch too wide. Billy’s smirk grows. “The beer’s outside.”

Harrington bursts out laughing, pale throat stretched and gleaming in what little light spills into the car.

“If I go out and get it you’re gonna freeze to death,” he says, one hand coming up to Billy’s face. The tips of his fingers stroke lightly over his forehead, almost imperceptible, and push a stray curl away from Billy’s eyes.

It hits him then, why everything feels so different from his other fucks. He barely has two brain cells left to rub together, caught in Harrington’s warm gaze, and it’s been niggling at him this whole time. How is it that Harrington can make Billy’s brain just shut off.

“Wouldn’t want that,” Billy mumbles distractedly.

“No.” Harrington’s smile goes soft around the edges, and his fingers stroke Billy’s cheek. “I wouldn’t.”

Harrington’s looking at him like he’s precious. Like something he wants to keep.

Billy’s retort gets lost on the way to his mouth.

“I’m good,” is what he ends up saying. Harrington smiles.

He is good, Billy thinks. Right here, under Harrington’s jacket, legs tangled together, the chill of the night shut away for now.

He’s better than he’s been in a while.

Thank you for reading my piece!

Please look forward to the next one, done by the the lovely @billysblueeyes!!!! Go go go!!

#harringrove #harringrove relay race #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #sorcery writes #mine #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet

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just-some-user-hunny · 3 months

Text

Alucard and Anderson fighting over you...

ok but Alucard and father Anderson both pining over the same person...

✧ If having an obsessive bloodthirsty vampire on your trail isn't bad enough, it appears you managed to capture another set of eyes... A set of eyes akin to madness.

✧ Alexander Anderson is puzzled; yet enthralled by your mere existence once he sees for himself the kindness you possess. The way you are so tender and kind to even the lowliest of hellspawn captures his attention. How you smile and treat the Draculina Seras with kindness, like she were a good friend, despite her dead heart and cold body. will earn you a prolonged stare from the towering man himself whenever you are within his presence.

He listens. He watches. Observing the way you confide within the young vampire, or flitter beneath Integra's steel Gaze- and especially how you seem to appear nonchalant despite being shrouded in the no-life kings shadow. It's curious to him, oh so very curious. It's Maddening to him.

✧ Who are you? What are you... You're nothing more than a fragile human, dear and earnest. You may have your obscurities and oddities, but at the end of the day, you're a little thing ensnared within the claws of hellsing.

✧ Through contemplative nights and long days of reading scripture and clutching his cross within his worn palms, he comes to a conclusion amidst a sleepless dream. An angel. You must be! How you exist in this cutthroat world is impossible, how else are you so full of light and joy? A sliver of heaven itself.

✧ Once he has found himself content with his conclusion, he grows frustrated with the fact that his rival- his dark contrasting other half, seems so infatuated. He has no business being so close to you- his mere presence is like an iron cage around a dove.

Father Anderson can see the no life kings obsession with you, the way this beast has formed this 'claim' to you, and it repulses him. To see such an innocent soul in the sights of a monster enrages him to no end. However he can only deny his own hypocrisy for so long. You too occupy a section of his thoughts and heart, often thinking of you in prayer and requesting the lord of your safety and wellbeing. The irony of being no different from the vampire vexes him so.

✧ They already butt heads, ready to tear one another limb from limb. Alucard is possessive and protective of you, and definitely doesn't like how his arch nemesis is hellbent on 'saving' you from the evil soulless beast that sunk its fangs into you.

Just the moment they are in the same room, all you can do is sigh and rub your temples- inbound by the fighting that's about to go down. Like wild alleycats. 'here we go...'.

✧ Father Anderson wishes strongly for you to remain with him, away from the vile twisted hands of Integra- and Ultimately out of the jaws of her bloody hound. You'd be safe in his residence; away from the cold stone hellsing manor walls and the shadows that occupy it. You'd have sunshine, warmth, safety. You'd have no reason to fear; no reason to hunger, nor thirst, nor shiver from the cold. The church will keep you safe within its Holy walls. You will remain a soft soul, kept away from the monsters.

✧ Prepare to be questioned by this vampire hunter whenever your paths cross. 'how are you? Are you being treated fairly? Are you sleeping and eating well? Are you happy?'. Please assure this man's every inquiry, for even a hesitant falter in your words or a deflated expression on your face will warrant an extreme reaction from him. (And by that, I mean he'll hail an onslaught of insults upon integra and her seething vampire). He's so keen to sweep you away, so he'll grasp at anything to justify it.

✧ As you can imagine, Alucard is not a fan of his rivals intrusive nature towards his human. His beloved. Blood red eyes will glare venomously at the priest as he speaks sweetly to you, wanting to laugh at his onslaught of questions. Are you sleeping well? Of course you are, he sees to it himself. Are you safe? The safest place is in the eye of the hurricane, after all. What foolish inquiries.

✧ I think ultimately when your personal safety is in danger, they'll reluctantly team up. They have the same goal in mind- to keep you alive. Perhaps a part in themselves will enjoy the partnership. The contrast of their existences somehow meshing perfectly together when they're doing something they both have their sights on. They're both unstoppable, impenetrable forces.

✧ Still, they see no other reason that they have to like each other. They still butt heads like possessive alley cats, spitting their snide remarks and wit towards one another like their hail of bullets and blades.

"Really? Now you Don't see me cowering in the shadows of her room watching her sleep. It's rather pitiful, don't you think?".

Alucard finds his taunts amusing. His grin widening at his rivals words, chuckling lowly at his snide remarks. Does this man honestly believe he has any shame? Any embarrassment when it comes to you? This all but frustrated Alexander more, hence the neverending cycle of aggression towards one another.

✧ The boisterous taunts will only ever earn a few array of reactions. Either alucard will give a sharp toothed grin and shamelessly agree with his own infatuation, or snarl and glare. It very much depends on what's said.

"Do you really think that an angel like her will want an evil, soulless creature like you?".

Any prods at Alucard himself are met with deep rumbling laughter and snarling grins. He cannot disagree, father Anderson speaks the truth. He is a monster. In fact, it's frustratingly amusing to him.

"And yet, she is mine. Funny, isn't it, father?".

✧ Him seeing Alucard as a tick in your side.

A disease that refuses to leave.

Nothing good comes out of having a vampire attached to you. It irks him to see an innocent soul in the clutches of the no life king.

The hostility between them turns sour, more intense. It's not just a battle between unstoppable forces anymore- with you thrown in the mix, it's a hellfire of bullets and blades. Father Anderson wants to save you, and Alucard wants this bothersome human to stay away from his human. As said before, they will reluctantly collaborate if it assures your safety- despite their own selfish desires to be your own hellish tormentor and divine protector. An immovable object, and an unstoppable force.

✧ Just know, that no matter who you choose to remain besides, the other will be just as infatuated and stubborn. You'll be caught in a whirlwind, a force you cannot escape nor fight. What will you do? Will you grace the monster with your gentleness, or will you fall into the arms of a mad saint? That power lies within your hands.

I find their dynamic so interesting, they're the opposite sides of the same coin. I'd love to hear anyone's interpretation or thoughts on them!!!

#yandere hellsing ultimate #hellsing alucard x reader #alexander anderson #yandere Alucard #hellsing x reader #Alexander anderson x reader #yandere Alexander Anderson #yandere alucard x reader #hellsing ultimate x reader

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avocado-writing · 8 months

Note

if you’re open to writing for karlach, maybe something where she and tav come up with creative ways to be close without tav being burned? or just go nuts and crawl over to shadowheart for healing lol

notes: karlach is so fucking hot (literal and sexual) i am insane over her. i'd love to write for her more

rating: E

pairing: karlach x gn!reader (background shadowheart x lae'zel)

You met Karlach about a month ago, and you’ve never wanted a woman more in your life.

Every part of her is perfection. Her toned stomach; her gorgeous eyes, her wild hair. You want to touch her so badly. Want to run your hand up the plain of her back and feel her shoulders shift under you when she wraps you in her embrace. Want to feel the crush of her lips against yours, the soft wetness when you press between her legs.

But she is on fucking fire, so there lies the issue.

You know she feels the same. When the rest of the camp is asleep you steal into her tent, the two of you whispering the filthy things you want to do to each other while pleasuring yourselves because you can’t physically fucking touch. It’s maddening. You want to be able to actually do them, not just promise that you will.

You’ve seen her fingers disappear into her cunt as she moans your name, you’ve come against your palm while telling her how badly you want to taste her.

Gods. you are going to lose your mind over this tiefling.

Stripped off and with a fresh outfit slung over your shoulder, you stomp down to the pond just outside of camp in order to wash up that morning. Your mind is on other matters - tadpoles, mostly, and how on earth you’re going to save yourselves - but you are totally snapped out of your brooding when you see you’re actually not alone.

“Soldier. Didn’t think you’d be awake for another couple of hours yet, the way you tired yourself out last night,” says Karlach cheekily, grinning up from the water. She’s chest-deep, infernal engine running so hot that steam is churning up around her, leaving a clinging mist all over her shoulders and face. She dunks her head under to wet her hair and makes a beautiful arc as she resurfaces, shiny and dripping.

You stare. Your mouth has gone completely fucking dry. Your head has emptied of all thoughts save for two words: wet Karlach wet Karlach wet Karlach–

She raises an eyebrow. “Babe?”

You drop your clothes.

“Fuck it,” you say, and dive into the pond.

