#are you still a man when you're sleeping / do you ever feel the cold / do you lie awake and think about the things you can't control. btw.
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effemar · 4 months ago
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Jaime Lannister had never been afraid of death.
i - golden boy, natalie merchant. ii - sinnerman, nina simone. iii - working for the knife, mitski. iv - angel of small death and the codeine scene, hozier. v - addicted to love, florence + the machine. vi - who you wished i was, aliceband. vii - spent gladiator 2, the mountain goats. viii - the mercy seat, nick cave & the bad seeds. ix - all these things that i've done, the killers. x - the stranger, billy joel. xi - a good man is hard to find, sufjan stevens. xii - when i die, beirut. xiii - love love love, the mountain goats. xiv - vesuvius, sufjan stevens. xv - nothing has to be true, first aid kit.
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primofate · 10 months ago
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Drop the towel wrapped around you and appear naked in front of your Genshin husband
In a nutshell: That old tiktok challenge/prank. In your private, shared home of course.
Warnings: My perpetual warning as a writing mother is that I am sleep deprived. Very VERY sleep deprived. SUGGESTIVE: BORDERING ON NOT SAFE FOR WORK, written on a 10 minute timer please be gentle
Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Cyno, Diluc, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli, implied fem!reader
Personal Favourites: Tighnari
Aether
chokes on nothing
"Y-Y-Y/N?! What're you doing?"
Comes up to you and tries to cover you up with the towel again, as if it was a sin to look at you naked in broad daylight.
Full on blush on his face and respectfully tries to look away.
"Don't surprise me like that!"
Seems not to like it but actually likes it too much to the point of getting embarrassed for himself.
Yes he's your husband but is still a precious respectful man
Albedo
Blinks a couple of times but appreciates your beauty and gives your body a slow once over. Chuckles in amusement afterwards.
"Is there a reason for this?"
Just to get his reaction, you admit.
"Well..." starts walking towards you. "I do have higher self-control than most others... but let it be known that I'm far from immune to my..."
Stops in front of you and yet again seems to eat you up with his eyes. "...needs," ends with a suspiciously sweet smile.
Alhaitham
Can't help but be a bit surprised and you can see it by the way his eyebrows go up as soon as the towel hits the floor.
Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again, as if hesitating, which is really strange for someone like him.
"...Is this the part where I sweep you off your feet and carry you to our room?" there's a bit of amusement in his tone. Stands to walk over to you.
Places a hand on your waist.
"Cause I can guarantee you that we DON'T need to be in our bedroom for things to happen...but you knew that already, right?"
Ayato
Quirks his eyebrows up, amused smile appearing on his face.
"I must say, this is a lovely surprise,"
Traces your figure with his eyes. Then approaches you to hold your waist and dip in to kiss your neck softly.
"How could I ever resist, my love, when you're standing in front of me in all your magnificence?"
Takes the longest time just admiring and basking in your beauty, tracing every little part of your skin.
Baizhu
Lets pretend the snake ain't here okay?
Does a double take.
"Y/N, first off, you'll get a cold,"
Pushes his spectacles up and gives you a once over.
"Second, you'll give me a heart attack,"
Beckons you over gently with his hand. "Come over, I suppose it's been a while since...I've done a full body check,"
Hides a grin.
Cyno
Blankly looks at you and is still processing what is happening
"Y/N? Is this... Did I do something?"
Is so suspicious that this was some kind of trap.
You tell him its simply to get a reaction out of him.
Immediately shoots out of his seat and catches your wrist.
"Then...Is it my turn to get one out of you? There's several ways to do that...and I know your favourite ones,"
Diluc
Eyes follow the towel down to the floor and head snaps back up to blink at the sight in front of him. Recovers quickly.
Chuckles as he stands and walks over. Picks up the towel and drapes it around your shoulders. "Only because it's quite chilly tonight,"
but still ends up inching the towel off your shoulder, tracing your collarbone. "Although, as your husband, I suppose it IS my job to keep you warm... So how would you like it today, love?"
Itto
"WHOA!" by instinct covers his eyes with his hands but his fingers are actually splayed apart so he can totally see through the gaps
Feels himself getting aroused
I mean the guy gets turned on even just at the sight of your neck
Suddenly stands and walks over to you, easily hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and makes a beeline to your shared room.
"You're asking for it Y/N!"
Kaeya
"Oho?"
Sits back and relaxes, he doesn't really know what he was expecting. Some type of show maybe. "What's this? Finally giving me that lap dance you owe me, snowflake?"
Laughs but you're incredibly flustered at the suggestion.
Beckons you over and grabs you by the waist to sit on his lap.
"Feel that?" he whispers in your ear.
Oh you feel it alright, pressing at your upper thigh.
"Now whose fault is that? You'll have to do something about it now, love,"
Kaveh
"Archons!"
Looks away with a blush on his cheeks.
"Put something on!"
Yes he's seen you naked before, you're married, but the guy's always flustered in unexpected events.
You provoke him further by coming over, sitting sideways on his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Y/N!" He looks down at you and can't help but look at your nakedness in full and close view.
Gulps but starts to feel his body heat up, his hands suddenly, assertively planting themselves on your waist as he meets your eyes. "I don't care what you say about yourself, but know that you're the only one who takes me from 0 to a 100 in a second,"
Kazuha
"Y/N?" Chuckles nervously and takes in the sight of your body.
Smiles at you and takes your hand to kiss the back of it.
"I've seen you countless of times... Each time, I'm reminded by how fortunate I am that you chose me to take care of you,"
Caresses your cheek all the way down to your jawline. "You're beautiful, Y/N,"
He has the most tender and gentle look on his face, but its mixed with a passion that you've never seen on anyone before. "Let me show you how much I love you, dear,"
Neuvillette
Eyebrows twitches upwards in surprise. Has no clue what to do in this new situation.
He doesn't say anything but is most definitely enjoying the view of your body. You see his jaw tense up, as if he's clenching his teeth.
"Ahem," he starts. Then seems to have the most trouble prying his eyes away to meet your gaze. "Is this...perhaps another way to tell me... that you would like some attention?"
You say not really and just wanted to see how he would react.
"Ah," he lets out, as if understanding and as if the conversation has ended.
A moment of silence passes and you're starting to wonder if that was all he was going to do. But he then stands and places a gentle hand on your bare waist. "...So you're simply doing it, as people would say, 'for fun'?"
He asks, and you say yes innocently. He smiles a bit and has another hand cupping your face and thumbing your lips. "I see," breathes out slowly.
"Unfortunately, for your actions, the Iudex feels that a punishment is in order,"
Scaramouche
Raises one eyebrow as if he's bored. Then smirks.
"If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask," pulls you by the waist and makes you straddle him "But this is good too,"
Hands actually start to grope you up and down. Will fondle and squeeze in private places immediately.
"What? Startin' to feel good? S'what you get when you play games with me,"
will smack your butt the first chance he gets
Tartaglia
Immediately jumps up and in an automatic daze, eyes glued to his favourite parts, trudges towards you and attempts to bury himself in softness.
You quickly stop him and in turn HE quickly stops you. Hands easily bunching your wrists up together and angling them upwards above your head.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he grins down at you. "Someone's being naughty,"
You complain that he reacts too fast.
Laughs, but his hand starts to unbuckle his pants and there's a dark look in his eyes. "Oh, I'm just being naughty back. When you want something, Y/N, believe it when I say I'll GIVE it to you,"
Tighnari
ear twitches. Tail swishes back and forth. Does not show any expression except slight curiosity.
"What's the occasion?"
You tell him that you just wanted to see his reaction.
He hums and nods slowly, like processing some type of complicated information.
"Wait here, I'll be back in a minute,"
You ask him where he's going and you're a bit upset at the lack of response from him.
He chuckles and returns to you, tail angling upwards in an attempt to wrap and brush against your waist. Takes your hand, presses your wrist against his lips and seems to take a slow breath in.
"I'm merely clearing off my schedule for today. Now, be patient, I'll be back,"
Wriothesley
Almost spits out his drink but gulps it all down instead.
Eyes widen a fraction at the sudden act but his hand is already loosening his tie.
"Wait right there precious," chuckles while he says this, tie already falling to the ground, now unbuttoning his vest. At the same time walks over to you urgently as if you're going to disappear but laughs nervously while he's at it.
"I swear you'll be the death of me,"
Looks like he's going to pounce on you but when he reaches you he only gives you a chaste kiss, as if asking for permission first.
You suddenly remind him that he has a LOT of things to do today, appointments and all.
Actually barks out a quick laugh. "You're not really expecting me to walk out now? As far as I'm concerned," pulls you flush against him and kisses your jaw "The only thing I need to do today is you,"
Xiao
"Wh-Wh-What do you think you're doing?!"
caught unprepared. Crosses his arms and looks away. Pretends he's uninterested but his eyes still dart back to look at you.
You ask him if he likes what he sees.
He now completely looks away from you. A few seconds pass and when he turns his head back to look at you there's now a carnal look in his eyes.
He walks towards you slowly and captures your chin to tilt it up. Looks down at you as if he hasn't eaten a meal in days.
"...When I'm done with you tonight you'll get your answer,"
Zhongli
Chuckles. Amused.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, dear?"
You shrug and even do a turn for him. He watches you carefully and takes in the image in front of him.
Smiles and strides over towards you. "Truly a magnificent sight," brushes his fingers against your neck
His eyes trail downwards and isn't shy about looking at your body. "Might I remind you my dear, my stamina surpasses that of a normal human," he smiles at you sincerely.
You tell him that you're well aware. He just chuckles again.
"Then you know well what'll come next,"
End
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chatsukimi · 8 months ago
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ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ
featuring: protective!heian!sukuna, kindhearted!servant!reader. slight angst/hurt -> comfort. synopsis: you're sick. to your surprise, you're rescued by the man second closest to death himself. masterlist
you should've known he wouldn't come. sukuna has never set foot in the servant's headquarters in his life, let alone to chase after a sick servant. you lower your head, trying to ease the headache that has plagued you through the day.
sukuna loves his bloodshed and his gore. him and death would be good friends, you think to yourself. he wouldn't care if your body was burnt or buried, you think to yourself; wouldn't care if you died at all.
the room the others put you in is empty. ash spreads neatly over the cold floor. the scent of kibble haunts the atmosphere. it's where they put the dogs before sukuna killed them.
ever since you took care of the king of curses while he was sick, the other servants had been careful in keeping a distance from you. not in ill of heart; they're simply terrified at what you must've done to survive in your week long stay with the monster. honestly, you don't blame them.
but now when you're laying on the freezing ground, struggling to breathe, it's hard not to.
'this is where you live?'
your eyes look up. shock. then, with all the strength you can muster, you heave yourself one step away from the man at the doorway, which only serves to piss him off more.
sukuna ryomen, in all his glory, looks down at you. bending down to pick you up like a limp doll to be seated against the wall, he seems to revel in his regained strength. you can't help but feel happy for him, to have survived this fatal disease. not many men can attest to that...
then again, he is no ordinary man.
'i asked you a question.'
you nod, a small thing, barely a movement. he seems to clench his teeth.
he takes off his long white coat, flaunting a layer of dried blood, and drapes it over your shoulders.
yet it doesn't end there. he retrieves from his pocket a bottle of what looks to be a golden syrup.
you know exactly what it is.
he takes your hand and wraps it around the flask, making you hold it, sparing, not one, but two of his eyes, to stare at you, making sure you do as he commands.
'swallow.'
you shake your head. you know he's asking you to do. this is a medication is so rare for your disease that no sorcerer has found in over a hundred years. he's brought this thing of myth right to your very lips. now he's asking you to drink it, and thus take away any chance of it saving anyone else's life.
you scowl, but the tickling sensation in your throat grows stronger, eventually erupting out of your mouth in a harsh cough. you look away from sukuna.
'leave,' you whisper, weakly. 'don't wanna infect you.'
'i survived the illness already. i've developed an immunity.'
you shake your head again. you couldn't threaten your king's health with your own weakness. you just couldn't.
'i can't take this.'
he growls. without any notice, he swallows your lips in a kiss. in the momentary haze, you could hardly resist, fisting the front of his kimono to ground yourself. then, you feel something sweet, honey-ish, hit your tongue.
with his hand locked on your chin, it forces you to swallow.
you pull back, pushing him away. he groans.
he wipes his mouth, still with two eyes staring.
no... no, why did he do that?
'y-you- how? no... why did you waste it on me?' you whisper, desperately searching his face for an answer. 'i'm just a servant. you could've given it to a princess, or a scholar, or priest-'
he grabs you by the arm and forces you into his arms. its heat astounds you, and you find yourself crawling closer. a vague thumping sound seems to press against your ear-
oh. you calm your breathing.
it's his heartbeat.
alive.
'sleep in my room tonight,' he demands.
what did he say? you strain your mind, trying to replay what he said earlier. no... maybe you heard correctly.
'but i'm no concubine,' you respond, instantly.
his arm supports your waist, helping you up effortlessly to your feet. he then directs two of his eyes to the doorway, his cadence low and domineering.
'it doesn't matter.'
he leads you placidly through the servant's quarters. you notice all conversation cease at your entry, bodies dropping into a low bow. a small voice in you whispers that it's where you should be too. you tug at sukuna's arm.
'i'm only a servant, sukuna.'
you know what it looks like, a servant clutching onto a man, more god than human. a man who has slaughtered villages, blood staining the base of his kimono crimson, and turned half a province on its head, just to save you.
'whatever you are in my eyes is what you are to the world,' he states, his expression unchanging. 'if i deem you a queen, that is who you are.'
exiting the servant compound, you know you can't say no- not like you wanted to. the wide expanse of his chest is comforting.
yet however sweet this feeling remains, you can't help but gulp. perhaps this is the closest a human has ever come to courting death.
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nochepsicodelica · 3 months ago
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Toji coming home late from a job, exhausted and knowing he messed up with you, again. All he wants is to be comforted by your warm body and to hear you talk his ear off before going to bed together, but instead he finds you fast asleep on the couch. He watches your curled up frame for a minute or two, feeling the achey heaviness of guilt in his chest. He promised you a movie, but things at work didn't go as smoothly as they normally do, and because of it, he's home later than he thought he would be. He doesn't blame you at all for losing your patience and succumbing to your tiredness, rather than fighting it, for his sake.
He smiles softly, admiring the bliss in your features, before quietly heading off to the bedroom to grab some clothes so he can tidy up before he even thinks about touching you.