Her lips burn with a kiss long since needed, the pain being bearable for the pleasure of knowing her. Her cunt is almost excruciating to run your fingers across and yet you find yourself gritting your teeth and pressing your tongue inside, the magma of her orgasm deliciously burning your face. It’s so worth it. It’s so, so worth it for knowing you can make her come, and what your name sounds like from her lips when you’re the one bringing her there. She lets you fuck her thigh like a dog in heat and it feels like your sex is aflame.

You have zero regrets, lying in the muddy pond bank, naked body covered in burns. You hear Karlach reapproaching with someone in tow, chattering nervously.

“Yeah, aha, we just er… got carried away. Sorry. I really do appreciate you helping us out, though!”

Shadowheart peers down at you, her mouth a tight line of disapproval.

“Lady of Sorrows preserve us, look at the state of you,” she sighs. Despite the rawness of your injuries you manage a grin.

“Come on, don’t act as if this is the first time you’ll have used Cure Wounds after sex. I’ve heard the noises you and Lae’zel make.”

Her face goes a bright enough red to match the tiefling next to her, and Karlach throws her head back in uproarious laughter.

Every moment of pain is worth it, for her.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling

#karlach x reader #karlach x you #karlach x tav #karlach imagine #bg3 x reader #bg3 fix #request

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cobaltperun · 4 months

Text

Genius (6) - Genius

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next part

Word count: 2.2k

-Won't you tell me all your secrets about how you exploit their weakness, I think you're a fucking genius,-

Cairo sat in her garden, with her legs lifted onto the second chair. She had her eyes closed as the soft wind blew in her face. She was smiling, happier than she’s been in a long time.

She was seen. You were seeing her, the real her, and you were starting to see her trauma as well, all the things she wished she could get over, or tell you about, yet didn’t. She caressed the spine of Jules Verne’s book, she remembered how captivated the two of you were by it, by the simple idea of traveling the world. Of leaving this place and seeing everything, absolutely everything the world had to offer. Would she be able to do it? That was one of her dreams, fulfilling the trip around the world in eighty days, well, she doubted she could see everything in eighty days, but start from one trip around the world and then pick another route.

Would you be willing to go with her? Did you love her? You came after her, you went out to look for her, well so did Winnie. You went back into the forest and brought the roses to her backyard and she opened her eyes to look at them. It’s been one day since you brought the pots and planted them, hoping they would sprout roots.

If a wild rose could be moved, if it could be released from the roots that kept it tied to a place that wouldn’t let it grow and blossom, maybe she could do the same. Was it too late to stop whatever was going on with Miller? Did she already cross a line? Did he have expectations of her right now? She still desired the love he described, that madman’s love that she felt she’s been missing her whole life, but now that she thought about it she thought about your arms around her yesterday, when you finished working with the roses.

Was that her madman’s love? How did you feel about her? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped, and if she wanted to be fought for, she would fight for you as well. She got up, and went inside, heading right for her room where her laptop was. She got comfortable, opened a blank word document and began typing. She put all of her feelings, all of her desires on the page, releasing the feelings she otherwise wasn’t sure how to handle. How would you act if you knew how much she wanted you right now? How much she craved to feel your arms around her again? And in the midst of all of those thoughts she dared to let her mind wander to how your touch would feel on her bare skin. How mad could you drive her? How passionate were you? How about her? She’s never done it, she’s only read about it, how assertive would she be? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out with you.

~X~

You sat in your bedroom, your guitar in your arms as you played the acoustic cover of ‘She is’ by The Fray, you didn’t know why that song came to your mind out of blue, but you knew who you wanted to play it for.

“She is everything I need, that I never knew I wanted,” you sang softly, closing your eyes and pulling the notes and lyrics from memory. How long has it even been since you’ve listened to that song? Yet you still remembered it down to the smallest details.

The shakiness of Cairo’s breath as the two of you hugged, the slightest tremor in her voice, the soft whisper, you couldn’t get it out of your head, any of it. She was intoxicating and it was maddening how much of an affect an innocent night of nothing but reading made you notice all the things you weren’t sure you were meant to notice.

She was your childhood friend. You were trying to rebuild that friendship.

“This is going to bring me to my knees, I just want to hold you close to me,” yet you still sang, still knew full well that your heart was beyond reason, that you could no longer see her as a friend. Your mind demanded control over your feelings, demanded that you stop and reconsider, that you take into consideration how fast this was all going. You haven’t been back home for a month and already you were having a turmoil over your feelings for your childhood best friend.

But your heart overpowered your mind and the thoughts of Cairo brought forth a melody you were hearing for the first time, one coming from your heart, filled with longing, desire, all the emotions you still weren’t sure you should share with Cairo.

Would she accept them? Or would she deny the pull she had on you and demand to stay friends?

“Break me down, shape me into something just for us,” you tried adding lyrics to the tune you were creating.

~X~

The next morning you arrived at school a bit earlier than you were supposed to, you just had a bit too much energy this morning and figured you might as well wait for the classes to start at the school instead of at home. You got off your motorcycle and began taking the protective gear off. The school was close, but, you knew better than to take unnecessary risks on the motorcycle. It doesn’t matter how short the ride is, but if you get into an accident or not, and you can always get into an accident, no matter how careful you are. Not all drivers were as careful and that made protective gear mandatory to you.

“Y/N! Hey,” you heard Winnie yelling and looked behind you to see her and Cairo walking across the parking lot. Knowing them they were going to grab a bite.

“Hey!” you took your helmet off and grinned at her before you turned to Cairo, your grin morphing into a softer smile. “Welcome back, Cairo,” you skipped school on Tuesday, but you went yesterday, unlike her.

“I’d say it’s good to be back, but I’d be lying,” she smiled back, shifting her weight so she was leaning more on her left foot and raising her right knee up a bit for a moment, all the while keeping a hand resting on her hip. She dressed a bit different than what you were used to, thigh highs, a shorter skirt and the sweater she had on hugged her body almost a bit too perfectly and you resorted to imagining rather unappealing things to keep your mind from wandering because no, you were not about to become a horny teenager now. No! You wanted none of those thoughts right now!

No matter how attractive Cairo was regardless of what she was wearing.

“You okay, Y/N?” Winnie almost sang, she knew exactly what was on your mind, or what you were trying to keep from being on your mind and she had no intentions of helping you.

“Yup! Perfectly okay, thanks for asking,” you coughed to cover up a slight crack in your voice. ‘Damn it, Cairo, have mercy,’ you thought when you noticed the smile on Cairo’s lips turning into a small smirk.

“If you say so. It’s totally okay if you aren’t fine, you know?” Winnie reassured you and closed the distance so she could pat you on the back. “Wanna go grab a bite with us?” she offered and there was no way you’d accept. You’d be in for a teasing of your life and you still weren’t entirely sure Cairo dressed up like that for anyone, let alone you.

“I’ll skip, I don’t have the first period off,” which was true as well. Going with Cairo and Winnie would mean skipping class, and you kinda needed to listen to this one, otherwise you’d fail it miserably.

“Aw, and I looked forward to teasing you,” Winnie pouted, as if she was actually that disappointed. Actually, she might be just that disappointed.

“Right, I was really looking forward to that,” you said blankly and then turned your attention back to Cairo. “So, wanna ditch the village with me on Saturday?” you asked, a bit too hopefully for your own taste.

“Of course,” Cairo nodded, she approached you and fixed the collar of your jacket a bit. “I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing,” she admitted, lifting her chin up while you were looking down. Just a few inches separated her lips from yours and you swallowed hard.

“Really?” you managed to speak up, your throat suddenly felt really dry.

“Yeah, I wanted you to take me on a trip, just the two of us,” she admitted, and you nodded.

“I will, I promise you,” you whispered, for a moment forgetting Winnie was even there.

“Ooh, can I come and watch?” Winnie suddenly broke whatever bubble you and Cairo created and you took a step back as Cairo glared at Winnie. The shit-eating grin on Winnie’s face told both of you she deemed the interruption and the potential consequences of it worthy.

You cleared your throat and took a few more steps away from Cairo. “Right, I’ll see you two later,” you waved at them and headed toward the school, unaware of what was about to transpire.

~X~

Cairo watched you go, a small smile on her face gave her away, but then she heard Winnie chuckling and raised an eyebrow. She already had a bad feeling as Winnie approached her with a teasing smile on her face.

“Oh no,” she sighed, not sure what to expect from her best friend. Whatever it was, the mischievous look in her eyes made Cairo more than a little worried.

“Oh, Y/N, I can’t wait for you to take me,” Winnie moaned sensually and pushed her breasts up, her lips parted as she went down a bit only to slowly, with her hips swaying slightly straighten up.

Cairo blushed furiously. “I didn’t say that, and especially not like that,” she looked back toward the direction you went in and felt relief at you not being anywhere in sight. “And take me on a trip, not take me,” she muttered as Winnie smirked at her.

“Mhm,” Winnie didn’t believe her, that was clear and much to Cairo’s horror she got on your motorcycle. “Yes, Y/N, fuck me on your bike! Yes, Baby, get that engine purring!” she was leaning forward, jokingly raising her hips up and winking at Cairo.

“You need to get off her motorcycle!” she pleaded, already embarrassed enough. “And I don’t want that!” even if she did, you were very protective of your motorcycle, there was no way you’d bend her over it and fuck her.

“Maybe, but you thought about it,” Winnie finally got off your motorcycle but the teasing certainly wasn’t over.

“I didn’t,” Cairo denied it a bit too quickly, and maybe the thought did cross her mind, but again, you wouldn’t agree to it, so it didn’t matter. “And weren’t you all for wagyu beef?” she tried to remind Winnie that you weren’t the one she was supposed to seduce, even though she remembered Winnie changed her mind, but she needed something to get Winnie’s mind off you and Cairo fucking on your motorcycle.

Winnie waved her off with a playful scoff. “That’s in the past. You, my Sweet darling, need someone young and owning a bike,” she teased, brushing her fingers over the handles of your motorcycle and then pretending to rev it up. “This bike in particular, just so we’re clear,” she smirked.

Cairo rolled her eyes at that. “Let’s just go and eat,” she hoped the promise of food would make Winnie stop already, seeing as nothing else was working.

“You’re paying this time,” Winnie nudged her.

“Only if you stop teasing me about Y/N,” Cairo felt hopeful, she should have known better.

Winnie looked through her bag and fished out her wallet. “Would you look at that, looks like you’re out of luck.”

This was hell. She had no doubt about that.

~X~

That day after the classes she dropped by the post office and looked around for the mailman assigned to her part of the village, meaning he also delivered to your place as well. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d be willing to do me a favor?” she said with a polite smile and two hundred dollars peaking right for him to see.

“Maybe,” he said slowly and she slid the money and an envelope across the table. “I need you to deliver this, not to the address written on the letter, but to another address instead,” she slipped another paper, this one with your address on it.

What would you do? Wait until Saturday and bring the letter to her at a convenient moment, or would you use the chance to come and see her? She wanted to see if you were as eager to spend time with her as she was to spend it with you. If you felt the madness she felt, or if you could resist it.

She hoped you wouldn’t be able to. She hoped you longed for her as much as she longed for you.

A/N: Well, a short one, but sometimes these happen as well. But, would you look at that, we're halfway done!

Taglist:@deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy

#cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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minisugakoobies · 1 year

Text

Confessions of a Dirty Mind | Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader Genre: smut, and they were roommates!, porn with the barest of plots, a little fluff Rating: M (18+) Warnings: incredibly thirsty pining, reader’s a bit feral for her roommate, the giggles will be deployed as a weapon, reader drops the d word (daddy) in her dirty thoughts but never says it out loud, accidental texts, body worship (abs, thighs, breasts - everything gets praised), love bites/marking, grinding, chan is thick everywhere, chan throws reader around a little, hints at dom!chan, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), facefucking, cum eating, reader is kind of an idiot but that's okay!, I wrote this out of a dire need to s this man’s d Word Count: 6.5K Disclaimers: NSFW; obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me Summary: The absolute last thing you want is for your roommate to find out just how much you want him. Right?

A/N: Well, as threatened promised, I'm writing for Stray Kids now in addition to BTS! This came out of absolutely nowhere last week. I've just got Bang Chan brainrot 24/7 now, so that's cool. Thanks to @minttangerines @bangtanintotheroom @sugalaritae for their support (and amazing Aussie accents!!) 💕

Unbeta'd as usual. Please let me know what you think! Like if you'd like to see more skz fics from me… that would fuel me to keep writing. If everyone hates this I'm quitting writing and moving to the wild to live with the koalas ✌️

Being roommates with your crush is its own special type of torture. Always being so close to what you want but never being able to touch. To taste. To feel.

You weren’t always this feral. Once upon a time, you were normal. Well-adjusted, even. Then you had to move for your job and needed to find a place to stay fast and your best friend Minho just happened to know someone looking for a roommate.

Honestly, looking back, it was too easy. Should’ve known there’d be a catch. And that catch was your sanity.

Because Minho’s friend Bang Chan turned out to be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life.

Listen. A lot of people use phrases like that all the time, “the hottest man you’ve ever seen,” some hyperbole they say for ridiculous effect, but you mean it. You have never seen anyone as beautiful as this man, with his chiseled cheekbones, thick lips, and those dimples.

Fuck. Those dimples. Almost as maddening as the washboard abs he’s constantly showing off. You didn’t know a person could be allergic to shirts until you met Chan.

And now you’re suffering. Every. Damn. Day.

It’s not just that he’s the most gorgeous man on the planet. No, that would be hurtful enough, but he’s also kind. Smart. Silly as hell. You’re constantly plagued by his sweet smiles and unbelievably adorable giggles.

The worst part, though, is the way he can flip between sexy and soft instantaneously. Like when the two of you argue over something stupid. All of your arguments are fundamentally stupid. The two of you get on so fucking well, the only things you argue over are opinions on pointless things. Like last night, when you’d joined him for a beer while he watched tv.

“You’re out of your mind,” Chan had declared, twisting sideways on the couch to look at you. “There’s no way a koala could possibly defeat a kangaroo in a cage match!”

“Sure it could.”

“No, it could not!” Chan let loose a flurry of high-pitched giggles. “Have you ever seen a kangaroo? Those things are ripped! One kick or punch, and the koala’s out.” He mimed a powerful punch.

You tipped back the remainder of your beer before pointing the bottle at him. “Yes it could! Think about it - what do koalas do?” When he just blinked, you continued. “They climb! And what do koalas usually have?” Again, a blank stare. “Syphilis! So… think about it! All that little guy has to do is climb up the kangaroo, give him some germs, and boom! Kangaroo goes down.” You grin smugly. “There’s a reason they call syphilis the silent killer.”

Chan fixed you with his signature Look™, the one you think of as “stern dom daddy” - thick eyebrows drawn, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, dark eyes scanning your face - and you felt your knees go weak. Then he blinded you with the full sunshiny force of his smile, eyes closing, dimples popping.

“That is an absolutely insane argument, not to mention completely incorrect. I don’t even know where to start explaining why you’re wrong.” He paused. “No, actually, let’s start with the fact that it’s chlamydia, not syphilis, that koalas get, and go from there.” By the time he’d finished and you’d finally conceded that a kangaroo would probably win, the two of you were nearly in tears from laughing.

His duality is whiplash-inducing. And always leaves you in ruins.

So when your feelings overwhelm you, when you feel like you’re absolutely bursting at the seams with need, you do what you always do. Torture Minho.

Your bff is used to you venting to him about your crippling inability to make a move. On anyone. Ever. Over the years, he’s weathered dozens of crushes that never went anywhere because while you’re definitely a total treasure, you lack the confidence to make any of your (usually horny) dreams come true. He’s come to expect the endless text messages you send.

Except that now, “messages” might not be the right word for them. “Unhinged ravings” might be more accurate.

Ughhhh he’s so damn fine Today he came home from the gym all sweaty and I nearly offered to give him a bath With my tongue. My TONGUE Minho!

Like he’s always done, Minho bears it all in stride with his usual unwavering compassion.

You’re a lunatic

He doesn’t even try to convince you to say something to Chan about your feelings anymore. Now he just waits for you to exhaust yourself and then he changes the subject. Usually by sending photos of his cats.

It’s an odd friendship, but neither of you would trade it for anything.

At the moment, you’re ignoring your pain by lying on your bed, in a tee and sweats, watching a movie on your laptop. You can hear your roommate rummaging around his room. Your apartment features a Jack and Jill bathroom, so it’s easy for you to hear what’s going on next door through the adjoining space.

“Channie, why are you pacing around?” you call out.

Your phone buzzes.

Trying to find my shirt

“Are you seriously texting me from the next room?” Pausing your movie, you trudge through the bathroom. The door to Chan’s room is open so you don’t bother to knock, flopping down on his bed as he digs through his closet. He’s shirtless as usual, blond curls shaking with the force of his rummaging.

“Yeah, sorry, ‘m in a hurry and didn’t want to stop looking,” Chan admits sheepishly, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you. You ignore the fluttering in your stomach and get comfortable, resting your head on your arms.

“You could’ve just said it out loud. I can hear you all over this apartment.” It’s not a big space. Which only amplifies your angst, as it’s hard to escape from your desires when the source of it is just constantly right there. Sprawling out on the tiny couch in the living room. Making himself a midnight snack in the kitchen. Lounging on your bed while you sit at your desk, trying not to stare at his reflection on your screen. “What shirt are you looking for?”

“My tiger tank.”

You know the shirt he’s speaking of - his white tank top with an embroidered tiger’s head on the chest. It’s a favorite of yours, cut low enough on the sides and in the front to show off his biceps and pecs at the same time. The first time you’d seen Chan in it, Minho had accused you of being a vampire because you couldn’t stop talking about how much you wanted to nibble on his collarbones.

“Ah! Found it!” Chan raises the shirt over his head victoriously before yanking it on. He takes a moment to inspect himself in his mirror and you wonder if he truly recognizes just how stunning he is. He catches your eye in the reflection. “What are you up to tonight? Wanna come out with me, ‘Lix, & ‘Bin? We’re gonna get some drinks.”

Sure, you’d love to hang out at the bar with Chan and his friends. They’re always a good time. Except when closing time arrives and once again you’re forced to bear witness to your roommate getting hit on by basically every woman in the bar. Not that you can blame them. But it’s especially awful on the nights when he leaves with someone else. You’d rather not deal with that tonight.

“Nah, I’m just gonna relax. But thanks.”

“Come on,” he wheedles, plopping down on the bed, hard enough to make you bounce a little. “You haven’t been out with us in ages. Is it the guys? Did one of them say something stupid?”

“They always say stupid shit. That’s all they ever say,” you crack, smiling when Chan laughs. “But no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just tired.”

Chan doesn’t say anything, just looks at you for a moment. The silence makes you inexplicably nervous, and you fiddle with his comforter for want of something to do with your hands. But then he just nods. “‘Kay. But if you change your mind, we’ll be down at Back Door.”

“Thanks.”

Chan heads into the bathroom to play with his hair. You slip past him, back into your room, throwing yourself dramatically onto your bed and burying your face in a plush pillow. How much longer can you stand this?

You grab your phone.

I’m losing my mind

You can practically hear the sigh in Minho’s voice as you read his response.