Toji sees your shower products next to his, and though he doesn't plan on putting them on, like he has before in a state of longing for you, he does pick them up to take a whiff. The smells are as sweet and comforting as you. They help him wind down a little more after the day he's had. Your shampoo and body wash managed to distract him a bit. He stood there frozen, thinking of you as water cascaded down his body, until he remembered that you're in the house, sleeping on the couch, still waiting to see him. He expedites his shower, quickly gets dressed, and hurries up with his hygiene routine so he can get back to you.
When Toji returns, you're in a new position with your limbs all sprawled out. He watches you for another minute or so— you are the image of pure comfort on that old couch. Just being next to you could pass on the effect to him, but you're so enticing, and he really wants to be in that bubble of serenity with you. Before his proper judgement convinces him to carry you to bed, he's crawling between your legs, his eyes on yours the entire time, to make sure he doesn't wake you before he even starts adding his weight onto you.
Your sleep ridden eyes feel heavy as you peer them open and look at the man nuzzling himself into you. You hear the smallest little groans, almost like purring, as Toji continues to try and mold his body into yours. He knows he doesn't fit with you on this tiny couch, but you're so warm, and you smell like the body wash he inhaled in the shower. He's going to make it work.
"Hey, Toji," you mumble, dazedly, still half asleep. He almost melts at the feeling of your fingers running through his damp hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp with every passing. Your other arm comes up to rest on his back. He then realizes he's not close enough. Being right on top of you, with his head on your chest... Not close enough.
"What?" You laugh when Toji starts shifting again, those soft hums returning as he presses himself into you even more. He wants to be greedy and take all the comfort you can possibly give him. "Did you..." you giggle when he settles, his face buried in your neck. "Did you miss me?"
"Miss" is an understatement. Toji was ready to come home and cozy up in bed with you. He was ready to distract you from whatever movie you decided on, with kisses. He was ready for things to evolve into something more. He thought about this all day, and he's home now, and it's not at all what he thought it would be. The sad part is, you're not even mentioning these ruined plans. You're not upset with him for being home so late, you're not giving him the cold shoulder. You're the same loving girl he discussed these plans with in the morning and it makes him feel like a total asshole.
"Mhm. Are you comfortable sleeping like this? I can't move."
"Yes, Toji," you respond, immediately, though you know he's exaggerating. The question lures a soft laugh out of you. "You're acting like this is the first time you've ever plopped yourself down on me."
"Just making sure, doll, 'cause I don't wanna move," he says, with total honesty this time.
"You don't have to. You're the warmest blanket in this house. I scored by getting crushed."
"Yeah? I'm flattered." You can hear the smirk in his voice so clearly.
"And i'm flattened."
Silence. Crickets in the background. Everything is so still, you could hear a pin drop, and to make matters worse, you laughed at your own joke.
"I should go back to sleep," you say, knowing that when your nonsensical thoughts start spilling out, it's time to get some rest.
Toji's grin has yet to straighten out. He can tell you're still tired. He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose, at your ridiculousness. "Silly girl. Are you cold?"
"Impossible. I have a bear on top of me."
"Want me to go get the blanket? Wanna go to the room?"
"Stooooop, i'm fine." You kiss to the top of his head. "Goodnight, Toji."
"Can you do that thing you always do?"
Without a word, your hand goes to the back of his head, and your fingers begin coursing through his hair, again, your nails dragging gently along his scalp, like before.
Toji sighs, contented and entirely at ease. "'night, doll."
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togrowoldinv · 3 months ago
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The Retreat
Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader
When you go on a church retreat, you have a very interesting conversation with Wanda
Note: I have missed writing for this Wanda! Can’t get her out of my head lately. Y’all enjoy this one!
Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, sad Wanda, oral and fingering (W receiving), age gap
Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist
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When you were asked to go on a women’s retreat, you immediately wanted to say no. The only reason you even go to church is to appease your parents. But it’s the final retreat of the year and you are expected to attend at least one.  
So, you find yourself now waiting by the church bus to load up. You watch as mothers say goodbye to their children and wives kiss their husbands. One family in particular catches your eye.  
The Maximoffs. Wanda, the matriarch, is a good friend of your mothers. They just moved to town a few years ago, but have made quite an impression in the town. Her husband travels for work, so Wanda is often found alone at the church service while her twin boys are in class for the children.  
You wonder how a man could ever leave a woman like that alone. She is definitely the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Some part of you has been attracted to her since you first laid eyes on her.  
Wanda gets on the bus and sits a few seats from you. She gives you a small wave. You put in your headphones to try and drown out the world. The drive only lasts a few hours and soon you’re at the retreat.  
You check in and get your room key. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you will have a roommate when you open the door and see there are two beds. You're praying it’s not one of the older ladies or someone in your peer group who you can’t stand.  
The prayer is answered when the door latch opens and none other than the one and only Wanda Maximoff walks in.  
“Well, hi y/n!” She says. “I didn’t know we were roommates.”  
“Hey Mrs. Maximoff. I didn’t either.”  
“Oh please call me Wanda. This weekend we are peers, sweetheart,” she says.  
She puts her bags on the bed next to the window. Sitting on the bed, she looks around the room. Wanda spots an itinerary on the bedside table.  
“Looks like a busy weekend,” she analyzes. “We should get going to the first session.”  
“Oh, I was thinking I would just rest tonight,” you reply.  
“Nonsense, y/n,” Wanda says. “You came all this way. You might as well try and enjoy it. I know you aren’t feeling the spirit these days, but let me try and do something about that, okay?”  
Your pulse quickens. How can she see right through you? Maybe she’s just being nice. Or maybe it’s worse and your mother asked her to look out for you this weekend.  
She stands and waits for you to join her. You sigh and follow Wanda out the door.  
The first session goes better than you thought it would. At least the food was good and the middling company was made a little better by Wanda’s presence.  
When you get back to the room, it is freezing cold in there. You notice Wanda shivering even in her sweatshirt and sweatpants she has on for bed. Still, you both try to go to sleep for the night.  
At some point though, you get a feeling someone is watching you while you sleep. Or more accurately, as you try to sleep in the arctic environment. Your eyes flutter open to see Wanda sitting up in her bed.  
“What time is it?” You ask her.  
“Early,” Wanda replies. Her voice is gravely, and if you think about it too much you might even be turned on by it.  
“Are you cold?”  
She nods. “The heat isn’t working. I tried, but can’t fix it.”  
You roll out of bed and walk to the thermostat on the wall. Wanda follows you and stands close behind you. You can hear her breathing as you investigate the issue.  
“Can you fix it?” She asks.  
“Unfortunately, I cannot,” you reply. Wanda sighs.  
You turn around and Wanda is still very close to you.  
“We have one option here,” she begins. “To sleep together.”  
“Oh,” you mumble. “We- um-”  
“We could snuggle and then our body heat will keep us warmer,” Wanda further explains. “What do you say?”  
“Okay.”  
“Okay,” Wanda says.  
She leads the way to your bed hoping since it’s the one away from the window it’ll be a little bit warmer. Wanda crawls into the bed and pulls the covers down. She waits for you to join her. You get into the bed cautiously, keeping a little distance between you two.  
“Come on closer, baby. I don’t bite,” Wanda says. She grins at herself.  
You get closer to her and she wraps an arm around your waist. You drape one of your arms across the pillow and she positions herself with her head between your neck and shoulder. Admittedly, it is warmer with the two of you snuggling together.  
Eventually, you both fall into a deep sleep and the snuggling becomes more relaxed. It feels natural when the two of you wake up in the morning still intertwined.  
“Good morning,” you say softly, trying not to get lost in her green eyes.  
“Good morning,” Wanda says. Her face is close to yours. You can practically see every detail of her perfect face. “We should get ready for the day.”  
“Right,” you say, breaking out of your trance. “Of course.”  
You two break apart and you miss her warmth already. When you two show up at breakfast, several people are already in the room.  
“Wanda! Y/n! Join our table!” The leader of the women’s group calls you both over. “How did you two sleep?”  
“Quite well,” Wanda replies. “It was cold, but we made do.”  
“Oh, we can have someone look at your heat,” the leader replies.  
“Thanks that would be-” you start, but are interrupted.  
“That’s alright,” Wanda says, placing a hand on your forearm. “We are okay.”  
It's a strange response, but you try not to read into it. She probably just doesn’t want to cause any trouble. The breakfast lecturer starts soon and your attention shifts.  
At the end of the day, you and Wanda find yourselves sitting in your room once again. Dinner isn’t for another hour, so you are just waiting around.  
“Should we work on our exercises?” Wanda asks, breaking the silence.  
“What?”  
“The vulnerability exercises we talked about today in the final session,” Wanda explains.  
“Oh, sure.”  
Wanda smiles. She sits on the edge of her bed and pats the spot next to her.  
“I’ll go first,” she says. 
“Remind me of the rules,” you ask.  
“We reveal something to each other that no one else knows. So that we can release it and let the weight go.”  
You nod. You have no idea what Wanda might say. Her life seems perfect.  
“Vision left me,” Wanda blurts out quickly.  
“What?” You ask in shock. “Wanda, I- what happened?”  
You hadn’t seen them interact much, but you never assumed that he wasn’t still in the picture. Just that he had been traveling.  
Wanda looks down, playing with the ring on her finger. You can tell she’s holding back tears.  
“Wanda, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I'm really sorry.”  
“No, it might help if I do,” Wanda says. “Things just got bad. They went from okay, to maybe not so good, to fuck we’re over.”  
Your eyes go wide. Never have you ever heard Wanda curse like that.  
“How long ago was it over?”  
“A few months,” Wanda says.  
“And you haven’t told anyone?”  
She shakes her head. “I just keep saying he’s away on business. The truth is he hasn’t touched me in almost a year.”  
“So, that snuggling we did last night was?” 
“The first time I’ve remotely been that close to someone in a year.”  
“Jesus,” you mumble. She doesn’t even scold you for using the Lord’s name in vain. “Can I hug you?”  
You figure she needs human connection now more than ever. She nods and you take Wanda in your arms. She melts against you. Tears fall down her face and soak into your shirt.  
“It’s okay,” you whisper softly to her. “You’re okay, Wanda.”  
“I’m not,” she says through sobs.  
“You will be,” you reply. “I’m here for you. My parents are here for you. All of these stupid, annoying women here are on your side too, okay? We won’t let you fall.”  
Wanda pulls away some and looks at you. You run your hand through her hair and brush your thumb against her cheek gently. She leans in just enough for you to know what’s about to happen.  
“Wanda,” you say. She keeps moving forward. “Mrs. Maximoff.”  
That makes her stop. She looks at you with confusion in her eyes.  
“I just want you. Do you not want me, baby?” Wanda asks.  
“Oh, of course I want you. I just haven’t done the exercise yet.”  
“Oh?”  
You take your other hand and pull her closer by her hip. Your lips are almost touching.  
“My secret is that I really, really want to kiss you right now and fuck you until you forget about your loser ex-husband who never deserved you in the first place,” you say.  
Wanda closes the gap between the two of you. Her lips move fervently against yours. You can tell she’s desperate.  
“When’s the last time he kissed you like this?” You ask between kisses.  
“Never,” she replies.  
You smile into her mouth and move to push her back onto the bed. Her legs wrap around your waist as you pin her arms above her head.  
“Fuck, Wanda, you are the most beautiful woman alive,” you tell her.  
“We shouldn’t do this,” she says. It's her final effort at not letting herself feel as good as he deserves to feel. You move your hands off of her just briefly.  
“We should do this, but I'll stop if you really don’t want this,” you tell her.  
“No, I- we just can’t tell anyone, okay?”  
“Yes ma’am.”  
You put your hands back on her. This time, you go straight for the buttons of her jeans. You kiss down her chest and around her belly. Deftly, you pull down her pants and panties in one fell swoop.  
Wanda shivers beneath the feeling of your wet lips against her hips and as you brush your nose lightly against her core.  
“Oh, god, y/n,” she whimpers.  
“So wet for me, Wanda,” you say. You dive into her core with your tongue. Her folds are intoxicating as you bring her more pleasure than she’s ever felt in her life.  
“I need you,” Wanda says. “Please, baby. Please!”  
You take Wanda’s clit in your mouth and move your fingers into her in tandem. She is writhing beneath your touch.  
“Come for me, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say as you feel her reaching her climax.  
“Fuck!” Wanda comes hard against you.  
You lick her as she comes down and move up her body slowly. You lie next to her and kiss her cheek softly. The juxtaposition of that soft kiss and what you were just doing between her legs makes her heart flutter.  
“Are you okay?” You ask her. She is staring at the ceiling.  
“Yes,” she replies. “Thank you for everything.”  
“Anytime Wanda,” you say. You ignore the ache between your legs, knowing Wanda needs time to process this. “Should we go to dinner?”  
“Oh, I guess so,” she says.  
You sit up, but Wanda grabs your arm before you can stand.  
“I want to fuck you later, okay?” Wanda says. “I just-”  
“Need a minute,” you finish for her.  
“Yeah. Thanks for understanding, sweetheart. It’ll be worth the wait I promise.”  
Wanda kisses you deeply before she gets off the bed to get cleaned up. You watch as she walks with a new bounce in her step that she didn’t have before.  
Maybe this retreat will be interesting after all.  
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akutasoda · 7 months ago
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in the morning light [genshin ver]
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synopsis - what it's like sharing a bed with them
includes - diluc, kaeya, albedo, beidou, baizhu, alhaitham, kaveh, neuvillette, wriothesley
warnings - gn!reader, fluff, still have no clue what im doing, might be ooc, wc - 2.2k
a/n: can you tell im bored? anyway how is everyone?
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diluc ragnvindr ★↷
↪to absolutely nobody's suprise, he didn't actually get much sleep. most would assume that the reason for this would be running angels share or the dawnery and such, but it was mainly because he acted as the 'darknight hero'.
↪he always encouraged you to go to bed and not wait up for him because he never knew how long he would take. however, diluc couldn't get mad at you for staying up as he found it endearing that you were so insistent on doing so.
↪diluc does have a rather important public image to uphold and so he tries his best to maintain a night and morning routine, but sometimes the night one does go a miss. it's simple yet very effective for him - you know he gets the absolute worst bed hair known to man.
↪the neatest bed you've ever seen, it's always pristine whether he made it or not. has no issues compromising for what you'd like either, he'd even assist you in making the bed to your liking rather than his.