What did Chan do now?

He’s getting ready to go out with Felix and Changbin He looks so fucking good in those tight jeans

Minho doesn’t reply. He knows to just let you get it out of your system before responding.

My mouth is literally watering It’s a Pavlovian response at this point I see denim and I start salivating

A text alert pops up in the middle of your thirsty ranting.

Hey do you mind if I borrow your eyeliner?

“Stop texting me when you’re 10 feet away!” you yell, laughing. Chan pops his head out of the bathroom and flashes you that grin, the one that turns your insides to goo, and you sigh. “Of course you can borrow it, you know you can.”

Thanks

“Chan!”

His giggles float through the door and your thumbs fly.

Seriously If Chan doesn’t let me s his d one of these days I will die I will be the first person to die from ineedtosuckadick-itis

There’s a loud clattering in the bathroom, like someone’s knocked half the contents of the crowded sink counter onto the floor. Your makeup isn't cheap, so you hop up off your bed.

“You okay in there?” The first thing you notice is the pile of smashed cosmetics on the ground. The second thing is the way your roommate is staring at you, eyes wide, sharpened kohl liner still clutched in one hand, phone in the other. “What? What’s wrong?”

Chan doesn’t speak, but raises his phone and kind of waves it limply.

Oh god. You were in the wrong chat. You were in the wrong chat and now Chan knows you want to suck his dick. You’ve been texting for most of your life and this is the moment your brain decides to fuck up?!

As Chan continues to stare, you realize you have two choices: fess up and own it, or play dumb.

It’s no choice.

“What, uhhhhhhh, what’s up?”

Chan gestures to his phone. “You want to suck my dick?” He says the words as if they’re unfamiliar to him, like he’s trying them out for the first time.

Well, shit, how are you supposed to play dumb if he’s just going to call you right out?

“Guess the cat’s out of the horny bag now,” you mutter under your breath.

Chan cocks his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” you cough, looking at your own phone. “I mean, uh, noooo, what? Minho and I were just, um, talking about how I want to, uh, sssssss…” you glance wildly around the cramped room, hissing like a frantic snake as you fail to come up with another word that starts with s, before your eyes land on an empty glass sitting by the sink. “…Share a drink with you? Because I’m… thirsty?”

“You’re thirsty?”

Fucking understatement.

You can’t quite read the expression on Chan’s face as he glances between you and his phone. There’s a flash of dom daddy in there and then it’s gone.

“YN. I know what ‘s his d’ means. Also, you said you had - what did you call it? Ineedtosuckadickitis.” You think Chan’s lips quirk slightly as he reminds you of your textual idiocy, but you’re too busy trying to psychically rip a hole in the floor so you can disappear forever to be certain. “Where do you get your medical info, by the way? I’m starting to worry.”

He’s making light of the situation, which you would appreciate more if you weren’t sure you’re about to die from embarrassment. Your mind is reeling. There’s no way to get out of this. Any second now, he’s gonna realize how you feel. Then he’s gonna let you down. Gently, you hope. Then you’re gonna need to find a new place to live, because there’s no recovering from this.

“Fine.” You take a deep breath. “Yes, I said it.” Unable to look him in the eye, you focus on your phone as you speak. “I was telling Minho how much I want to suck your dick, because I’m a disgusting horny monster who can’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go pack up my room now.” Shoulders slumping, you slink away, hoping he won’t follow.

He does. “Wait, what?”

You don’t answer, heading directly for your closet, tugging at your suitcase where it lies on a shelf, and he crowds into your space, arms reaching out to stop you.

“Oi, slow down! What are you doing?”

“I’ll try to be out quickly, so you can find a new roommate right away.” You keep pulling on the suitcase, but it’s futile. He barely has to exert any strength to push it back, so you give up.

“YN.” Chan places his hands on your shoulders, turning you around. It’s probably the closest you’ve ever been, standing face to face like this, and the nearness of him is a little dizzying. “Back up. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just talk to me.” He lightly guides you over to your bed, taking a seat next to you. “Why do you think I’d want you to leave?”

“Because I'm a gross little gremlin who can’t stop objectifying you?” you answer honestly.

Chan’s eyes widen before he bursts into laughter. “You know, you’ve said a lot of bonkers things in the months you’ve been living here, but… how does wanting to suck my dick make you a ‘gross little gremlin?’”

Oh no. You can feel it bubbling up inside you, all the things you’ve felt. All the things you’ve said. Oh, you’re going to tell him, aren’t you?

“It’s not just sucking your dick.” Grabbing your phone, you open your chat with Minho again, and begin to read. “‘I need Chan to destroy me. Fully. Like I’m a piece of wood and he’s a lumberjack. Just split me in half. With his hands or his dick, I’m not picky.’” Your entire body radiates with humiliation. You’re a tiny sun made of molecules of mortification, on the verge of going supernova. “Um. That’s one example. And there’s more. A lot more.”

And then you hand him your phone, looking away as he starts to scroll.

You stare at the wall, not wanting to see the expression on his face. Until the quiet gets to you, and you give in, peering at him, expecting to find him frozen again, or worse, looking sickened by your words.

Instead you find him smiling. And then he starts to giggle.

“‘I’m going feral,” he reads. “‘He’s wearing that beanie again. I- ’” His laughing gets louder as he struggles to finish the thought. “‘I want him to wear me instead.’” He glances up at you, eyes glimmering with way too much amusement. “What does that even mean?!”

You groan, yanking your shirt up to cover your face. “Chan, stop!” He merely laughs harder. How can he be enjoying this? You’ve never known him to be cruel. “I get it, I’m awful, you don’t have to laugh!”

But he keeps chuckling, and then you feel his hands on your hips. Like a bewildered turtle, you poke your head out of your shirt, and he just smiles.

“C’mere.” He keeps tugging at you until you scoot closer, swinging your legs over his lap, and pulls you in for a hug.

It’s better than you ever imagined. His strong arms lock around your waist, keeping you in place as his chest continues to rumble with his apparently endless mirth. Tentatively, you let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, afraid that if you cling too tightly, he’ll let go.

Chan leans back to grin at you. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You’re so fucking confused. “I am?”

“Yeah.” His fingers rub light circles into your lower back. The sensation is somehow both soothing and invigorating, sending sparks directly to the heat already simmering in your gut. “Just adorable.”

You’re not adorable, you’re a dirty little freak whose mind is constantly churning out trash, but if that’s what he wants to believe, you’ll take it.

“You’re not disturbed by all the things I’ve said?”

“Disturbed? Nah. I’m used to the crazy shit you say.” He’s got a point. You do say a lot of crazy shit. Just not usually about him to him. “Besides, d’you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something?”

“About your dick??”

Chan tosses his head back, jostling you with his laughter. “No, you maniac, just something in general! Something to tell me that you like me.” When he meets your gaze again, you’re met with that Look™, and this time those sparks head straight for your cunt. “That you want me. Because…”

He trails off, hands gripping your sides, shifting you. Until you feel it. Poking directly into your thigh.

“Oh!”

“Yeah. Oh.” Chan licks his lips. When did his eyes get so dark? “Because I want you too, you absolute fruit loop. Took me a minute to get my bearings, wasn’t expecting you to confess it in a text like that, or with those exact words, but…” He smirks. “I’m good now.”

His thumb traces your jawline before he cups your chin. The gentle touch sends shivers rippling through you. His eyes drop to your lips.

“You good?”

Funnily enough, somehow, you are.

“Yeah. I’m good,” you whisper, tipping forward to close the space between you.

Amazingly, despite the unyielding need to just yeet yourself onto him, you manage to hold back, simply leaning in to the kiss instead. Those plush lips that you’ve raved about feel unbelievable as they caress yours. So soft and tender, like the warmth spreading through you as he tightens his hold. Then he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and you moan, loud and wanton, unable to control the sound, and he drops his hands to your hips again, gripping insistently.

“C’mere,” he commands again, voice husky as his fingers hook into your sweats. “Come closer.” He exhales heavily. “Please.”

Please? He has no idea how little he needs to beg right now. As if you’re not dying to get as close as you can! In the blink of an eye, you throw your leg over his, straddling him. His hands wrap around you again, like he can’t stand not having them on you for a second. You understand the feeling.

You’re bolder now with your kisses, nipping and licking eagerly. A particularly sharp bite on his pouty lip makes him gasp in surprise, and you press your tongue into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut in sheer ecstasy when he sucks in response. The incessant throbbing of your clit is slightly relieved when Chan’s hips buck upwards, pushing his erection against you more firmly. He swallows your whines, breathes them back out in the form of his own groans.

The need for air eventually overwhelms you after a few minutes, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away from his face.

“Aren’t you going to be late?” you pant, marveling at how red and swollen Chan’s lips are from kissing. The urge to dive back in before you’ve gotten enough oxygen into your system to keep from passing out is strong. “To meet the guys?”

“You really think I’m gonna leave now?” Chan huffs a laugh as he gazes at you from beneath lowered eyelids, looking as dazed as you feel, and you realize, shit, Minho’s right, you are a vampire, and you’re about to eat this man alive. “Fuck no. Besides, what kind of terrible roommate would I be if I left you at death’s door?”

“If you - what?”

More high-pitched giggles fill the room. How can he be so cute while actively grinding his cock against you like this? “Your disease. Remember? Ineedadickitis.”

“I need to suck a dick,” you correct him.

“Oh, do you? Well, go on then.” He cracks up completely, bouncing you with the force of his laughter as you sit there dumbly for half a second before snapping to.