↪initially, he prefers to have his own side to the bed - mainly because he gets up early and goes to bed late so he doesn't want to disturb you. but over time he gets a tad bit too comfy and prefers to have you swamped in his embrace.
↪a light sleeper and not that much of a mover, he either stays completely still or occasionally shuffles around. although when he does shuffle, his hair can tickle you and accidentally wake you if you're a light sleeper yourself.
↪unfortunately, diluc sometimes can wake up rather abruptly due to some certain nightmares, but he always tries not too wake you.
↪human heater. most summers are spent with the bedding completey stripped away because he gives off a lot of body heat, so cuddles are rare unless you don't mind feeling like you're being cooked alive.
kaeya alberich ★↷
↪has the best routines you've ever seen, that is if he bothers to do them. he's very vigilant when doing his morning routine but sometimes he comes home from angels share a bit too tipsy to do his night routine.
↪as mentioned, he spends quite a few nights down at angels share and so he either comes home late, assisted by an annoyed diluc, or you have to go fetch him. admittedly he has gotten better since you've been around though.
↪most days he does get up fairly early, but on his day's off he's not budging. good luck getting up yourself because you're not leaving until he decides he wants to get up - which he will then proceed to wake you up.
↪the messiest bed, sure he makes it occasionally but sometimes he just can't be asked. uses way too many pillows and blankets but is very accommodating to your needs and wants.
↪a complete opposite to his brother, but he is practically a human freezer. unfortunately kaeya is quite cold to the touch so if winter comes around he always puts more blankets and duvets on the bed just so he can still cuddle you without you complaining that he's going to give you frostbite. he also can give you quite the wake up in the morning by how cold he is.
↪can be unconsciously really clingy in his sleep, im talking having some part of him touching you at any time - full on cuddles, holding hands, or even simply intertwining his legs with yours. he claims it helps him sleep better, especially when the nightmares come calling.
↪only downside, is that he can be extremely obnoxious. he moves around so much and unfortunately that can wake you aswell, especially when he ends up upside down and spread out across the bed and such. also can be quite the snorer if he allows himself to fully relax around you.
albedo ★↷
↪admittedly, he spends many nights up at camp in dragonspine and he understands that the freezing weather isn't for everyone - so he doesn't blame you for staying in mondstadt. but sometimes he knows you'd probably prefer for him to be back in mondstadt with you.
↪but if you choose to stay with him in dragonspine, he decides to upgrade the usual camp cot that he uses. he might not be able to feel the cold but you certainly would and the very last thing he'd want, is for you to catch a cold or worse. although there is a nice feeling of finally returning home to you.
↪albedo does have a simple nightly routine that he follows and same goes for his morning routine - although admittedly he can get a bit too carried away with his research and completely miss his routines or sleep in general.
↪he practically stays still entirely while he sleeps, it's almost scary as sometimes you forget he's there. he also doesn't really understand if you want to cuddle while you sleep but he'll indulge you.
beidou ★↷
↪she either goes to bed alongside you or later at night, normally she only comes to bed late if she stays up celebrating with the crew or is on some kind of voyage. most nights she does want to go to bed with you.
↪keeps any routine, morning or night, to a simple yet effective routine. yes she wants to keep up a good appearance but sometimes she just doesn't have the time and so she always goes for the same quick routine.
↪due to her bed being on her ship, she has the bare minimum as beidou doesn't really see a point in going all out. however, again, very willing to let you do whatever you want to the bed as you are sleeping in it aswell and she doesn't mind one bit.
↪can be somewhat clingy in her sleep, she loves holding you close and you can't exactly overpower her grip - it worsens when she does have a bit too much to drink when celebrating as she practically drapes her entire body over yours at all times.
↪a mix between a light sleeper and heavy, normally she's quite light but sometimes she gets a bit too tired.but either way beidou does shuffle around alot, most nights she ends up completely spread out across the entire bed.
baizhu ★↷
↪the doctor spends alot of time managing the pharmacy and other affairs and so even he would admit that he doesn't get as much sleep as he needs, especially when he can get easily fatigued. changsheng gets better sleep than he does.
↪normally by the time the day draws to a close, he's pretty exhausted and so he tries to go to sleep at a reasonable time after. he has somewhat of a nightly routine but it mainly focuses on managing his condition. same goes for the morning.
↪his bed is surprisingly really comfy, even changshengs is. he would prefer if you only messed with your side of the bed because he can be a bit particulate but if you really wanted to, he'd let you.
↪sometimes his condition can give him a rather uncomfortable night's sleep but he tries his best to not let it affect you. but otherwise he can become an extremely heavy sleeper because sleeping is one of the only times where he can truly rest.
↪very rarely his condition may get a bit too much and so he does have to isolate himself until it subsides. although now that you're in his life, he realises how lonely it can get without you.
↪he likes to keep contact to a minimum, perhaps holding hands or having your legs interwined. maybe further down the line, he'd be more inclined to indulge in cuddles if you preferred.
neuvillette ★↷
↪he wakes up quite early and never really wakes you, but if you need to get up he will get you up. however, on an extremely rare day off, he stays in bed with you a bit longer and subconsciously pulls you closer.
alhaitham ★↷
↪sometimes the scribe stays up late, sometimes he doesn't. staying up late could be due to akadeymia work or because he's busy reading up on his own interests. although he only really goes to bed early if you are.
↪his routines are basic but they cover the essentials, he spends more time on his nightly routine because he's normally more rushed in the morning.
↪his bed is rather basic, only really contains the essentials. he doesn't care what you do to make yourself comfortable, as long as you don't do anything stupid than he entertains you.
↪very prone to late night reading, most of the time he sits beside you completely emersed in his reading. alot of the time he does fall asleep in the middle of reading.
↪isn't one for physical contact but eventually might cave to your demands if you really want him to, although when he does you're convinced he enjoys it more than you do. although he does barely move in the night.
↪normally wakes up quite early, with some quite bad bed hair, but he normally leaves you to sleep unless he knows you have somewhere to be. although on his day's off, he indulges himself in your sleepy presence and he brings you closer and falls back asleep with you in his arms.
kaveh ★↷
↪it's no suprise that the architect can sometimes pull all nighters when he gets a well paid commission, much to your dismay. although most nights he does join you when you go to bed or earlier than you but he prefers you fi be there aswell.
↪his bed is extremely comfy and very well organised, most of the time. sometimes when he's pulled a few all nighters he can forget to sort his bed but most of the time he does.
↪his routines are also dependent on his sleep deprived state. if he's pulling all nighters, then his routine is very simple or virtually nonexistent, otherwise his routines can be quite extensive.
↪clingy. on purpose. he doesn't mind whether he's the big spoon or the small spoon, as long as he's cuddling you he's fine. in the morning when he's not fully awake, he can whine if you try and pry yourself away from him before he's ready to get up - he doesn't ever really need to get up super early.
↪a mix between a heavy sleeper and a light sleeper, can also shuffle around a tad but not much of an issue as long as you aren't an extremely light sleeper.
↪when you first stayed the night at neuvillette's, you wondered why on tevyat was his bed so big. it seemed almost comical for one person but you didn't exactly complain as it was extremely comfy.
↪however, further down the line, as he started to really trust you, you realised that it was because he preferred to sleep in somewhat of a dragon form as he claimed it was much more comfortable. and it certainly was for you, he was surprisingly comfy to sleep on.
↪if he has the time, he enjoys taking his time with a nightly routine and he enjoys doing it alongside you, should you also have one. again, same goes for his morning routine - although that one is always much shorter as he is needed quite early.
↪as mentioned, when he gets much more comfortable with you, he sleeps in a semi dragon form. however he's much more likely to fidget and shuffle around in such form, mainly his tail which sometimes wakes you up.
↪however, when he sleeps as is, he doesn't move at all. neuvillette does enjoy cuddling in both forms though, at first he didn't exactly understand why but he quickly grew accustomed to it and came to enjoy it much more than he thought.
wriothesley ★↷
↪alot of the time, he returns late at night. he doesn't exactly find spending the night at the fortress ideal, sometimes he does have to however, and so he doesn't mind traveling back late, although sometimes he wishes he could come back a tad bit earlier.
↪normally, he doesn't have an efficient amount of time to have an extensive night routine but he does in the morning if he wakes early enough. especially because he also falls victim to bed hair.
↪his bed is normally quite basic yet comfy. so he actually enjoyed it when you started changing things to your liking as it gave a bit of character.
↪clingy, on purpose. he always claims that he doesn't get to see you much since he's at the fortress all day and so he refuses to let you go. he always gathers you unti his embrace and when he knows you're safe in his arms, he can relax.
↪always extremely reluctant in the morning, he doesn't want to leave the comfort of the room and so when he has an extremely rare day off, he refuses to let you go and indulges in your presence much longer - all with a smug smile when you try and leave.
↪extremely light sleeper and sometimes does like to shuffle around, and of course you unfortunately will move around with him as his grip refuses to let up.
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taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn
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kissitbttr · 1 year ago
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a very tired miguel who gets home from work and gets babied by his woman
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It's close to 9pm as you're lying on your bed. keeping your focus on the book you're reading, one that you failed to keep as a part of your routine due to your busy schedule with work. being a fashion designer has it's perks but it also has its dark sides too. especially when it comes to dealing with snobby ass clients
as you are about to flip to another page, you hear the front door opened. keys rattling against the ceramic bowl with a loud sigh follows after. a soft smile appears on your face soon as you realize who it is
“miguel? Is that you?” you softly call out your husband’s name while putting the book down.
"si, mi amor" he appears shortly by the doorway. your tall and handsome fiancee adorned in an unbuttoned white shirt that showcase a bit of his chest and paired with black trousers. a simple work attire but never fail to make your knees wobble. the sight could put any Greek Gods known to a man to shame.
your heart breaks a little seeing how tired he looks. his eye-bags are coming off too strong. a constant reminder on how he has been working himself far too hard despite you telling him to take it easy. but that's just how he is, stubborn.
"how's work my love?" you ask, watching him undress himself, revealing his exposed toned chest before putting the clothes away with the rest of his dirty ones in the bathroom. "I take it, it wasn't a good day?"
"you could say that" he replies tiredly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the chair and slipping it on. "trying to get ahold with the new recruits is a fucking job, Peter's been getting on my nerves and I'm working on advancing the technology we have right now in order for it to be easier to identify every single anomaly's DNA we've come across to. But the amount of hypotheses and research I've done are nowhere near close to how I want them to be."
"i would ask Tony Stark for help but que cabron esta muerto" he breathes out a sigh, pinching the thick skin between his brows. "I'm drained, mi amor... i can't fucking do this shit everytime--"
"no hey.. stop" you shake your head, hate having to see your man fronting a distressed look in his face. “come here, Miggy” you pout at him patting your chest for him to lay his head,
he sighs heavily. plopping into the bed and carefully lays himself on top of you. pounding head finding comfort in the warmth of your chest, snaking his big arms around your waist.
you put your arms around him, locking him tightly as your soft lips kiss his forehead making him purr.
“my pretty baby. exhausted aren't you? hm?” you ask in a cooing tone. he hums -- which sounded like a growl to you-- with a nod before nuzzling himself closer. “oh my poor poor baby... my handsome man. always working himself to the bone” another kiss on the forehead
“come up a little closer, hm?” you ask as he barely shifts his body. too lazy and far too comfortable in your arms like this for him to move.
you run your fingers through his soft hair, moving a piece that’s covering his forehead. looking down to see him close his eyes, yet not sleeping.
it’s so funny to see how this freakishly large- broad man who always seems to bring a cold presence that scares everyone off at work—which is technically true— then turns into a huge softie and a love puddle for you in a split seconds.
it’s truly a privilege that you’re the only one who gets to see and feel this
“look how cute you are, baby… do you know how cute you are, hm?” you coo at him, lips kissing his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbone. trying your best to console him in hopes of washing his stress away.
he lightly shakes his head. “no” a curt reply rolls of his mouth, drawing your body closer to him if that's even possible.
you pretend to gasp dramatically at his answer. fingers still stroking his hair lightly. “you don’t?! oh no! we have to fix that! you’re the cutest *kiss* most handsome *kiss* hardworking *kiss* man I’ve ever known” showering him with compliments in between kisses. he breathes out a small chuckle that muffles against your chest.
it’s obvious that miguel rarely gets treatments like this, he’s no one to shy from things but you're his only exception. the only person who truly can get him blush like a little kid when he's shown the slightest bit of affection.
“who’s baby are you hm? are you my baby?” a smile graces your lips as your eyes casting down to his pretty features.
“me. I’m your baby” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you. "always be your baby"
-
inspired by @webslingingslasher their frat!peter work yall is making me [REDACTED] please go take a look!!
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burnforyou · 1 month ago
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DREAMING OF YOU - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER
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!SUMMARY! pure fluff, mutual pining, a bit more than friends. he's a good man savannah! wrote this while I was sleep deprived so... enjoy! 1.4k words
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the door shuts with a tight click and a high squeak. a cold draft enters the room. you craned your neck to look at the door, expecting your flatmate. instead, Luigi was standing in your doorway looking straight at you. you shot up from the couch.
"Luigi?" all of the air in your lungs was lost as you stared at him.
"hey?" he tried, his voice coming out hoarse. you ran around the couch and jumped into his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck. his arms wrapped around your waist, his cold hands sending a shiver over your whole body. he pulls you into him more and your heels begin to leave the ground.
this is where i'm meant to be, forever, you both think.
"you're here," you whisper into his neck, bringing your head up to look at him. you're still in utter disbelief that this is real, that he is real. you cradle his head in your hands purely to feel him, his face as cold as ice. you can tell he hasn't shaved in a period of time, which is very unlike him, as his stubble prickles your palms. his nose has a rosy hue, one that reminds you of Rudolph. his eyes open and he studies your face.
"where have you been?" you ask breathfully. you're out of breath as if you just ran a marathon.
"I had a family emergency in- out of the country, I had to leave immediately and didn't really have time to talk to anyone. 'm sorry." he apologizes shamefully.
"hey, you don't need to apologize. I understand. I'm just glad you're here now." you smile slightly and search his dark eyes for answers.
you both cannot tear your hands or eyes off of each other, his hands running up and down your back and arms like he’s sculpting you out of clay with his bare hands. you hold him as if he's your military husband returning from war, when in reality, he was only gone for a week. but it felt like war being apart from him for however many days, you could never handle being apart for any longer than that, or ever again.
he takes his hand off your back and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. your stomach flips at his icy, careful touch. he leaves his hand on your cheek and caresses your skin. he leans into you and his eyes flicker between your lips and eyes. your cheeks flush under his hand and a smile graces his face.
he's so unsure, so hesitant. all he wants to do is kiss you. all he wants to do is be yours, to have you be his. but he doesn't know if you want him the same way. he doesn't know that you dream of him the same way he dreams of you. your lips: your familiar, loving, lips.
little does he know, you feel the same way about him. you've always wanted your kids to have his eyes and nose.
"you're cold," you squeak out. his head jerks back. he looks away from you, embarrassed he even thought for even a second he had the honor of kissing you.
"I am cold." he says, his voice coarse.
"um, you can give me your coat," you awkwardly look down, stepping back from him. he takes off his backpack and drops it on the floor by the door with a thud. "do you want soup? I have tomato basil, vegetable, uh- I think mushroom, or if you don't want soup, I can make us chili, or ramen, or whatever you wa-"
"y/n, I'll eat whatever you make. make whatever you want and i'll eat it." he interrupts your rambling. you snap your head up to look at him, his dark eyes already looking at you.
"is Mac and cheese okay?" you squeak, your skin flushing with embarrassment. he nods and you rush to your small kitchen to start boiling the water, forgetting about his coat. you pour the water into the pot and focus on your breathing,
in,
and then out,
which doesn't seem to work because he's still got you all worked up. all hot and bothered.
on the other side of the wall, Luigi leans against the door and closes his eyes. he was so close to all hes wanted.
it's fine, he tells himself. we have all the time in the world.
when he finally finds the courage to face you again, he pushes off the wall and follows the familiar plan of your apartment to your kitchen. he leans on the island and watches you stir the pot. a couple minutes later you're sitting beside each other, basking in comfortable silence. he's simply just happy that he can be home with you again.
"if you don't mind me asking, um, what happened? with your family?"
"oh, my great uncle died and we had to sort out his will, for his land and money and stuff. we were close when I was growing up, but I haven't seen him in years. it just really hasn't set in yet, that I'm really never gonna see him again."
"I'm so sorry," you put your hand on his bicep. he blinks tiredly and gives you a tight-lipped smile in response. you notice dark eye bags developing beneath his eyes.
"when was the last time you slept?" you ask him. your care floods his heart with love.
"i'm not sure." he answers honestly.
"lu! you need to get to bed! you can sleep in my room tonight," you say, picking up your empty dishes before realizing what you said. "I'll take the couch," you add.
the idea of sleeping in your bed fills him with joy, almost a child-like giddiness. but he knows better.
"no, I'm not doing that. I'll sleep on the couch, it's no big deal." he slides off the chair and watches you in the kitchen. you place the dishes in the sink and turn around to look at him.
"not with those back problems you're not."
"I'd never make a woman sleep on a couch," he argues back.
"and I'd never make a man with back problems sleep on my hard couch that I picked up on the side of the street." you say, putting your hand on your hip.
"I can Uber home," he tries, even though he truly doesn't want to.
"no, you can't." you say stubbornly. you're not letting him go home. you don't even want to let him out of your eyesight for fucks sake.
"can't we just sleep in my bed together?" you blurt out before realizing the implications. your faces both grow red with embarrassment. you look down at your nails and bite the spot on your cuticle you've been picking at. he shivered at the thought of sleeping in a bed together. not just any bed, your bed.
"well, I'm going to bed," you begin walking to your room. "you can join me if you want."
you leave the decision in his hands. once you reach your bathroom, you lean on the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. is this real? you ask yourself. you quickly go through the motions of getting ready for bed, suppressing any thoughts of Luigi. any thoughts of sleeping in the same bed of Luigi. any thoughts of laying next to him as he sleeps and him pulling you flush into him as he sleeps, your backside molding into his front perfectly.
him wearing only boxers and you in a thin t-shirt, little to nothing keeping your skin apart.
fuck!
cold water splashing on your face pulls the wild thoughts out of your mind. your push it all away, walk to bed, and pull the covers over you.
a little while later, you feel the blanket pull and the bed dip. you blink your eyes open slowly and your met with luigi's dark brown eyes staring tiredly into your own, also struggling to stay open.
"Luigi," you croak, your mind not fully awake. you reach out for him and he shuffles closer to you. his skin is still cold to the touch. you pull his head into your chest and entwine your fingers in his curls. you share your heat with him under the blanket.
"are you cold now?" you ask, delirious with sleep.
"no," he replies simply, at a loss for words as you massage his scalp with your finger nails.
luigi picks his head up and stares deeply into your eyes, noticing speckles of color he's never noticed before. I'll never get tired of this sight, he thinks.
"I don't deserve you." he breathes out, his voice so deep with honesty.
"shhhh" you whisper, pushing his head back down onto your chest. your hand returns to massaging his curly hair. he sighs and shuts his eyes, dreaming of you.
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MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK
!A/N! wrote this bc I wanted to portray him in a slightly better light than creep (lol) but I ended up loving it and now I cant stop having fluffy thoughts about him. send fluffy (or not) requests!
!TAGS!
@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @bricapallen16 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n
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freedomfireflies · 8 months ago
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The Playboy*
Summary: The one where you're a Playboy Bunny and Harry is Hugh's assistant. The one person you aren't allowed to love.
Word Count: 8.9k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, exhibitionsim, multiple orgasms, brief choking, overstimulation
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Harry's cum is dripping down your thigh.
You can see it, glistening beneath the sunlight, making it almost impossible to look away. You’re completely and utterly mesmerized by the sight of it, but Harry pretends as though he has no clue.
After all, he has to pretend. You know he’s done this on purpose. Know that he wanted to mark you right before your photoshoot with Hugh and the other Bunnies. He's sending a message, making a statement.
And really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Harry fucked you right and you both know it. And he can pretend all he wants that it means nothing, but you’re the best lover he’s ever had. He told you himself. And perhaps that’s why he’s done this. Why he insisted that you weren’t allowed to wipe it off or hide it. Because he wants them to see. To know who you really belong to.
No matter how hard you squeeze your thighs together or attempt to brush the sticky stain away, it remains. And Harry’s proud smirk is rather obvious even from over on the grass where he observes. 
You try not to look at him. To acknowledge that sadistic glee as you keep your gaze on the camera. Because if you look at him…it’s over. You won’t be able to hide your infatuation and the last thing either of you want is for Hugh to find out.
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. Then again, he has too many people around him at once to pay attention to you and your wet thighs. But you know he’d be furious if he knew what his precious Bunny was doing, one of the many reasons you and Harry are forced to keep your meetings a secret.
But you know Harry likes being your secret. Perhaps just as much as you like being his. Besides, it’s only sex. No strings attached. He’s Hugh’s assistant and you’re one of the beloved Bunnies. It’s against every rule in the book for the two of you to be together, much less sleep together.
Yet here you are.
You sometimes wonder if Harry would even give you the time of day outside of your secret rendezvous. Or if he’d avoid you altogether. You want to believe it goes deeper than just sex, but truth be told, you’re too afraid to ask.
"Your lemonade, Sir."
You watch as Harry nods his thanks and takes the cold glass from the waiter. He’s far too smug for your liking, and you’d chastise him if it were any other moment.
Still, you watch him take a rather long sip as his eyes follow you from behind those dark sunglasses.
He knows you like to be watched. That you thrive off his attention. So, he gives it to you anytime he can. Even when you’re sitting on the lap of the man that employs him.
But you like to watch him, too. And the way he looks right now, with those dark curls pushed back, now slightly disheveled from when you had your hands running through them, is rather delicious.
He leans back in his seat, strong thighs spreading as he takes another sip. It’s almost criminal, and you can practically hear the sighs of the other girls as they notice, too.
He pops the first couple buttons of his shirt free, allowing for a glimpse of his tan, sweaty skin, and you feel your stomach clench. He’s taunting you now. Reminding you who’s really in charge, and you’re nearly tempted to march right over and prove him wrong.
But you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. Remembering just a few moments ago when he had you bent over a chair as he fucked you from behind.
"Tell me how good I feel."
"Fuck you."
"Tell me how deep—"
"Not deep enough. Fuck me like you mean it, Playboy."
The second he saw you in your signature bowtie, he snatched your hand and dragged you away. And you let him, because how could you not? Even if it meant you were late for the shoot and that you’d earn a very firm frown from Hugh. It was worth it, and the evidence has been painted all over your leg.
Suddenly struck with inspiration, you give a big beam to the camera before you subtly drop your hand to your thigh and swipe your finger through the mess.
You notice Harry’s eyes widen as he straightens up, wildly intrigued. But you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking, instead keeping your eyes on the lens as suck your middle finger into your mouth.
Harry knows what coats that finger and you let your lashes flutter as though to tell him how much you enjoy the taste.
Hugh laughs, thinking it's just a clever pose for the photos, but Harry knows this show is just for him and him alone.
He slides his sunglasses a bit further down his nose, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store.
Yet your eyes never leave the camera, your smile wide, and your glee unmeasurable. You enjoy teasing him when you know he can’t do anything about it. 
And it works, if the way he begins to shift in his seat is any indication. You can practically see his erection from here, and you have to swallow a laugh as he clenches his jaw.
Finally, you decide to put him out of his misery, and steal one glance for yourself.
The moment your eyes meet, your chest nearly caves in. The tension is thick, and it feels as though the whole world has gone quiet. It’s just you and Harry, and when he bites his lip and leans back in his seat, you about lose it.
Thankfully, almost as though heaven heard your silent plea, Hugh suddenly claps his hands together and declares the shoot through. He thanks you all for your patience and time before everyone begins to part and the camera crew packs up.
You’re off his lap in seconds, moving for the refreshments so you can grab a glass of lemonade for yourself. And hopefully encourage Harry’s attention to follow you.
You feel him behind you before you even have a chance to turn around. You recognize his cologne and the soft hum in his throat and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning.
“Bunny,” he murmurs, and even though it’s only been a few minutes, you’ve missed the sound of his voice. Low and raspy with just a hint of an accent.
“Harold,” you return, tossing a quick look over your shoulder before moving across the yard.
However, he’s hot on your tail, giving you absolutely no room or personal space. “That was quite a show,” he says, jogging around you to catch your eye.
You only bat your lashes as you take a sip of your drink, watching as his attention zeroes in on the way your lips wrap around the straw. 
He smirks.
“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” you retort innocently, attempting to brush past him again when he suddenly grabs onto your upper arm and drags you back to him.
He dips down, mouth ghosting the side of your ear as he murmurs, “I believe you owe me a taste.”
Your eyebrow quirks. “Is that so?”
“It is.” His grip tightens. “And you know it.”
You take a quick glance around the backyard just to make sure Hugh isn’t watching before you pull yourself free and turn to Harry. “Who said you deserve to taste me?”
 “I believe you did. When you were coming around my cock and begging me to do it again.”
You scoff, feigning annoyance as you attempt to walk away. However, Harry is much quicker, and he snatches hold of your wrist in order to drag you across the grass and toward the pool shed in the corner of the yard.
Thankfully nobody seems to notice, and you feel your cunt throb as he gently slams you against the wall, away from any prying eyes. And he cages you there, arms on either side of your head as you bite your lip and peer up at him. 
“You’ve been quite the brat, haven’t you, little one?” he nearly purrs, wedging his knee between your clenched thighs. “Trying to tease me…embarrass me. Get me in trouble.”
You blink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” He squeezes your chin. “Show me your tongue.”
Slowly, you concede. Parting your lips and extending your tongue as he tilts your head back and stares down your throat. 
“Good girl. Swallowed every drop, didn’t you?”
You nod.
“S’it feel good in your tummy, baby? Hm? Did it taste as good as you imagined?”
Another nod. Quicker and more excited.
He smiles. “Then I think it’s only fair you return the favor, hm?”
You aren’t afforded the chance to answer before he’s dropping to his knees and prying your legs apart.
“Harry—”
“Shh. I’m busy,” he murmurs, flicking the button on your costume undone until he can reach your stockings and tear them down. “S’been too long.”
“It’s been twenty minutes.”
“Exactly.”
He runs his hands along your body, enjoying the way you shiver, that wicked grin is enough to ruin you. He places your foot on his shoulder while you steady yourself against the shed, your fingers already returning to his hair.
And he watches you. So desperate and eager to please. You know he’d bury himself in your cunt with no hesitation if he could, but for now…this is all you get.
It’s one of the things you adore most about him. His need to please you, even despite his ego. In fact, from the moment you met him, he’s put your pleasure first. Demanding that you sit on his face nearly every hour of the day just so he can get a small taste. Savor you on his tongue, go home with you still smeared across his chin.
Some people do drugs. Harry does pussy.
His hands slowly smooth up your leg, taking his time to appreciate your skin while admiring the way it glistens underneath the summer sun. He begins to kiss his way along your ankle and up toward your knee. 
And you work to bite back a heavy sigh. You don’t tend to trip up too often, but when it comes to Harry, you find that you can never stay quiet. And you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because he knows how to draw out every possible noise and sensation. Somehow, even his kisses leave you whining. 
Either way, you know you can’t make a noise today. Because no matter how loud the group out by the pool are, it’s not nearly loud enough to drown out your pleasured whines.
And he knows it, too.
He pauses his kisses once he reaches your inner thigh and glances up through those thick lashes of his. "You think you can stay quiet, little one?" he asks, lips brushing against your skin with every word.
You force a smile. “Do it right and we’ll see.”
It’s a challenge he’s more than eager to accept. He’s been waiting far too long to get a taste of what he left behind and wastes no more time in dragging his flattened tongue along your leg to collect the salty remnants from before.
The feeling itself isn't much but watching him...you can feel your knees growing weak. Harry knows what you like to see. Knows you adore his pink lips and the rings on his fingers. Knows you like to run your hands through his gelled hair and leave your lipstick on his shirt. 
He hums, rather satisfied with himself. But before he can truly have you, you both catch the sound of commotion happening near the mansion.
You have a rather hard time tearing yourself away, but you know that if you don’t check, Hugh will coming looking for you.
So, regretfully, you drop your leg from Harry’s shoulder and peer around the shed.
Hugh is standing on one of the staircases, pipe in his mouth as he claps his hands to get everyone's attention. "All right, my dears, gather 'round. You've all been doing such good work this week, and I felt it was only right to honor you. So, for the first Saturday of the summer, I've decided we must celebrate.”