“You’re so stupid, oh my god!” With a howl, you push him away. He goes easily, until he’s lying on his back on your bed, still cackling while he swats away your fake punches. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His fingers lock around your wrists and with a gentle jerk you’re lying on top of him, your arms pinned between you. Before you can try to pretend that he’s wrong, try to mount yet another one of your dumb arguments, despite knowing full well that he's right, he kisses you again.

As soon as he releases your hands, you tangle them in his hair. His hands trace down your back to grab the swell of your ass, crushing you flat against him, chest to chest. He suddenly breaks off the kiss.

“Are you not wearing a bra?”

You shake your head and he groans, sitting up, taking you with him. His fingers curl in the hem of your top, twisting it upwards.

“Shirt off. Now.” His voice drops an octave and you shudder, quickly obeying his order. Then you grip his tank top.

“You too.”

He reaches behind his head to peel the fabric off, tossing it on the floor. Then he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows as you openly gawk at his stomach.

“Fuck.” He’s transfixed by your chest.

“Jesus.” You’re mesmerized. From this close, you can see a faint trail of fine hair that runs down, cutting through the carved lines of his abs, like an arrow pointing to your desired destination. “Unreal.”

“You can touch, if you’d like,” Chan grins up at you, obviously enjoying your reaction.

You roll your eyes but do anyway, dragging your fingertips over his abs. His stomach twitches beneath your touch. Before you can get too far, he wiggles his hips, playfully jostling you out of your concentration.

“Can I touch, too?”

“Jesus, yes, of course!” Grabbing his hands, you place one on each breast. “Touch me already!”

He doesn’t waste any time, rolling your nipples between his fingers, waking the buds. You arch into him, his abs forgotten as he leans forward to take your left breast in his mouth.

“Shit, Channie,” you whimper, combing his hair out of his face so you can watch him suckle away. He hums into you, swirling his tongue over your nipple, around and around, before dragging his tongue across to the other breast.

“You like that, baby?” he asks, covering your chest with kisses.

Baby? Did he really just call you baby? Is this really happening, or did you slip into one of your daydreams again?

Nope, the hard dick rolling into the apex of your thighs as you grind down on him feels pretty real. You can’t help but moan, wondering what he looks like under those tight jeans. Is he as thick as you imagine?

Wait, why are you still trying to imagine anything? He’s literally underneath you right now.

Your hand splays on his torso as you guide him onto his back again. Slowly, you lower yourself over him, and drag your mouth down his neck. Clearly, you’d interrupted his going out routine earlier, because he’s not wearing his normal cologne right now. Instead, the heady scent you inhale as you stick your nose into the hollow of his clavicles is pure Chan, musky and comforting.

“Ah, that tickles!” he hisses.

“Sorry.” You press a heavy kiss to his collarbone. “Is that better?” He nods, right before you sink your teeth in.

“Nnngh!” He lets out a throaty groan as you happily suck a love bite into his delicate skin. God, the noises this man makes! You want to record them and play them on a loop.

You slip further down, dragging your fingernails over one of Chan’s nipples, watching his face for his reaction. A tiny “oh!” escapes him, and you repeat the motion, grinning when his back lifts off the bed. Sensitive. This is going to be fun.

Chan raises his head when you start to kiss his abs, taking the time to lick along the ridges as you go, the salty tang of his sweat lingering on your lips. When your hands play with the skin above his waistband, he clears his throat. “You know, you don’t have to do this, just because of that text.”

“Are you kidding me?” You pause with your fingers on the button of his fly. “You want me to stop now?”

“I just don’t want you to think I expect anything.” Although his voice is a little shaky, like he’s trying to calm himself down, you hear the sincerity in his words. The sweetness. That warmth inside you roars into a flame.

“Channie. I want this. Do you want this?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Thank god,” you sigh, unzipping his fly. He helps you peel off his tight jeans and you make quick work of his silk boxers beneath. Nudging his legs apart, you kneel between them

For a moment just you stare at the sight in front of you. You were right. He’s thick. Maybe a little longer than most of the dicks you’ve been happy to be acquainted with, maybe not, but definitely thicker.

You want to sit on him so bad. But first you want to please him, want to taste him. So much want.

While you’re dicknotized, Chan stuffs your pillows under his head so he can have a better angle. You glance at his face and find him biting his lip, eyes looking a little desperate. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you.

Might as well put him out of his misery. With a lick of your palm, you wrap your hand around him, and pump a few shallow strokes. He grunts at the sudden slickness, abdomen jumping slightly.

“Ah, baby, just like that,” he says, eyes closing when you roll your thumb over the tip a few times. “Shit.”

Your tongue darts out to follow, dipping around the head and back over, before you take it into your mouth. Just the tip, bobbing off, then a little more, then again. Each time you sink lower, he sighs.

“Fuck, that feels so good. Keep going, take it all in.”

Oh god, is he a talker? You’re already impossibly wet. You can’t possibly handle getting any more aroused.

While your mouth is occupied, you lift your leg so you’re straddling one of Chan’s, resting a palm on his big thigh. You have obsessed over his thighs since the day you moved in. You refer to them as “the thunder from down under” in your texts to Minho. And here they are now, so strong and sturdy beneath you. Wild.

Chan hisses when you deepthroat him, brushing your nose against his pelvis. Even though you pride yourself on your dick-sucking skills, you can’t help but choke slightly. More saliva floods into your mouth, and you swallow around him.

“Oh, shit!” His hips rise up a little. You use both hands, one trying to hold him down by his hip while the other strokes in tandem with your mouth. There’s drool everywhere, and the sounds the wetness makes sounds lewd even for porn. “Baby, this mouth of yours! Feels better than I ever imagined.”

Air rushes into your lungs as you pull off, replacing your mouth with your other hand. “You thought about this?” He fantasized about you, too?

“Oh fuck yeah,” he growls. “All the time. Thought those pretty lips would look so good choking on me, and I was right.” He thrusts a little, rocking his dick up into your slippery grip. “Used to dream about fucking it.”

You moan so brokenly, he looks at you in concern.

“Please,” you lick his darkened head almost frantically, “do it.”

Chan studies you for a moment, brows knitting together, before he pushes your head down.

“That’s it, go down for me,” he directs you, and you listen. “Just stay there. Let me do the work now.”

He starts slowly, tilting his pelvis a little, fucking up into your waiting mouth. Then he cants his hips a little faster. His breathing gets heavier the harder he thrusts. Once he finds a steady rhythm, he lays his hand on the back of your head keeping you exactly where he wants you.

You squirm restlessly as Chan fucks your throat. Having your roommate use your mouth as a sex toy is incredibly hot. Finally, you slide your hand into your sweats to give yourself some relief. Your clit is engorged, practically beating like a heart between your fingers. You let out a pleased moan, vibrating down Chan’s cock.

“Do that again, baby.”

You’re not denying this man anything. Again and again, you make him curse as your hums resonate across his sensitive skin. He trembles a little, and it’s intoxicating to think that you might be breaking down this big, strong roommate of yours, reducing him to a quivering mess.

At the very least, it’s something to aim for.

Chan praises you again. “God damn it, that’s good. Gonna make me cum with that pretty mouth.”

You suck and swallow and moan and rub yourself, feeling Chan’s thigh flex beneath you, and it hits you what he said, that you’re about to get Chan off, you, so you reach out, raking your hand up the inside of his thigh until you find his balls, squeezing gently.

“I’m gonna cum, shit, ’m gonna cum,” he moans, words slurring together. “Where, baby?”

You stop touching yourself so you can grip the hand of his that rests on your head. He gets the point, pace not slowing, and with a few more powerful pumps, and some stuttered exhalations, he fills your mouth. You take it all, swallowing noisily and gasping for breath once he pulls out.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He laughs as he says it. Your shoulders shake as you half-laugh, half-wheeze, slumping over on Chan’s thigh.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grins. “And I’m guessing from the sounds you were making, you enjoyed that as well? Just maybe not quite as much as me?”

You shrug. “I got what I wanted.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe, but I bet you’d like more, hmm?” Without waiting for a response, he swiftly flips you onto your back. Just hauls you right over like you’re made of feathers. A rash of ridiculously giddy giggles burst past your lips, but they die away when he crawls up your body, the power of his gaze pinning you in place, and drops hungry lips onto yours.

Immediately, you surge up into him, pressing as close as you can. Both of you are glistening with sweat, his hair sticking to his face and yours as he licks into your mouth, hot and wet. You’re drowning in him. It’s everything you ever wanted. How the fuck can you possibly want more? But you do, and this feeling makes itself known as you start to whimper needily.

Chan’s hand quickly locates your breast, tenderly cupping your flesh. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are? So pretty.”

You preen at his words, humming contentedly. Fuck. Do you have a praise kink, or is it just that Chan’s the one saying these words that is getting you more worked up? You roll your hips, seeking friction, and Chan’s hand slides downward until he reaches where you need him.

“Oh, baby, so wet,” he says, voice hushed, almost reverent. “Just dying to be touched, yeah? Let me help you.”

With sure movements, lithe fingers stroke along your lips, opening you up. Fingertips squeeze your clit, playing with the aching pearl, causing you to squeal, and you could die, having made such a sound, except you’ve clearly already died and gone to heaven.

Even as his hand rubs, his lips never leave yours. You thrash in his grip when he slides a finger inside you, finding your g-spot with surprising quickness and pressing the fuck out of it, and he still chases your mouth, covering your chin in kisses. Your legs kick out as he alternates between fondling your clit and stroking your walls, until he suddenly stops, pulling his fingers out so he can rid you of your sweats.

“You still with me?” he asks, kneeling between your legs, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, sucking in air like a fish. You must be a mess, if your appearance matches how you feel. But you’re also excruciatingly aroused and frustrated, so close to coming that you’re ready to blow.