The other girls cheer as you toss Harry a curious look. 
He only shrugs.
"You know the rules," Hefner continues. "But I want you to have fun and just relax tonight. The real work starts next week.”
With that, he gives his adoring audience a wink before heading back inside, leaving you to sigh to yourself.
Hugh is a stickler for rules and regulations. Curfews, no outside relationships, and absolutely no visitors. He wants to keep his girls to himself, and you know that applies to you more than anyone else.
Harry is watching you closely as you finally turn back around. “He wants me there tonight,” he tells you.
You nod. You expected nothing less. “I imagine so.”
“We won’t have as much time.”
“I know.” You readjust your outfit and attempt to wipe the lustful look from your face. “I should go.”
You get ready to slip back out into the open before Harry grabs your arm for a third time.
"I'll find you," he murmurs, more so a promise than a threat. "And I will get my taste."
You can’t help but smirk as you pat his cheek lightly.  “Mm. Good luck, Playboy."
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There are very few times in life when you find yourself completely and utterly breathless. Transfixed beyond doubt, mesmerized by one singular moment in time when you can't move or speak.
For you, that happened when you saw Harry enter the room for the very first time.
And then it happened again…when he slid inside you later that same night.
Two moments, one man.
One incredibly ethereal, divine, godlike man. 
You hadn't expected Hugh's party to be all that exciting, but it was one of Harry’s first parties as Hugh’s assistant. Turns out…that meant something.
You had specific instructions to stay close to Hugh throughout the evening, as his favorite Bunny, and Harry had instructions to stay close as the assistant. But unlike you, Harry was instructed to follow from behind. Not to interact with any of the guests. And definitely not to be seen or heard.
But from the moment he entered the room, you knew it would be nearly impossible for anyone to keep their eyes off him.
He walked in as though surrounded by light, drawing everyone’s attention to those dark curls and that charming smile.
You couldn’t look away, so spellbound by his presence that you didn’t even realize Hugh was right beside him.
Instantly, you knew that would complicate things.
Still, you liked the challenge. And as it turned out, Harry did, too. Because while you were busy seeing him, he was busy seeing you.
Your eyes met through the crowd, even despite the many bodies and loud music. You felt yourself being drawn closer as you pushed your way toward the center of the room in a desperate attempt just to be close.
Harry did the same.
You wondered if Hugh knew what a threat Harry posed to his brand. After all, Hugh loved being the center of attention and Harry was so effortlessly stealing the attention for himself.
But it didn’t matter in that moment because Harry’s attention was yours, and once you both found your way to the center of the living room…everything changed. 
You did your best to study him. Those gorgeous, textured curls. The unusual shade of green in his eye. That strong jaw that seemed to accentuate his sharp but handsome features.
He was wearing a white t-shirt that hugged each of his muscles in a way that left little to the imagination. He looked clean. Put together. So refined that all you wanted to do was trail your hands down his chiseled chest before you tore is shirt off.
And that’s when it happened.
The Moment.
Ever since that night, the two of you have been inseparable. Fucking any chance you get. In the kitchen, in the car, in the closet. His hand over your mouth, forcing you to stay silent in case Hugh might be somewhere in the mansion—which he always is.
In fact, there’s never a moment when you aren't the focus of each other's attention. Day or night, all you can think about is when you’ll see him next. Creating moments to run into each other. Planning meetings. Making excuses to find time alone.
And as it turns out, tonight is no different.
You know Hugh will be around. And even worse, he’ll be making his favorite Bunny the center of attention.
Which just means you’ll have to try a little harder to get Harry alone. 
Most of the crowd will be desperate to talk to you. They always are, after all. They’ll follow you around, ask you questions, want to be in your presence. 
And Harry will be somewhere hidden, keeping to himself so he’s neither seen nor heard. Although the rest of the Bunnies make that quite difficult.
For some reason, Hugh doesn’t mind if the others pay Harry a bit of attention. He only seems to mind if you do. And even though Harry will never admit it, Hugh’s possession over you makes him quite jealous.
He doesn’t enjoy the idea of having to share you, much less with a whole crowd of people and greedy men. They’ll take up all of your time. Time that should be reserved for him. 
Truth be told, you find it rather cute.
So, you try to make it worth it. You sway your hips to a song just because he’s watching. 
You run your hands down your body, smoothing them over each and every one of his favorite curves. 
You dangle a cherry over your tongue before taking it between your lips, your cheeks hollowing as you suck the sweet fruit into your mouth.
It drives him absolutely mad, and you can already see him fighting the temptation to stride over to you right now.
You’re sitting by the pool, legs dangling over the side as you chat with Paul Newman. He’s leaning his body closer and closer toward yours, inviting himself into your space as you laugh and throw your head back with glee just to give Harry a proper show.
You do your best to flirt with the handsome man—which isn’t all that difficult, really—before you notice Harry march himself over to the drink stand. 
Instantly, he begins chatting up Sophia Loren. One of the most stunning women you think you’ve ever seen and immediately, your eyes narrow.
So that’s how he wants to play it.
He’s not subtle about the way he stares at her, raking his eyes up and down her figure rather shamelessly. And she smiles, eating up his attention until you nearly chip a tooth from how hard you’re gritting your teeth.
It’s rather cute, all things considered. He’s really trying to make you jealous. But why should you be? Paul Newman is every bit as handsome, if not more, and happens to be someone you can actually sit and have a conversation with.
In fact, Hugh was the one who set it up. He introduced the two of you and insisted you get to know each other.
You knew what he really wanted from the interaction, but neither you nor Paul will be entertaining such an idea. After all, he is happily married. And you just enjoy getting to know him.
Paul is still chatting away as you both swing you legs through the warm water, and even though you can’t help feeling rather starstruck by those gorgeous blue eyes…you’re remind of a pair of green ones that are currently still checking out someone else.
So, you gently put your hand on Paul’s chest in a subtle signal for him to wind his story down. You tell him that you’re going to go grab a drink and he nods before helping you stand from the pool.
You make your way for the bar—rather aware of the number of eyes on you as you walk—yet Harry still seems to be rather immersed in his conversation with the starlet. And now you aren’t sure if this really is just for show or if she truly has caught his eye.
Either way, you decide a little eavesdropping can’t hurt. So, you subtly make your way around the pool and toward the back of the drink station, just out of sight. Close enough to hear, but not so close as to be seen.
“Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” Harry is asking, and you catch just a glimpse of those dimples.
Sophia hums, looking around the large backyard that seems to sparkle underneath such a dark sky. "Oh, yes. Hugh always throws the best parties."
"He does. Are you here with someone?"
You suck in a quiet breath while Sophia laughs, shaking out her perfectly styled curls. “No, not at all. I like to…come alone. Window shop.”
“Window shop?” Harry repeats with a smirk.
“Yes. I like to see what’s to be seen. To decide if I’ll be leaving alone as well.”
Harry chuckles, and the sound of it makes your stomach flutter. “I see. Well, I have to admit, that does sound like an excellent plan.”
Sophia studies him. “And…you? Will you be leaving alone?”
Harry runs his tongue over his lip before glancing toward the spot near the pool where you once were. But once he notices you’re missing, his eyebrow raises. “I hope not.”
She smiles. “Come,” she says, taking his hand. “We dance.”
With that, she leads him toward the middle of the yard where a few people are already swaying to the music.
You watch them dance with a rather wounded expression, doing your best to remind yourself what this really is.
You don’t imagine Sophia will be taking him home tonight—he’s handsome, but she’s far out of his league—yet you can’t help that spark of jealousy that finally burns in your chest.
What Harry lacks in brains he makes up for in charisma. And he looks rather breathtaking out there, moving his hips to the melody and grabbing at her waist while she laughs and swings her arms around his neck.
For a moment, you almost wish that you could dance with him like that. So open and uninhibited. But you know that this arrangement only lasts for the summer. Once fall comes, the two of you will part ways, and the fun will be through.
Eventually, the two of them return to the bar for more drinks, and you’re forced to scurry back out of sight just in time to ear the rest of their conversation.
"She is...stunning,” Sophia says as they approach.
Harry’s head tilts. “Who?”
“The woman you keep looking for.”
Harry grins as he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hm.” She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him. “One cannot win a game if the other player doesn’t know they are playing.”
"Maybe. But I’m not playing any games.”
She scoffs. “Aren’t you? Talking to me but wanting her?”
Harry seems rather surprised by this, and you feel yourself grin as you finally breeze your way around the corner in full view of them both.
“A scotch, please, darling,” you call to the bartender before glancing to your left. “Oh! Hi, Sophia. Harold.”
Sophia laughs. “Hello, dear. Fantastic party. You look beautiful.”
“As do you,” you return. “So happy you made it, despite your current choice in companion.”
Harry’s eyes roll.
“Oh, he’s not so bad,” she says, reaching up to wipe her thumb across his bottom lip. “Rather…sweet.”
Harry feigns a smug smirk even though you can tell he’s rather surprised by the action. 
Still, you refuse to play along. “I suppose he can be when Hugh isn’t around.”
She chuckles to herself before offering you a quick kiss to the cheek before bidding the two of you goodbye so she can make the rounds. 
 Rather satisfied, you give Harry a proud look of your own before grabbing your drink and turning on your heel.
But, true to form, he’s chasing after you and taking a handful of your hip in order to bring you to a stop.
“Bunny,” he warns beneath a raspy breath. “I thought I made myself clear—”
“I don’t know what you mean, I was only chatting,” you retort, pulling yourself from his hand with a huff. 
“No, you were not. You were being a brat and I’d like you to stop.”
“Stop what? Being delightful?”
“No. Stop toying with me.” He regards you carefully. “I know what you’re doing.”
"I'm talking. After all, that is my job—"
"No, your job is to be a good little Bunny, and do as you're told," he argues, straightening up so he has the advantage of height. "And I’m telling you that I will not play these games with you any longer.”
“What games?”
“The game where you try to rub my nose in that,” he says, gesturing angrily toward Paul.
“It’s not a game. He’s quite delightful. And I don’t believe I’m quite through with him yet—”
“Enough,” he seethes, suddenly yanking you back to him. “You know you don't want to talk to him. Or entertain his sad attempts at flirting. So, give it up, and come with me—"
"Beg me."
He leans back. “Excuse me?”
“Beg me,” you repeat calmly, even though your pussy is just about throbbing from the possessive tone of voice. 
His head cocks. “I said end this—"
"Beg me, and maybe I will.”
He looks at you for another moment more before his eyes flick toward the mansion in search of Hugh. Having this conversation in such an open space is rather reckless, especially with so many witnesses. But you just can’t help it. He never seems to listen.
Harry knows his time is running out, as well as his patience, so he runs a hand through his hair and releases a strained exhale. 
“Fine,” he concedes darkly. “Fine. Please…end this. And come with me.”
You bite back a smile. "Hm... I don't know, Paul and I were just having such a good time—"
"Please," he repeats, almost viciously. "Fucking end this. Now.”
By now, you know exactly what Harry's last straw looks like. What it sounds like. His voice, twisted with need and lust, becomes hoarser the closer he creeps to desperation. His grip becomes tighter, and his pupils nearly blow-out with desperation.
It happens when he's fucking into you so hard that you see stars. When his tongue is so far inside you that neither of you can breathe. And when you’re taking him so well down your throat that you think you’ll sink right through the floor.
It's the same voice. The same urgency. And you can’t help but feel a little intrigued.
You nod. “Fine.”
"Good. Meet me in the coat closet," he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "Five minutes."
"Harry—"
“Go,” he repeats, before releasing you so he can slip inside the mansion. 
You don’t need to be told twice. You immediately make your way for the door, weaving your way through the crowd in search of that familiar closet.
The inside of the house is packed with people. It’s loud and chaotic and there are more celebrities here than you can name.
But right now, you couldn’t care less. There’s only one person on your mind. One beautiful body that you can’t wait to run your hands down and it’s only five minutes away.
Once you’ve hidden yourself away in the small, dark space, you imagine all the things he might do. One of his favorites is watching the way he disappears inside you. The way your pussy stretches open to take his cock until you’re both a rather wet mess. You don’t doubt that he’ll find a way to do so tonight, and the thought makes you giddy.
Or perhaps he’ll blindfold you. Cut off all your senses until he’s all you know. Maybe you’ll blindfold him, another favorite. 
Truthfully, it doesn’t really matter what he does as long as he does it. Because even the thought leaves you breathless.
The door swings open exactly two minutes later. Harry is quick to lock you both in and turn on the light, twisting the bulb between his fingers until you can see everything you couldn’t before. Mostly coats and hats, but then…him. Somehow just as stunning as he was a few minutes ago, and smiling in a way that makes you want to drag him to his knees.
“You obeyed,” he whispers, stepping up to you until he can softly run his palm along your cheek. “You are a good little bunny after all, aren’t you?”
You pull your lip between your teeth. “Only when I think you deserve it.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
He leans closer, nose brushing against yours. “And do I still deserve that taste?”
Your lashes flutter before you forcefully push him away and point to his belt. “Take off your pants.”
You don’t want to have to rush, but you know Hugh will be looking for you soon so you can be by his side for his grand speech. Which means you’ll have to save the sensual looks and teasing touches for another day.
He starts with his shirt instead of his pants (just to spite you), grabbing at his collar before slipping the fabric over his head. Then he reaches for his zipper and drags it down, as slowly as he can all while keeping his eyes on yours.
With a rather unamused huff, you finally swat his hands out of the way in order to do it yourself. 
You yank the dark material down his legs, taking note of the boxers around his hips that practically call to you. You allow your fingers to slowly trail along his thighs. Higher and higher, groping at the strong flesh as he sighs and watches you with flushed cheeks.
Finally, you move for the band at his waist, pulling on it until it snaps back against his stomach, making him grunt.
He drops his head back with a curse, but once you start to drag your tongue along his abs…it’s game over. 
His hand is instantly in your hair, tugging at the scalp as though to remind you who’s really in charge. But you can feel his muscles quivering beneath your tongue and you hum when you hear him exhale your name.
You reach his pecs, taking a moment to brush your lips over his hardened nipple. He doesn’t seem to understand why this feels so good, but he enjoys it, and he certainly enjoys watching you do it, too.
You never leave him unsatisfied. You don’t think you could even if you tried. Sometimes, all you have to do is kiss him, and he’s nearly coming in his shorts as he grinds you against his lap. 