“Yes. I’m here, I’m good.”

“Good.” The Look™️ is back. He grabs your legs and bends them, pushing your thighs into your torso. “Here. Be a good girl and hold these.”

Yes, daddy. You bite your tongue to keep from screaming the words, and grasp your legs behind your knees, pulling them to the side as much as you can, opening you up wide.

“Yes, Channie.”

He smiles at that, eyes so dark you can almost see yourself. “So good for me. Hold tight, baby.”

He sticks out his tongue, eyebrows cocking as he dives down, tracing your folds lightly before flattening the pink muscle and dragging it heavily upwards. You keen as his hot mouth suctions onto your clit. He rolls your clit around with his tongue before flicking it in a quick motion, over and over.

“Jesus!” You’re a live wire, muscles jolting and twitching. As he continues working over the tiny bundle of nerves, his fingers slip inside you again, two this time, scissoring you apart, making room for his tongue.

You gasp as he plunges inside, tracing your inner walls. He’s so loud, the noises his mouth makes as he sucks and laps, and messy, too, slick dripping from his chin when he lifts his face, making sure you’re watching him. Of fucking course you’re watching him. There’s literally nothing else in the world you’d rather be looking at right now than Bang Chan, the hottest man in the galaxy, devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal.

“Tastes so good,” he rasps, turning his face to press sloppy kisses to your inner thigh. “Think you can hold out a little longer? Let me enjoy, yeah?”

At this point, you’re a fucking tinderbox, one spark and you’ll explode, but sure, why not let the man enjoy himself a little more?

“O-okay,” you stutter weakly. “I’ll… try.” You bite your lip. “But maybe…”

Chan brushes his lips over your slit. With a shaky hand, you let your left leg go so you can reach out, brushing some damp locks off his forehead, and he looks at you.

“Maybe a little slower?” you ask.

He smiles, nodding a little. “Got ya.”

Instead of pulling your hand back, you thread your fingers into his hair, and he hums, burying his face again. Only now, his tongue rolls slowly over your cunt, languidly, each pass taking longer and longer. He still keeps the pressure up, makes sure he’s pushing just as firmly against your sensitive folds, still fucks his tongue into you just as deeply as he was before, but now his movements aren’t so frenzied. They feel purposeful, like he’s intent on savoring the moment.

And you realize you should, too. So you barely blink as you observe everything he does - every kiss, every groan, every time his eyes close. You try to commit it all to memory, so you can relive this moment over and over again. In case this is it.

Chan keeps humming, not so much a melody as just wordless sounds, getting louder when your thighs start to squeeze a little. Your hand grips the roots of his hair, not so much guiding him as hanging on. Until he takes your clit in his mouth again, and you cry out, holding him in place.

“Right there, Channie, please!” Your voice breaks as you beg him not to stop. He doesn’t let up, not even when you release your death grip on your right leg, letting it fall over his shoulder like the other one. You dig your fingers into the blanket beneath you, fisting the material. “Fuck, just like that!”

Your hips rise off the bed as you start to hump his face, grinding harder and harder. Chan slides his fingers back into your already clenching hole and finds your g-spot again. You wail helplessly, mind already going, body not far behind, as your muscles start to contract, everything tightening -

“Fuuuuck!”

With a loud groan, you come all over Chan’s face. He keeps tonguing your clit through your orgasm, but has to use his hands to hold your thighs open so he doesn’t asphyxiate. You tug at his hair, riding out the waves of bliss on his mouth.

When you finally relinquish your grasp on his head, he stops. He slides your legs from his arms, then sits back on his heels to examine his handiwork.

You’re a limp noodle. No bones. No muscles. Couldn’t move if you tried. Your climax completely wiped you out, leaving nothing behind. But you’re a very happy noodle, practically purring as you smile at the ceiling.

Chan, on the other hand. Chan appears to be ready for the next round. A point made obvious by the massive erection he’s again sporting. You blink at him a few times.

“I’m going to need a minute.”

He laughs, draping himself over you, arm slung over your stomach, head on your shoulder. “Nah mate, you’re done.”

A rather petulant whine bubbles up from deep within you. “Nooo, I’m good, I’m good!”

You try to reach for his dick, but he catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Which is a surprisingly sweet move, but not what you want right now. It’s not that you don’t want to cuddle with him - if he asked, you’d wrap yourself like a blanket around him and snuggle him for hours.

It’s that you’re not ready for this moment to be over.

“Relax,” he laughs. “Plenty of time for that later. Just rest for a bit.”

“Later?" There’s gonna be a later?

Chan kisses your neck lightly. “Yeah, later. Not done with you yet, baby.”

You sigh, bringing a hand up to stroke his back. Okay. Maybe a little nap is fine. If there’s going to be a later.

Fuck, you can’t wait to text Minho.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

I don't feel right tagging my usual tl since that was for my BTS writing, so I'm just gonna tag some moots that I think might like this:

@moni-logues @yoongimingyu @borahae-k @nabiolive @jikooknoona @sowoozoo-7 @eoieopda @here4btsfics @candlewaxandp0lar0ids @ballelino @starlostjimin @augustbutwinter @blueversaillesdreams @hobivore @hobi-gif @seokjinger-ale @hannahbee12719 feel free to tell me if I'm way off base, no pressure to actually read! 💕

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #fic: coadm #bang chan fanfic

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biteofcherry · 4 months

Note

Curtis + being obsessed with your soft bits (belly, thighs, tiddies, dat ass)* 🤌🏻

*This is a headcanon I have for him that will not vacate my brain 😵‍💫

You've learned some time ago that no sounds would deter Curtis, whether you whined, cried, or protested that it was all to much.

If anything it only spurred him on.

Or maybe it really was your body, which Curtis claimed to drive him crazy ever since he took you that one cold night as you quietly lingered by the fire.

At first you thought it to be his way of conquering the front of the train in all ways, including claiming your body. But he was never cruel, never punished you for the fact you lived in different conditions than him before the train crashed.

He was simply obsessed with your body.

And he proved it, spending long hours mapping out and marking each part of you. Most of all, the softest parts of you.

Your slick was trickling down the curve of your ass, leaving a wet stain on the layers of linen and coats he had you spread on, by the time he was done mouthing at your thick thighs and the curve of your lower belly.

That was even before he fed himself with your cunt like a starved man, making you scream your release and the echo of it bounce through the hollow of the caves.

He sucked hickeys all over your belly and the underside of your breasts; his mouth raining kisses, licks and bites, puffs of hot groans against your skin, while his fingers spread your folds and readied you for his monstrous cock.

Curtis spent maddening amounts of times sucking on your breasts and burying his face in them as he urged you to relax for three of his fingers stretching your pussy.

Those digits, sticky with your juices, would explore your curves then. Gripping and pinching, marveling in your softness.

So often Curtis would rut his cock into your thigh, or between your squeezed breasts. Most of the time, however, he groaned filthy reverence about your body being perfectly cushioned to handle the rough brunt of him.

He ordered you to wrap your legs around his hips as he sank his cock into you, delighted in the heat of your body encompassing him whole.

He pinned your wrists down beside your head, lifting his own head enough to watch your breasts bounce with each thrust.

Then he would bury his face in the crook of your neck, fucking into you so deep and wild the array of stars bursting beneath your eyelids seemed endless. And he'd murmur how he could wait, couldn't wait... how your body was perfect for it...

Curtis Everett Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#stargazingfangirl18 #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett smut #curtis everett imagine #lazy sinday drabble

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johnwickb1tsch · 6 months

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 30 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-The next night he surprises you, when after dinner and your nightly glass of wine, he jingles his keys at you. “Still want to go for a ride?”

He’s been different, since the sketchbook incident. Despondent, and quiet. At first you thought maybe he was just hungover, but it lingers, and you sense something is on the horizon.

Good or bad, you cannot say.

Desperate to go outside and thinking that driving the car can only improve his mood, you agree.

He locks your door, of course, giving you a pointed look of fuck around and find out as you settle into the seat beside him. You simply bat your eyelashes innocently, winning a begrudging little laugh.

Jumping from a moving car doesn’t exactly appeal to you, anyways.

The loud grumble of the engine as he starts the car is a tactile experience, something you feel in your bones as surely as your ears. He smiles a little as your lips form an “O” of surprise.

You hate to say it, but once you hit the roads with The Black Keys on the radio, the windows down in the summer night, thoughts of watching for an opportunity to escape completely slip your mind. Riding in a fast car down the star-lit mountain highway is bliss, and you hold his hand between shifting gears.

You are surprised when he pulls to a stop at the very mountain outlook where he brought you on your birthday. The river in the valley is a ribbon of quicksilver in the moonlight. Before you can even think to try your door he grabs you up with a hand in your hair and his lips on yours.

You make out like teenagers in the front seat, and it is as sweet as it is maddening. Your own body has begun to forget that you need a full week of rest, his tongue in your mouth and his strong hands on your body inspiring that unhelpful ache between your legs. By the time he is finished with you, he has dragged you into the driver’s seat with him, and you are starry eyed and panting, your hair wild and your lips swollen from the fury of his kisses. He seems to like looking at you in this state, his mood completely elevated by the time he starts the car and drives you home.

He holds you close that night, and you find an insane part of you wishes he would try to debauch you again, just a little bit.

-Yet as your week of reprieve starts to draw to a close, you cannot help but dread it. It is like you are living with a ticking clock in your brain. Maybe John was kind enough to put his beast back in a box for you…but you’re certain the darkness of his was only momentarily slaked, not slain.

It will wake again.

On the eighth day he wakes you with sweet kisses on your cheek and neck, and you think to yourself, here we go.

But he just asks what you would like for breakfast, and slips out of bed.

You can hardly believe it happened.

Later, while you are in the shower he slips in behind you silent as a wraith, making you jump a foot when he touches your waist.

“Jesus Christ you scared me!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though you can tell he’s really not at all, as he ducks his head to kiss you with a little smile. You start to tremble as you wonder what new ways he’s thought up to torture you in the interim. His soapy hands all over your body are a marvel, somehow both soothing and agitating all at once. By the feeling of his erection pressed into the curve of your spine, you can tell he’s not unaffected, but he does not try to further seduce you or take what he wants, just kissing you before exiting the shower.

Standing under the warm stream of the rain head, somehow he leaves you feeling cold and alone.

You wonder what new game this is, hardly believing he’ll actually leave the choice up to you.

It goes on like this for days, and you are constantly on edge, waiting to be devoured every time he touches you.

This is almost as exhausting as being caught up and fucked properly.

As it goes on you are eventually living in agony again, existing in a state of constant, always present, red-thrumming arousal that begins to eat away at your sanity.

This diabolical man will be the death of you.

In the end it is you who cannot stand it anymore, and you know it is a victory for him but goddammit you are only a woman made of flesh and blood.

After lunch you are snuggling together, laying down on the couch. He is reading to you, but you're barely listening. You are distracted by his feet, which are bare, and elegant, and ridiculously large compared to yours. You can't stop stroking them with your little pink painted toes.

If he is moved by this, he makes very little sign, though once in a while he punctuates his sentences with a slight smile you find absolutely maddening.

You interrupt him mid-page with a kiss on his neck. He stops dead to look down at you, a question in his soft brown eyes.

You kiss him again in answer, this time on the mouth, and John Wick might be a lover of books, but just this once he disrespects one with abandon, throwing it in the general direction of the coffee table.

It bounces before hitting the floor, dead on arrival.

You don’t care, because his mouth is on yours, and his hand is sliding up your ribcage to cup your breast in your pretty designer sundress, and you want him so much that you have ceased to care if it is wrong or right or somewhere in the gray.

When he so-generously slips a sinewy thigh between yours you grind on him like a cat in heat, hardly recognizing the sound that falls from your mouth.

It is quickly devoured by his lips again, and then his nipping teeth make their way down your jawline, to the soft curve of your neck.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he groans against your skin, and you wonder what price you’ll have to pay for it later when you answer:

“I missed you too.”

He pulls back to look at you with something like wonder in his shining dark eyes; the tender way he cradles the side of your face in his big hand tangles your heartstrings up in painful knots. But before either of you can ruin it with more words he is on you once more, claiming you with another probing kiss that curls your toes. He frees your breasts by undoing the buttons at the front of your dress, and it was not without some personal machination that you decided that morning not to wear a bra. His clever tongue on your nipples is your reward, and you whimper as he teases your tight buds.

You are nothing less than relieved, when his hand disappears beneath your skirt, running up the inside of your thigh to impatiently push aside your panties.

When he finds you soaking wet he growls into your mouth, circling your clit with slick-soaked fingers. You whimper in answer, clinging to him in your need, pulling at his shirt ineffectually. With those expert fingers dipping inside you and toying with your bud he brings you higher and higher, before pulling away. You scream a little, knowing you sound feral, and beyond caring about it too.

It makes him smile, a wolfish curl of lips that lets you know you’re about to be devoured.

“My fierce little kitten. Do you need me, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer, somewhat begrudgingly now. You are hoping against hope that he’s not going to play games with you today. That maybe you can just…be together, for once, without all the rest of this man’s dark baggage weighing you down.

He pulls his shirt over his head, and like always you seem to lose time staring at him, so taken by the sight of his broad chest and bare arms, scarred and tattooed as they are.

“You still like what you see?” he asks, with a surprising note of vulnerability.

“Yes.” You run your hands over his pecs, up the column of his neck to stroke the soft hair behind his ear, and his eyes slide closed. He doesn’t even make you call him Sir...and you hope this is promising.

You watch with your hands behind your head, your breasts free of the bosom of your dress, as he unbuttons his jeans and shimmies out of everything. The magnificent sight of him bare before you makes you sigh with some unnamable satisfaction, and you reach for him with open arms.

He seems to like the sight of you with your hair mused and your skirt up around your hips. He does not undress you, just slides your panties down your thighs, looking down at you as though you are something precious to behold. You are wound so tight that that look alone almost makes you cum.

With your legs wrapped around his slim hips he slides inside you, the stretch and glide of his big cock the most wonderful thing you’ve ever felt. He moans in your ear as you pull him deeper still with your heel digging into his firm buttock. You lose yourself in the sensation of him filling you up, and the muscles of his powerful back under your hands as he moves. You enjoy it as he takes what he wants from you, just reveling in the feel of him, but when he sits up to prop you on his lean thighs and circles your clit with his thumb while he’s inside you—oh.

This could be the gate to heaven, and your nails dig into the pillow behind you as he fills you with the most impossible pleasure, one flick of his thumb at a time. That scintillating tension builds between your legs, nigh unbearable in the promise of its glory. “Fuck, please, John,” you beg, because you have waited so long and you have walked through hell to finally get here.

You could murder him, when the rhythm of his touch slows. “You ready to say something for me, beautiful?”

Not this shit again.

“No,” you whimper, thrashing against the smooth leather of the couch. “No, don’t do this to me now.”

“I need to hear it,” he insists, sounding almost as desperate as you this time. “Need you to say that you’re mine.”

He’s finally done it.

After all this, John Wick has finally found your breaking point, and as it turned out it was all at the tip his thumb.

Suddenly you are filled with everything.

Everything he has put you through the past weeks. The emotional rollercoaster of the anger and the fear, the joy and sympathy and heartbreak and love. He makes you feel everything but he denies you this because you refuse to admit you are a thing to be owned by him? You are the molten core of a volcano—this is the final pound of pressure that makes you explode.

“You want me to say something?” you demand with a snarl. You try to twist away, but his hands are iron on your thighs, keeping you joined. Maybe he’s merely inside your pussy, but a part of you feels as though he’s in your very soul, and it’s not fair how he’s made his way inside you. Inside your mind, your heart, your body.

None of this is fair.

“I hate you!”

His handsome features pull in the most thunderous frown imaginable, but before he can reply you go on, “I hate you for making me love you, for dangling that in front of me then switching it for whatever the fuck this is! And I hate it that I cannot stop loving you after everything you’ve put me through! Why isn’t it enough that I love you?”

Again you fight like a wild thing, until the only way he can restrain you is to lay his body completely over yours, pinning you with his solid weight, holding your wrists over your head with an iron grip.

Those blazing dark eyes feel as though they will burn a hole in you. Raggedly he breathes through his nose, staring you down.

You’ve done it. This mad man is finally going to hurt you. This man who you loved, who you do love, is going to make certain you never see the light of day again. You shake in your fury and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You cannot stop them anymore than you can bring yourself to close your eyes to look away.

“Say that again,” he growls, and you are certain you sense your end in those words.

You can’t raise your voice above a whisper.

“I hate you.”

“No. The other.”

You could weep, and your voice cracks.

“I love you.”

You watch as he wars with himself, weighing your words, running the full gamut of wonder, anger, disbelief…and acceptance.

His mouth crashes over yours, and gods help you, but you meet him head on with a desperation you didn’t know yourself capable of. He is filling you again, lifting your leg with his knee and sliding deep as he can inside your needy cunt, and it is glorious.

“Fuck,” you whine, hiking up your legs nearly to your chest to bring him closer, tighter, more. He manipulates your body like a master, reaching between you to toy with your clit again. It’s so wonderful that your answering moan sounds more like a sob.

He strums you like your body is an instrument he was born to play, taking you to the shining edge to the merciless rhythm of his thick manhood burying inside you. You half expect him to pull back again, but he only watches you, watches you with those eyes that miss nothing while he grants you that ultimate pleasure at last.

Your orgasm is vicious in its intensity, ripping through you like a firestorm, your back bowing so hard you fear your spine might crack, a scream torn from your throat that surely echoes all the way down the mountain. He is right behind you, thrusting hard while the clench of your pussy pulls him over the glorious edge too. He grips you so tightly there will be bruises. The tremors of his last thrusts tease you with a splendid agony, ropes of his hot cum filling you to the brim.

When at last it is done he collapses on top of you, only propping himself just enough so as not to smother you. You bury your nose in the bend of his neck, hiding in the soft waves of his dark hair, shakily breathing in the scent of him.

When finally he can move again he sits up just enough to see you, the tip of his straight nose touching yours. “It’s enough, for now,” he tells you, and you close your eyes with relief, craning your neck to press your lips to his. He kisses you with a tenderness that breaks you all over again, your eyes filling with fresh tears.

The quiet that follows is like the hush after a battle, neither of you capable of sleep, but not really capable of motion either. It is a long time before he rolls onto his side, pulling you into him again. “I love you, y/n. I love you more…than I can possibly tell you.”

You sigh, burying your face against his chest.

“It’s ok,” you whisper. “Just…don’t hurt me, and we’ll figure it out. Ok?”

You feel him nod against the top of your head, though he says nothing in return.

Again you bask in the quiet together, your limbs deliciously tangled, until you feel a cold snoot on your back.

You turn to find dog resting his head on the couch by you, his tail wagging as he gives you the puppy dog eyes.

John snorts at the display, reaching out to scratch his ears. “He thinks we’re making him a puppy,” he huffs, clearly amused.

You laugh at the thought. “Fat chance, buddy,” you tell the hopeful pooch, turning in John’s arms so you can pet the dog.