He knows his pleasure isn’t nearly as important as yours, but he enjoys the time you dedicate to him, nonetheless. 
You graze the nipple with your teeth, pulling it ever so slightly until he hisses, head dipping as your foreheads meet.
He wraps his fingers around the back of your neck with a firm squeeze before he’s pulling you up and kissing you hard. He starts with his tongue, exploring your mouth like it’s the first time, and honestly…it almost feels like it is.
Teeth clash, noses brush, breaths are stolen. You devour each other, greedy hands roaming freely, tangling in each other's hair.
"Can’t fucking stand you," he nearly groans against your mouth, his hips knocking into yours as he keeps you trapped against his chest. "Teasing me all night. Playing with me."
"You love it," you pant. "Love it when I play with you."
He grins. “Maybe I do.”
His hand moves to your one-piece until he finds the apex of your thighs. He smooths his palm along your cunt, cupping you harshly as you reel. He wants to feel how warm you are—how wet and desperate.
And you want him to feel it, too.
You swallow a needy sigh, almost as though you can’t let him hear. He can’t know how good this really feels. How depraved you really are of his touch. How starved.
But he knows. You know he knows, even through one little kiss.
It’s maddening.
He grabs onto the corset, ready to rip it down and reveal your chest to his hungry eyes, but you quickly snatch his wrist.
“No,” you exhale, shaking your head slightly. “Can’t rip it. Gentle.”
He scoffs, almost as though the thought of being gentle with you is absurd. Still, he knows Hugh would notice if your outfit has been torn, so he obeys, and unzips you instead.
The suit falls away, finally allowing him a good look at what you’ve been hiding from him all night.
Instantly, he’s got your tits in his hands, pulling at the tender flesh with a lewd grunt.
“Pretty,” he murmurs before sucking one into his mouth. “Fucking killing me, Bunny.”
Like a starved wolf, he starts to leave a trail of kisses wherever he can. Sloppy kisses that make you shiver as you fist his curls and laugh at the feel of your nipple between his teeth.
He swirls his tongue just the way you did, then flicks it gently while you sigh in his ear. Eventually, his fingers make their way to their previous spot, brushing at your inner thighs as though to warn you. And you’re given only a few seconds to prepare before he’s slipping the middle one inside and making you gasp.
The noise is covered by the loud music outside of the door, but Harry still hears it, and he beams as he starts to pump you slowly.
Your body invites him in the way it always does, squeezing him gently and clenching as though to keep him close. 
“Shit,” he curses, once again pressing his mouth to yours. “Missed this pretty pussy, baby.”
His large digit suddenly curls upward, motioning a moan from your lips and there it is. That’s what you needed.
You hold onto him for dear life, already lost in the feel. He's always been rather exceptional at touching you. At knowing your body better than anyone else does.
You’ve tried to replicate his actions on yourself, tried to make yourself cum as hard as he makes you when he’s the one doing it. But it's never the same. It feels like a waste of time to even try. It'll be weak and short. Pitiful. And trying again never works because it's just as disappointing as the first time.
But Harry…with his long fingers, his firm hand, his ravenous lips. Nothing will ever compare.
"Feel so good, sweetheart," he praises, lips staining your skin as he kisses the hollow of your neck. "Good girl. Lift for me, yeah?"
You obey, offering him your leg which he's quick to hook around his waist, spreading your open a bit further so he can slide himself deeper inside.
Another finger, another curl, another pinch. His thumb presses into your clit, circling it rapidly, making you whine into his shoulder. You can feel the coil already ready to snap, hardly surprised by how quickly you got here, but you know he’ll make sure to drag it on for as long as possible.
And as if to prove this, he slips his fingers out, and raises them to his lips. You nearly wilt right then and there, but you manage to hold your impatient façade as you cock your eyebrow upward before yanking his hand out and kissing him.
You can taste yourself on his lips, something you always seem to enjoy. The mix of you both together. 
And this is when he decides to ruin you, plunging his fingers back in with vigor until he hits that perfect spot. The one that has you gasping for air and moaning his name.
Your chest heaves with deep breaths. You’re close and you know it won’t be long until your cunt is fluttering around his hand and you’re dripping down his wrist. But you need more than that. Especially because this is the last time you’ll be with him for a while.
So, you grab onto his jaw and forcefully bring his eyes to yours.
“No,” you hiss. “Not like this. Fuck me like you mean it, Playboy.”
He hums, all without slowing his rhythm. “Impatient, little one?”
“Obviously.”
He makes an amused noise, but he doesn’t stop his thrusts. He plans to make you cum just like this before he fucks you and you don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.
You move your hand to his throat, squeezing the sides gently as you feel him swallow. His pulse is pounding beneath your fingertips, blown-out pupils glued to yours as you add just the slightest bit of pressure.
His soft inhale makes your stomach flutter. You happen to adore him like this, on the verge of complete submission. Merciless at your feet.
But you know it won’t last long. And once his eyelids begin to flutter, you yank him down for another kiss. Stealing the only breath he has left.
You can practically feel his cock twitching against your thigh as you tug his curls and suck on his tongue. But he’s not one to be outdone, and he continues rubbing your clit as quickly as he can, sweeping his fingers in a circle while you roll your hips against his hand.
"Gentle, sweetheart," he warns, throwing your own instruction back at you. 
You want to retort with a quippy remark of your own but choose instead to lick a stripe along his jaw. That suffices as your reply.
You don't have a lot of time, at least not for games. You’re playing against the clock, and you know Hugh will be calling for you any second.
Any other night, Harry would most likely edge you all the way to the brink. But tonight, he knows better, and he does everything he can to make you cum.
And when you do, you nearly lose your balance. It’s one of the most blinding and toe-curling orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. So much better than when you do it alone and you’re so grateful for his cocky attitude for the first time all summer.
Your body melts into his as you start to come down from your high. You almost wish it would never end. The way his lips feel on your cheek. The sound of his soft, proud praises in your ear. It’s everything.
But you know that’s not what he’s good for. So, instead, you push him away and step back. “Down.”
He looks at you. “Down?”
You nod toward the floor. “You wanted a taste. So take a taste, sweetheart.”
He crosses his arms. “Mm. Ask me nicely.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ask me nicely to eat you out and maybe I will.”
Your expression falls flat. “Take the goddamn taste, Harold, or I will go out there and find somebody who will.”
He’s amused, but you know he’s also nervous. He doesn’t like the idea that you’d take yourself from him, so, he clears his throat and slowly lowers to his knees.
Exactly where he belongs.
His head bows, something he doesn’t do quite that often, and your heart soars. He looks beautiful like this. Submissive and good. Everything you know he’s not. 
You brush your fingers through the curls draping across his forehead and he seems to settle into your touch before you’re hooking your finger under his chin and lifting his head.
Your eyes meet, a look of utter reverence written across his face as he gazes at you with awe and respect. And your stomach nearly twists as you whisper, “You know what to do.”
And he does. His mouth turns up in a gentle smile as he slowly reaches for your ankle. He resumes his earlier position, the bottom of your heel on top of his shoulder for access, and his other hand reaching to grab your hip and pull you towards his face.
You immediately bite your lip, anticipating the noises that are about to follow. 
Similar to this afternoon, he starts gentle, pressing kisses into your thighs ever so slowly. You know you’re soaking him. Can hear it and see it, even in the dim closet light.
He drags his tongue up your leg, collecting every drop that’s at his disposal, while you continue pushing back his hair so you can see him clearly. 
Finally, he reaches your swollen clit, still sensitive from his last assault, before he’s eagerly tracing it with the tip of his tongue.
You writhe in his hands, head turning to the side as you open your mouth to exhale a curse. And this seems to feed his ego because he repeats the action again, nose pressing into your hip as he inhales you like you’re fresh air on a spring day. Like you’re the only thing he wants in his lungs—the only breath he wants to take.
You pull his head closer as though to encourage him, and your name falls from his lips like rain.
“My sweet Bunny,” he nearly groans. “Can never get enough of you.”
“Good,” is all you can say. “We don’t have a lot of time, though. You need to be quick.”
“Who says I’m through? You owe me, sweetheart.”
You give his curls a sharp yank. “No. Get up and fuck me.”
He pouts, feigning a tantrum, but you know his cock is throbbing rather pitifully for you. So, he obliges, standing to his feet while you gather yourself in wait.
He tugs down his boxers, the only fabric left between you, and you try not to stare as you grab onto his shoulders and prepare to sink down.
“Five minutes,” you instruct softly. “Make it count.”
However, before you can feel that glorious tip pushing its way through, he’s suddenly grabbing onto your hips and spinning you around. Shoving you against the coat closet wall as you gasp.
Instantly, his hand comes up to slap against your lips. “Hush now," he hisses against your ear. "Unless you want Hugh to know what I'm really doing to his pretty girl?"
You’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel his hips knocking into yours, giving you just a taste of what’s to come. Instead, you glance over your shoulder in an attempt to see him, and nod once.
But this isn’t good enough. So, he reaches for the bowtie around your neck, pulling on it until it snaps off into his hand. He holds it as though it were a prize he won in battle before he’s slipping it over your head and into your mouth.
You take it between your teeth and bite down obediently.
“Good,” he hums, giving your ass a quick spank. The sound echoes between the small walls. “That’s much better, hm?”
You feel him drag his cock through your dripping folds while his other hand ghosts down the curve of your spine. He’s gentle with you, despite his cruel taunting, and you’re almost impressed. Infatuated, even.
His warm body feels so good against yours. Luring you into a sense of security you can’t seem to find anywhere else. And you rather enjoy it as you feel the thickness of him starting to stretch you open.
You moan around the tie while Harry grunts in your ear. Just like the first time the two of you found yourselves in this position. 
And exactly like every other time before, he doesn’t rush you. He lets you feel—lets you enjoy—every inch and every second. Any other time, he’d make you beg. Beg him to go harder, go deeper. But tonight, you can’t, and it’s almost a shame he won’t get to hear it.
Instead, you offer a muffled whimper that seems to do the trick, and he chuckles to himself. “Need more, don’t you?”
You nod quickly, and he wraps his arms around your stomach in order to tug you back and guide you along his cock the way he wants.
He goes faster. His five minutes is now down to four, and he knows he’ll have to make this quicker than usual. Sharp, hard thrusts that make your legs shake and your heart race. But somehow, it’s still not enough.
“You like to play with me, don’t you, hm?” he begins to taunt. An angrier tone than before. “Make me watch you? With him?”
Your eyes nearly roll back, and you whine against the fabric on your tongue.
"Think I don't know?" he scoffs. "Think I don't know who this pussy belongs to?"
He starts to slow. A rather achingly languid pace that’s meant to make you scream, and you nearly do.
“I do,” he promises in a dark whisper. “I know exactly who you belong to.”
You arch your back and reach for his hair. Pulling his face into your neck as he leaves a trail of wet kisses all the way down to your shoulder.
“So stay,” he murmurs. “Stay with me. Don’t go back to him. Don’t make me jealous, Bunny. Don’t make me watch him touch you. Please.”
Please.
A word he rarely uses, even when you instruct him to. But it sounds so beautiful between his lips, and you nearly tell him you’ll never leave him again.
But you know he doesn’t mean it. It’s just what you say in a moment like this. So, you whimper, and tug on him harder. Pretending to agree until he smiles.
The small coat room has become a sauna, your naked bodies now writhing together as the rest of the world continues on around you.
You can hear the music, the people, the party. A constant reminder that while you’ve disappeared into your own little world within this closet...the two of you will never truly be alone.
But you don’t get a chance to focus on that when his hand suddenly reaches around to take hold of your chest. Plucking your nipple between his large, rough fingertips. You brace your forehead against the wall as you push yourself into his palm. Anxious for more, which he happily gives you.
The two of you move like the tide, one fluid motion of your bodies in rhythmic harmony. He leaves your tit to focus on your clit. Forcing you closer to a second orgasm that already feels much stronger than the first.
"Here," he breathes. “Give me your hand. Want you to touch yourself for me, okay? So I can watch you.”
Your arm trembles as you move it toward your thighs, where he easily takes your fingers and places them against your pussy exactly the way his had been.
“Just like that. Good. Rub it for me, sweetheart. Yeah…there you go. Attagirl. Keep going, don’t stop.”
You feel his eyes over your shoulder as you pinch and rub the swollen nerves as your legs shake. After a moment, he grabs your thigh and lifts your knee to the wall. Giving himself a different and deeper angle as you nearly cry out around the bowtie in your mouth.
Everything feels wet. And warm. And perfect. And you know you’re moments away from coming around his cock for the second time today.
“How you doing, baby?” he chuckles when he notices the fucked-out expression on your face. “You all right?”
You nod as best you can and clench down on his cock for confirmation. And he makes a rather animalistic noise before he’s grabbing onto your tit again and groping it in his palm. 
“Good. You gonna cum for me, little one? Milk me like I know you can?”
Another nod. You can hear the party growing louder, which means it’s almost midnight. And that means Hugh’s speech will be any second now.
You’re squirming harder, unable to fight such intense pleasure as it comes from his cock and your fingertips. But he catches you, grip tightening around your thigh as he squeezes so hard, you know you’ll see bruises in the shape of his name tomorrow.
But you don’t mind. You know you’ll be able to touch them in the shower and remember this—remember him.
“Cum,” he instructs, almost viciously. “Right now, Bunny. Fucking cum. Let me feel you. Gotta feel you, honey, please.”
You roll yourself back onto his cock just to feel full while he kisses your jaw and begs you to let go. 
You’re so close you can nearly taste it. And he’s even closer than you, doing his best to hold out but you know it’s rather hard with the watch you’re squeezing him.
And when you feel him start to buck and twitch, you can’t help but smile.
He spills inside you as he bottoms out. He hates coming first, and always tries incredibly hard not to. But tonight, you can’t exactly fault him, and as it turns out, the feel of him inside you—so warm it makes your head spin—is what you need to follow.
The orgasm nearly explodes behind your eyelids as you scream into the tie, forcing Harry to slap his hand back over your mouth to silence you.
“Quiet,” he hisses, nose pressed against your cheek. “Shut up.”
Yet you don’t even try. You don’t care that you might get caught or that someone could hear. Perhaps you will once the consequences catch up to you, but right now? Right now, you moan into his hand and allow every moment of this pleasure to take control of you. 