Then you freeze, as you wonder if you’ve disclosed something you shouldn’t have.

John’s lips touch your shoulder as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him again. “It’s alright, y/n. I know about your IUD.”

“How?”

He sounds sleepy, as he answers. “I hacked your medical records. Well…I paid someone to hack them.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know if there was anything in your history we needed to get ahead of.” He says this like it is the most natural, most acceptable thing in the world. And yet, after what happened with Helen…somehow it is also touching.

He really has managed to warp your sense of right and wrong.

“Invasive much?”

“I’m an asshole. I know.” He doesn’t sound sorry in the least, and you can tell that he is moments from falling asleep.

In that moment, you decide you feel safe enough, and content enough, to follow suite.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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floralpascal · 1 year

Text

Firsts & First Names

Summary: In a night full of firsts with you, you accidentally slip and say Ghost's real name for the first time. His reaction to it surprises even him.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: kissing, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), edging, a hand on a throat but not really choking, secret relationship, little hints of agonizing over feelings, fluff

A/N: This was so difficult to write but, man, am I happy with how this turned out.

This series: Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

“You can take it, love. Just like that.”

You only moaned in response, your upper body melting farther into the mattress. Ghost had you on all fours as he pounded into you from behind, his hard grip on your hips holding you in place as he ruined you. He had kept you like this for hours now, bringing you to the brink over and over again, but never letting you fall over that precipice to find your release.

“P-please,” you begged, your words so slurred he could barely make out what you were saying. “Let me… let me come, I-”

In all your time together, he had never seen you like this. A sheen of sweat drenched your skin from the exertion, gleaming on the small of your back as you arched your ass back towards him. Your hair was wild from the sweat and hours he had fucked you in all different kinds of positions. Small, high whines escaped you with almost every thrust of his cock into you. Even so, you still reached for him and leaned into his every touch. You were fucked out of your mind, begging for him over and over, begging for him to let you come. You usually were never one to beg like this, to let him fully take the reins. Now you had completely let go.

He would be lying if he said that the sight of you like this wasn’t absolutely maddening. You were the most incredible thing he had ever seen. The trust you had in him, all the noises you couldn’t hold back anymore, and the way you begged for him to give you your release all had him feeling like he was floating in a sea of ecstasy.

“You can take a little more,” he assured, his voice low and breathless as he soothed you again. He fought to stave off his own high, but he had done well so far and still had quite a bit more time to go before he would break.

“Fuck, Simon, please!” You cried desperately, twisting the sheets tighter in your fists.

His lust-clouded mind took an extra second to catch up with what you just said. Suddenly, the air was punched from his lungs as he finally processed it. He froze immediately, his cock still buried deep in your heat.

Simon.

You had never called him Simon before. Ever.

Simon. Simon. Simon. He replayed the way you said it over and over, the sound unlike any he had heard before. You had said it like something good. Like he was someone you needed.

When you called him Ghost and he called you Styx, there was some degree of separation, a barrier between the two of you. You both could pretend this wasn’t anything real. By that logic, he hadn’t wanted to get to the point where you both used your real names because that would mean that this was real. He had wanted to keep this between Ghost and Styx — impersonal and no strings attached. Up to this point, he could pretend that it was impersonal. He could pretend that this wasn’t already something that had long surpassed that point. He had thought he wanted nothing more than to avoid hearing you say that one name.

But now that you had said it, a new heat burned in his stomach. All his previous resistance melted in its wake, his cock aching like never before. There was no logic or reasoning he could muster that could overpower the way his body practically lit on fire the second you said his name, almost like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning.

He liked it. He craved it. Even though he knew somewhere deep down that shouldn’t have, he would do anything to hear you say it again.

You pushed up on your forearms, turning your head so that you could see his almost completely covered face. Although they were still clouded by a thick haze of lust, your eyes were wide and panicked. Another first, he had never seen you this panicked, your demeanor never anything but calm and assured. It wasn’t hard to see that you clearly thought that you had crossed a huge line.

“S-sorry… I didn’t mean to-”

Before you could finish your apology, his rough, callused hands were sliding over your hips, wrapping around your middle, and pulling your top-half up so that your back met his chest, the both of you now in a kneeling position.

Simon took your chin in his fingers, guiding your face to him before he crashed his exposed lips to yours. You moaned into the kiss, clearly caught off-guard by his response. He worked his lips against yours, his fervor increasing with each passing second.

It wasn’t Ghost that kissed you now. That barrier, that persona, had crumbled away the second you said his name. No, it was the man under the mask now. While he still wore the mask over most of his face, he felt truly exposed to you for the first time.

He broke from the kiss, his lips still against yours. His hand slid down to your throat, his grip light. Aching with adrenaline and lust, he pulled his cock almost completely out of your dripping pussy before fucking up into you again with a sharp, pointed thrust that knocked the wind out of you as you cried out. He began to piston in and out again, restarting his pace.

“Say it,” he rasped, more a request than a demand. Now, he felt as if he was pleading with you. “Say it again.”

One of your warm hands wrapped around his tattooed forearm that held a soft grip on your throat, using him as an anchor. You tossed your head back so that it rested on his strong, broad shoulder, your whole body relaxing into him again as you realized that your slip had caused the opposite effect on him than you had first thought. This is how he wanted you, fully blissed out in his affections.

“S-Simon. Simon, please. Yes!”

Heat pooled in his abdomen as his speed increased. The force of his thrusts rocked the both of you, the bed groaning with the impact. He was totally gone now, all thought of edging you long forgotten. Now, he was all fervor and impulse, any rational thought long swept away in the thrum of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He needed you to come and he needed you to take you with him as fast as possible.

Then, without a care for the serious consequences that would follow, Simon moaned your real name for the first time. It rolled off his tongue like honey, like it had always belonged there.

You melted into his strong body, letting him hold the both of you up as you neared your highs. All the while, you continued to moan his name, sometimes a barely comprehensible whine. But it was enough. It was more than enough.

Suddenly, your body went rigid in his hold as you arched into him. Your cunt clenched and pulsed around him as you came, so tight that he moaned himself. He kept fucking you though it, helping you to ride out the aftershocks as he started to chase his own high.

You clawed at his forearm. While you writhed in his hold, you snaked a hand around behind you to lightly grasp at his neck, overstimulated but still holding on. It silently told him that you wanted to feel him when he came.

“Si… Si-” you sputtered.

As he fucked up into you, his hips snapping roughly against your ass, he began to feel the edge of his release. The force of it grew and grew until he couldn’t hold it back anymore, his pace faltering. His hips stuttered as he released his hot, thick cum into your spasming cunt. He buried his covered face in your shoulder as he grinded into you, releasing every last bit he had. Body shuddering, he fought to find his breath again, the orgasm longer and more intense than any he had ever experienced.

After he came back down from his high, he found you completely relaxed in his hold, spent from the hours you had spent taking him.

Simon kissed your neck, then your cheek, and then your lips, moving his hands to better support your midsection. He whispered against your warm skin, his voice gravelly and spent, “Did so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your chest still heaved for air as you leaned into his touch, making a tired, affirming sound.

Bracing his hands on your hips, he slowly and carefully pulled out of you. He held back a hiss as he did, listening instead to your whine. When you were ready, he helped guide you down to lay on the disheveled bed. Then he slid next to you and pulled you close, still left in the afterglow.

You rested your head on his shoulder as you both caught your breath in silence. For the first time, he felt your hand slide over his chest, your thumb lazily and affectionately stroking his skin. This was you. Without the added layer of Styx. The barriers of both of your personas were gone. Now, you were just as bare as he was.

Maybe this development should have scared him. Maybe he should’ve been worried about what this would mean for the two of you. But he didn’t. The worst part was that he didn’t think he would in the morning, either. Not when being with you felt like this. He now had a taste of what it was like and it was nothing short of addicting.

He couldn’t quite comprehend how you always seemed to break through the barriers he put up. No matter what front he used, you had a way of pulling him further and further into this anyways. He always fell deeper no matter what, throwing his previous hesitancy out the window. Whatever this was with you kept growing, kept becoming something more… and he didn’t know if he could stop it now.

More. He always wanted more.

He wanted this, he wanted you. Maybe if it weren’t for the dangerous life you lived and the ranks you held, it would’ve been easier for him to admit that. Maybe then the thought of a real relationship with you wouldn’t have been such a terrifying, weighted thought even now.

“I’m guessing you liked that, then,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I can’t quite deny it, now can I?” he quipped, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.

You laughed a genuine, carefree laugh, burying your face on his muscled and scarred chest. The sound filled his chest with a new warmth, one that was soft. He held back a small smile as he used his free hand to gently pull his mask down over his chin once again. Then, you looked up and said, “Yeah, not really. You really showed your hand on that one, Simon.”

He groaned, his cock twitching. He limply tapped your hip as he warned, “Fuck, don’t say it, I’ll get hard again. And I don’t think you can take another round, love.”

You laid your head on his chest then, completely limp over top of him. “No, I don’t think I could.”

Though he didn’t say it again, he let your name bounce around in his head. Over and over again, he considered it, looking down at you as he did.

Simon’s fingers found your back, running lightly up and down your spine. For the first time, he didn’t let himself ruin the moment. He didn’t think about the fact that he shouldn’t have let this evolve into something this personal. He didn’t think about the potential consequences. That was all for Ghost to reconcile in the morning. Right now, Simon focused on the way your damp skin rested on his, the steady rhythm of your breath, and the sweet glow that encapsulated you both. For now, that was all that mattered.

And for the first time, Simon stayed the night with you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfic #my writing

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