Your sweaty bodies melt together, damp hair clinging to your skin as Harry finally lets go and steps back.
But instead of pulling his clothes back on, the sadistic man drops back down to his knees, and spins you around.
He brushes your hand away from your clit in order to do the work himself. Resuming his previous pace on your rather abused nerves until you nearly crumble to the floor.
It’s almost too much. Your eyes roll back and your head drops against the wall. You can’t stand it, yet you can’t get enough.
“One more,” is all he says before diving forward for a lick. “Just one more, baby.”
You’re too sensitive. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you watch him through the blissful haze as he closes his eyes to savor the taste.
It’s a mix of you and him, and watching him lap at you like a thirsty man desperate for a drink is sinful. He’s so good. So beautiful like this. Devoted just to you the way no other man ever has been before.
Outside, you can hear the sound of Hugh calling for everyone’s attention. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’ll be furious if you’re not there. If he has to find you. And if he finds you with Harry?
You don’t have any more time. You have to go. Right now. But you’re so close, and Harry isn’t stopping, and you just need to finish, you just need…need—
You cum for the third and final time with a rather lewd and anguished moan.
Instantly, you start to slump forward as Harry leaps to his feet in order to keep you upright.
“That’s my girl,” he coos. “There you go. I’ve got you. S’okay.”
Your vision is fuzzy as you grip onto his shoulders for balance, the taste of the orgasm still bleeding along your tongue. 
But you can’t bid him goodbye just yet. So, you rip the tie from your mouth and kiss him. Drowning in the taste of him and you together. And nothing else really matters except his hands and the way they hold you close. 
“Good boy,” you exhale after you’ve pulled apart.“Knew you could do it.”
He only grins.
The two of you quickly work to redress, pulling on your clothes and shoes while Harry’s cum continues to streak down your thighs. It seems he didn’t get it all, and the realization that you’ll have to go out there with him still snug inside your cunt makes your stomach flutter.
When Harry notices your surprised expression, he winks. “Wanna make sure you’re thinking of me when you’re standing next to him.”
You scoff. But deep down, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Harry helps you secure the tie back around your neck, effectively covering the hickeys he so generously left for you to find later. And you make sure to brush back his curls so they look a little more tame before swiping your thumb across his chin to collect what’s left of you.
And once you’ve finally gathered yourself, you move for the door, only stopping to give him one last glance.
“This was nice,” you tell him honestly. “Just make me a deal, okay?”
His eyebrow raises.
“Next time? Don’t wait so long.”
With that, you’re out the door. Leaving the breathless man behind. But you know it certainly isn’t the last time you’ll see him. After all, the summer is far from over.
And you’re just getting started.
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HI!!! I just wanted to say that even though we have a Hugh Hefner in this story, I don't consider it to be the same one as the real one! I used his name because he's so famously associated with Playboy but I do not agree with or condone anything that he's done or how he treated people!
I am only using his name, but please imagine anyone you'd like! 💞
~ Main Masterlist
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin
@justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda
@vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach
@lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana
@dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat
@laelamarley @idkkkkkkk123lgb 
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kyunniebuns · 19 days ago
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˗ˏˋ Entry : 054 - Lovesick! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Isekaing to the world of your favourite protagonist, but nothing is ever a coincidence. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ
‼️[tw: Manipulation, Murder, Death, Yandere depictions, Implied assault but not executed, a darker Jinwoo overall. Also Kyunnie lowkey rambling ....]‼️
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╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Would Find You No Matter How Long It Takes, And Once He Has You In His Arms— You're Never Leaving] ¡! ❞
You died from an accident in the streets, well, not really an accident. Some drunk bastard was stumbling across the desolate street you normally take to go home— But poor you as that faithful meeting lead to your murder.
The paramedics tried everything they could to save you, but alas, you were dead on arrival.
That's what you suspect atleast. After losing so much blood from the multiple stab wounds of course that would be your death.
Dying was such a cold, cold feeling. It felt terrible. But what were your last thoughts?
You only thought of a single person only: Sung Jinwoo, the protagonist that you were madly in love with.
That man died three times or more if you count regression as a form of death. You thought of what he must have felt in his first death was similar to yours. How his feeble body sprawled on the altar with his leg cut off and his arm mostly torn off— It must have been terrible for Jinwoo.
Back then, you can only speculate. But now? Now you knew what he felt as he dies.
The only regret you have was not finishing the manhwa for the fifth time of the week.
But then you suddenly shot up, and when you did, you were met with a kind smile from a nurse, telling you that you passed out while doing a raid in an E-ranked gate from overexhaustion.
E-rank? Gate? What?
You were livid, feeling absolutely dizzy as you tried to ask the nurse. So you feigned temporary memory loss and asked the nurse what happened and why you're here.
As she had said, you passed out from raiding an E-ranked gate because of fatigue. You yourself, are a hunter, an E-ranked one.
The laughable rank your beloved once had.
You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to make sense of it all that you must be in purgatory, that this was all an illusion after death and the gods just had mercy on you and granted you your truest wish.
You tried to sleep it off, tried to bang your head to get you out of this illusion. But everything was real. You did normal human activities, and every pinch of a needle pricked onto your skin hurt like the way it did when you were alive.
You are alive
You didn't know whether to cry or laugh, you were in a world similar to Jinwoo's.
Jinwoo?
"Hello, are you alright?" A kind voice asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your daze. "Ah, I thought you passed out while awake!"
A boyish almost childlike face, pretty and cute with unkept fluffy hair that has grown too much and has a weird sort of mushroom-like appearance. Wide, innocent, puppy-like grey eyes full of wonder and life.
You knew that color of grey, that lovely shade that has placed you in a complete rampage of obsession and love.
"I'm Jinwoo, nice to meet you" He stretches his hand out to you, offering a friendly shake.
You accept his hand, trembling as you do so but he doesn't seem to notice as he shakes your hand so kindly while you shakily state your name to him.
Calloused, his hands were calloused.
He then sits down on the empty spot beside you, chatting you up.
Your heart was pounding like crazy as you two talked, you were for sure about to pass out anytime from the overflowing euphoria filling you up.
You don't know how you survived the conversation. But somehow you did.
And Jinwoo himself even offered that you two should team up as E-ranked hunters.
Ecstatic, of course you were, you were so joyous you jumped in bed and rolled around like a madman.
Jinwoo was here. Your Jinwoo.
Your Jinwoo before his ascension as a monarch, your Jinwoo that is still childish and soft.
You loved teaming up with him.
But something was weird.
Already, he had exceptional knife skills, his expertise with using a dagger was too good. Too uncharacteristic of the Jinwoo you know in his earliest days. Is his puberty coming a bit too early?...
That's just it,
,... Right?
Surely it is.
It's not weird that Jinwoo is extremely flexible and fast, that he is sharp and seemingly has such an advanced spatial awareness, that he easily cuts through the hard skins of various monsters.
...Really.
It's not weird at all.
꒰ .... ꒱
It's another hunting day where you accompany Jinwoo yet again in a raid. But this time he seemed a bit more guarded against the raid team you both had signed in for just to experience a higher ranked gate.
"Stay close to me, yeah?" Jinwoo leans down, smiling gently at you that made you forget the chilling expression he had just a second ago.
"S-sure?" You smile awkwardly, growing bashful at his distance.
Why is he a bit antsy anyway? The team you both signed up for isn't the Hwang.... Hwang dong.... Who?
The team of Hwang Dongsoo's brother? That bald headed bastard's family? Ah... You can't really recall his name.
Dead men don't matter anyway.
The only thing you really remember was how hot he was when he ultimately lost his mind momentarily and became absolutely ruthless.
To this you mourn the lack of psychotic Jinwoo in the manhwa.
Do they not see the potential?
This man has the temper and charisma to pull off a serial killer vibe.
So why not?
Why the hell not?!
"!!!"
Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when Jinwoo suddenly placed him in between you and the approaching hunter who had a displeased look on his face after what he did.
"I'm only trying to check on the little miss" The hunter smiles wryly, but Jinwoo was unmoving.
"Really now?" He remarks, his tone sneering even. "Does that involve you luring us into this isolated part of the dungeon with your team surrounding the exits? Sure."
"Ah you're no fun buddy!~" The hunter laughs, patting his shoulder to try and get Jinwoo to relax. "It's just us here, why not have a little fun? She's a pretty one."
Oh right.
Being a hunter is dangerous.
But what had always been dangerous in the first place?
Being a woman.
Ever since society recovered from the shock of the gates arriving— There is a significant uptake in death counts, crime rates, and missing people mia after entering a gate.
And what is the gender of 70% of those missing people?
Women.
If one wanted to do a crime, the best way to do it is in a gate. Rumours spread that disgusting fiends would lure women with a promise of a hefty sum by a small hunting group.
After that? All the women seemingly disappear.
And with the lack of a body and evidence to imply malpractice in the dungeons— What can the law do?
Nothing.
Dead corpses dont talk.
And as the hand reached out over Jinwoo's shoulder towards you—
It suddenly flew off with a swish
The severed limb took it's sweet time floating on the air before plopping on the floor with a wet splotch.
"...."
Everyones gazes were locked on the motionless hand on the floor before a bloody scream rang out from the C-ranked hunter.
"Y-you!" He sobs, gripping his empty wrist as it sheds a copious amount of blood. "I was nice to you by hiring you useless E-rankers and this is how you repay me?!"
He then turns to the rest of the members who were left frozen, "What the fuck are you bastards doing standing there? GET HIS FUCKING HEAD."
"It's always bastards like you who pull this kind of bullshit off" Jinwoo sighs, as if the whole situation right now is troublesome for him as a dagger materializes into his hand.
It was gleaming a mad crimson, as if the blade itself was made of a bloody moon's fragments.
Kamish's Wrath.
Daggers gifted to him by Thomas Andre as an apology for the trouble Hwang Dongsoo and the overall situation they were on. A symbol of peace between them and a sign of friendship between them.
He isn't supposed to be having those until later.
Unless The Jinwoo in front of you isn't the E-ranked Jinwoo who is slteadily climbing the levels at a rapid fast.
Jinwoo's blade seems like it's merely flying with how fast he is moving. Everytime he moves he just tilts his body a little for them to miss him narrowly.
And while everyone else is screaming in frustration, Jinwoo just throws them a sly smile, as if he is reveling in messing with them.
It was obvious he was teasing them, making them overly frustrated where they want to hit him but can't quite reach him at the way he expertly dodges them narrowly.
And when he's already bored of them?
He slices their limbs one by one and letting them bleed to death on the floor.
By the end of it Jinwoo is standing atop a pool of blood with crimson splatters sliding enticingly down his handsome features.
Whoever said Jinwoo isn't charming even in his baby-faced era must be blind.
Because even in the lack of his significant height, even when his cheeks are a bit chubbier, even if his eyes are a bit rounder and that his build is nothing more than bone and flesh— He has this haunting beauty to him that makes him look like a mischievous fae about to drag you into the abyss he calls his home.
"Do you understand now?" Jinwoo asks, his blank and empty grey eyes looking down on you as he lefts you cheek with his calloused hand. "Why I told you to quit being a hunter before?"
"I-I..." You sputter, unable to find the words from the shock of seeing your beloved murder people live in front of you.
"I'll get a rank evaluation after a month as soon as I fix this blasted body" He said, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're scared, aren't you? If I wasn't here, what could've happen to you?"
"....."
He's right.
What would've happen if Jinwoo isn't here? What would've happen if Jinwoo lets that man's hand go over to you?
The vision of it makes you falter, tears prickling your face as it slowly sunk in— That the only thing awaited you was unspeakable horrors had he not step in.
"Sssh..." He comforts you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "You must have been scared, hm? I know, I know. I took care of it, didn't I? Don't be scared anymore."
You don't have to know the fact that he orchestrated all of this.
That Jinwoo himself is the reason why you died and was brought to this cursed world.
That he was well aware of what the hunters have been pulling off whenever they sign contracts with women.
He just wanted to scare you a little, really.
What better method can he do to make you reliant on him?
To make you extremely dependent on him and paranoid of him not being there?
The world of hunters is a cruel and unforgiving world.
He knows that himself.
Jinwoo isn't blind to any of the darker side of this path you both choose to thread on.
Except that right now his intention is to make you too scared of ever stepping into a gate.
That the thought of ever stepping into one makes you shiver into cold sweats and becoming sick at the mere thought of it.
And if this plan doesn't shake you enough?
Then he'll just do it again.
Shake you to the core, make you have a glimpse of hell and then swoop in the second he sees you frightened enough.
You'll be in his arms, weeping and completely afraid.
And he would drill it himself in your head:
You only need Jinwoo.
Just like right now, where you're too shaken to even process the fact the timeline is all wrong. That somehow the Jinwoo in front of you right now already has two hearts with the beat of two organs in his chest. One heart belongs to him, the other belongs to the late Ashborn who chose him as his heir.
Nothing is making sense right now, but you're stuck sobbing in his arms and seeking for solace and safety.
"We'll have to pretend to be hurt when we go out, hm?" Jinwoo lifts your face up with the palms of his warm hands, his expression hauntingly saintly despite the muddled color of grey in his lovely eyes. "Can you do that for me?"
You nod, sniffling, earning yourself a kiss on the forehead as a reward for your obedience.
"Good girl."
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꒰ 🪼 A/N: What better way to start off my 2025 with a Lovesick Sung Jinwoo fic? Hahah, my beloved<3. No matter who I put into my extensive list of sweethearts Jinwoo will always be on top of everybody else! I love him it's unhealthy. I might make a lads post after this or a wholesome sylus fic that has been brewing in my mind for a bit? I wanna branch out more when it comes to my fics wwww!!! So aside from Hsr there will be the lads boys. ꒱
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ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .。✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.
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yeyinde · 1 month ago
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PRAIRIE WOLF | hinterland
John Price x Reader
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MASTERLIST. AO3. [PREV]
“So,” he drawls, eyes skirting down the length of your body before coming to a pointed stop on your midsection, belly hidden under a thick cable-knit sweater he gave to you to wear. “What's the plan?” 
It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby.
allusions to abuse. descriptions of injury. trauma.
The sound of rain pelting against glass rouses you from a threadlike sleep, one full of loose, spooling dreams and fractured memories. 
(dirty, blood-drenched snow. a hole in your belly. the acrid burn of heated, melting metal in your nose. a grunt—
come on, Coyote, hold still—)
It hums there, even with your eyes open. Even as you blink into existence. Sitting on the edge; little clots, microcosms you can reach out and pop like bubbles. Hypnopompia. A strange place where dream and reality blur—surrealism in fatigue blue. Ghosts pulled into consciousness. 
It's dark in the truck when you blink again, sluggishly mapping the features that stretch out before you, all shaded in black. 
Through the windshield is a world of dark green. Thick, dense clouds gather above the angular tops of conifers and giant evergreens. Thunderclouds rumble overhead, groaning with the heavy rainfall that pours down over everything in a howling baptism. 
Only the orange of the truck cuts colour through the thick deluge of blue-green and slate. Warmed by the heat of the engine. The cable-knit throw covers the red leather seats. It's as close to comfortable as you think you've ever been. Swaddled in a Levi's jacket tucked under your bare feet resting on the bench of the truck, hanging loosely over your shoulders. It smells of smoke—thick and dense, but sweeter, earthier than nicotine. Scorched pine and soot. Bonfires. Laced with sweat and oil and dirt—humus. Like the soil after a rain shower. A summer storm. 
It smells good. You sink into it a little more—into this cosm that you know won't last. A blanket of succour, soft wool that tickles your nose and warms your cold hands. Chases away the tendrils of a grasping dream reaching for the edges of your periphery—all claws and teeth and misshapen memories. 
Fractured bones. Burst blood vessels. A knot your belly—
The radio crackles as the truck drives down the winding highway, crooning something low and melodic through the static:
—stopped into a church I passed along the way—
The clock on the radio reads that it's just after seven. A jarring thought; the slow, sinking realization that everything happened in the span of hours. Ended only an hour ago. And now—
He's a wild animal you're not sure how to breathe around. A bear. His hand curls loosely over the steering wheel, the other braced on the ledge of the window, fingers tapping to the music spilling out, filling the cab. 
He doesn't look over at you, but you get the feeling he knows you're awake. Watching him. Hunter. Hunted. 
—well, I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray—
You thought you knew better. Come on, Coyote—
“Gonna stop and grab some burgers,” he grunts, a low growl barely an octave higher than the brassy singer on the radio. Softly spoken—or as soft as a man like him could manage—to not startle you. “Takeout. Tha’ alright with you?” 
You're not sure what to make of it. Him, this. Being asked, maybe. That alright with you?
When you don't speak, he peels his eyes away from the road, glancing towards you. A brow raises. Waiting. 
You shrug.
He grunts again. “Fine.”
His eyes slip down briefly to the metal name tag still pinned to the faded pink of your shirt, staring at the slanted words stamped into the enamel pin. 
Taking them in. Their shape. Then: 
“Why Coyote?” 
Another shrug. It pulls at the hand-shaped, fist-sized ache in your shoulder blade. “It's what everyone calls me.”
“It's not your real name.”
“No.” 
“Why do they call you Coyote, then?”
You think of a different weight on your shoulder. Heavy metal. Stale, warm beer and cigarette smoke coming in a puff of air over your cheek. Stay still for me, pretty girl. Gonna be in a world a’hurt if your squirmin’ makes me miss my shot—
A hand on your thigh. On your neck. 
Hole in your belly. Blood on the snow. 
“They just do,” you mumble around the crooning verse that swallows the tremble in your voice. “They always have.” 
Come on, Coyote.
John brings to you a small, rustic-looking drive-thru with a menu that has less than ten items on it. 
It's made of log and glass and smells of sizzling grease. There's a small parking lot to the left of the rectangular shack with a big moose's head on the front. All long antlers and a broad snout. 
MOOSEHEAD the sign reads in faded, firetruck red. home of the moose burger. 
When he said drive-thru, you assumed McDonald's. Burger King. Harvey's. The small shack nestled in front of a looming, slate-coloured mountain was not what you were expecting, and as he twists the wheel, navigating the winding path to the bright yellow menu behind a brown box, something shifts in your belly. A knot. Hunger, maybe. 
You can't remember the last time you ate. Not good for the baby. 
“What d’you want?” 
You blink through the haze of rain, the thick plume of condensation that gathers at the bottom of the window, and read the boxy letters pressed into the lit board. HAMBURGER. CHEESEBURGER. MOOSEBURGER. FRIES. SOFT DRINKS. MILKSHAKES.
John rolls the window down. The heavy scent of wet, oil-slick pavement and rust fills the cab. 
The speaker crackles. “Hi. What can I get you tonight?”
“Moose burger and fries,” he grunts. “Coke to drink.” A glance is sent your way. “And—?”
“Um. The same.”
“Make it two of those.” 
“Sure thing, hun. Come ‘round the front. Your order will be ready. Total is twenty-two seventeen. Thank you.”
He doesn't roll the window back up. Mist sprays against your arm, glistening under the smear of neon lights glistening through the wet windshield. It's cool outside. The mountain air is clean. Crisp. 
You've never been to this part of town before. To this town, you suppose. An hour out from the flat valley that made up the port city. The bay at your fingertips. Claws in your neck—
It's nice here. Green. Dark. Everything shifts, like it's on an angle. A slope. And you know it is with the towering mountain that looked like craggy chevron from the valley below pressed, imposing and massive, at your back. Your ears pop at the elevation, and breathing is both easier and heavier at the same time. 
The air is thin here, but you're so far away from that city, from him, that it doesn't matter if you suffocate now because it'll be your choice and not—
His hands on your neck. Ever try to run away from me again, Coyote, and it'll be the last thing you ever fucking do—
The bag is wet when he presses it into your arm. Dropping it down on your arched legs when you don't take it from him quick enough. You startle. Blinking. He doesn't glance over, just slides your drink into the cupholder beside his, and after a moment, mind reeling because how much did you miss just—
Thinking.
You hurry to settle into place. Legs twitching, sliding out from their protective curl against your chest—
A hand on your covered ankle stops you. “Don't need to move,” he murmurs, glancing at you briefly. But not—
Not really. Not looking at you but out the window, you realise, the truck dipping down on an angle as he hovers near the exit, waiting for the thin line of cars to pass before he turns back onto the highway. 
“Get comfy.” It's a suggestion. “Eat.” But that's a command. 
Your inside twist at the sound of it. Military, you remember Elliot saying. You feel it acutely in your bones, still thrumming, pulse tripping over that growling demand. Eat. 
Your body moves without thought. Obeying. Hands snaking out of the warmth cradled on the back of his Levi's jacket, one he must have thrown over you in your sleep, and peel back the rolled paper bag that smells of grease and meat. It's warm in the bag. You fish out the first burger and can barely close your hand around the thick of it, blinking slightly in startled awe at the size. 
Moose burger. A fitting name, but you think of home, suddenly, painfully, and wonder if it's real moose. Feel the clench in your belly at the thought. Of moose steak drenched in fat, seared on the stove. Moose stew in the slow cooker, left to tenderise in the simmering broth. 
“Ain't real moose.” 
You wonder how he knew, and can't be sure if you like the fact that he did. Guessed right. Chiselled inside of your head. Read you like an open book. It makes your pulse thunder, a roaring in your ears that dulls the scattered thunderclaps from above. 
“Oh,” you say, and feel the disappointment trickling in, thick in your throat. “Just the size, then?” 
He hums, and reaches into the bag, rifling around for a handful of fries. “Yeah. Jus’ the size. Ever had it before?” 
You think of then, of being tucked inside pants that don't fit. A shirt that's too loose. Feet in boots a size too big. All tattered and aged, worn down. Holes. Patches where the fabric was ripped and sewn back together. Jagged lines from an unpractised hand. Loose threads. Knots. The scent of cigarette smoke clinging to your skin. A plastic bag. A bruised apple that your teacher slipped you during the first recess. Leftovers. 
Moose meat stew. Rabbit. Ew, Coyote's eating something weird again—
Thirteen and crouching behind a bush as your dad angles the gun over your head. Big boy, he whispers. Gonna be eatin’ good this winter. Look’it the size of ‘im. 
The smell of duck fat sizzling in a pan. The crack of a beer can. Squeals of wood on slippery, cheap vinyl. Fried dough resting on the counter next to a tower of pop cans and an old Costco popcorn bottle filled with tabs. remind me t’send Robbie in the mornin’ to drop ‘em off. need the money for cigarettes. 
Then:
Moose tonight. Go’an an’ get your sister.
It's mild. Like beef but better, you used to think. Less tangy. Less thick. Depends on the season, your dad would say. Best cut is when they're just on the end of their rut. When they're eating big. Getting nice and fat. Tastes better like that. A bull not in rut, a skinny one, ain't as good. 
Moose is a strange meat. Prey animal, but it tastes nothing like a caribou or a deer. Rabbit. Not gamey, like a predator, either—like bear (braised black bear with gravy to make it tender; the fat stored away for later—another staple you think about). It's good. Different.
You miss it—even if the idea, the memories, that come with it make you feel scraped out and raw. Hollow. Empty. 
Your tongue thickens. You don't think you can speak. Not right now. So you nod instead—this shallow, jerking thing. Too solemn. Too low. Chin to your chest. 
John hums, and sinks the handful of fries into his mouth before he turns on the highway, one hand on the wheel. Knuckles raised. Marbled mountain peaks. Purple and red. Blotchy in the washed out glow of the dashboard. Swollen and painful looking but he doesn't even flinch when he grips the wheel, and the clotted scab peels, lifting off skin. Oozing thick, syrupy blood out from under the cracked shell. 
He pulls back when it beads too much, wipes it on his shirt, careless and unbothered by the stain it leaves, and then puts his hand back on the wheel. Smeared ink black in the gloom. 
That hand sunk into his—Sam’s—face. Caught on his sneer, knuckles tearing. Leaving blood between Sam's teeth. A split on his lip that made you think of the one—the ones—he left on yours. Tender and painful and swelling up in an instant. A pulsing throb, a heat. 
Over and over again—
His hand rifles through the bag. “Eat,” he says again, low, muffled around the dangling end of a fry. “s’gonna go cold.”
It already is. Somewhat. A soggy, grease-soaked bun. Patty still warm. Dripping ketchup and mustard down the sides and onto the plastic wrapper. It's heavy. Thick. You bite the end flattened by the press of your thumbs, teeth sinking into the burger. Taste familiar on your tongue. 
It's good, you suppose. Filling. You eat half before dropping it back onto the paper, reaching for the fries in the bag. Thick cut and crispy. Salted. 
The truck smells of salt and grease, and when your stomach knots—too much food after too little for so long—you wrap the leftovers up and slip it back into the bag for later. 
He doesn't say anything after that. His hand slides over the wheel as he turns up the winding road. Up, up. Deeper into the mountains where the air thins, and the trees thicken. An endless sprawl of darkness cut only by the muted gold glow of his headlights illuminating the wet, twisting pavement. 
You sink into the silence. Feeling the heavy, warm weight of the half-eaten burger on your thighs. The stretch of leather beneath your ankle. 
Heavy-lidded. Stuck in the sticky cobweb of fatigue and hyperarousal. Never really sleeping for more than a handful of hours at a time. Survival, you think. It's what the text in the pamphlet said, the one the lady shoved into your hands when you went to buy a pregnancy test from the store. It's not your fault: how to seek help for domestic abuse. 
Her eyes were kind—like the paramedics. Oh, hun. It ain't your fault. 
The problem is you don't think that's true. 
He—Sam—was a good man before he met you, wasn't he? 
But every so often, your gaze will slide towards his hand still curled around the steering wheel, knuckles split. Eyes suddenly heavy enough that you think you could fall asleep again.
His cabin is perched on the maw of a bay, accessible only by boat. 
He seems hesitant as he unloads the luggage from his truck, throwing them into a sleek-looking fishing boat bobbing from where it's anchored in a dock. Wary. Watching you closely like he expects you to run. 
And you know there should be trepidation. A strange man you've had less than a handful of conversations with, one who stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and is now herding you into a boat late at night. 
Jarvis Inlet, he grunts. A place called Dark Cove. And then he looks at you, just stares, as if waiting for something. A fight, maybe. More questions. But you've slept in worse places, and the idea of being out of the rain as quickly as possible is more appealing than your potential doom. 
You slide into the boat, hands curled into his jacket. He follows after a beat, unlatching the ties holding it to the dock, and steps inside, murmuring something when it shifts under his weight. Starts it up. He digs under his seat for a moment, rifling through a box, before grabbing something out and turning towards you. A blanket. He tosses it your way, grunting under his breath about keeping warm. 
It's a short trip through the water. You spend most of it huddled under the blanket, hands squeezed between your thighs as he navigates around a massive, jutting rock with thick, dense conifers clustered along the sloping edges of the island. 
You expected it to be higher up. Hidden in the mountains. But it sits at an arcing curve that cuts through the ocean. Tucked in the protective curl of his land is the still, ink blue waters of the bay before it bleeds into the sound. 
Mainland is a craggy, green rock on the horizon. The ocean dips, dizzyingly vast and unfathomable, behind the jagged mass littered with the lights. A city in light polluted pointillism. 
He pulls the boat up to a bigger one. A yacht. Sleek and white and bobbing in the waters. It's tethered to a dock out in the lake. A bridge connects it to the shore. 
He reaches over when he cuts the engine, yanking on the makeshift hood you crafted from the loose throw until it covers more of your face. “Hold onto the railings when you walk. Gets slippery.” 
John turns away after, hefting your meagre luggage on one shoulder as he pulls the tarp over the boat, shielding it from the rain. You step back onto the dock, back nudging the pristine boat behind you. 
The world is awash in shadows. Dark, jagged peaks. Crooked trees drooping in the downpour. Ink black. An abyss that yawns out for an unfathomable stretch before kissing the dark mass of a mountain cutting out from the sprawling pool. 
You've heard people say before that places like this can swallow you whole. Slip beneath the waves, turn behind a tree, and no one will ever see you again. But you've always found that sentiment to be wrong. 
Cities are where you disappear. Indifferent places made of concrete and money. No one cares if you go missing, but out here—
You think this land spit you back out. 
“Come on,” he grunts, sliding beside you. His hand is heavy on your waist. Urging. “This way.” 
You follow, clinging to the firm hold he has on your back as you wobble along the slick bridge to the rocky embankment just up ahead. 
The bridge continues even on land, sloping up in a set of stairs before coming to a stop on a small cliff above the beach. 
You turn back towards the mainland when John stops, hand rifling through his pocket for the keys. 
The distance, the knowledge that this mass you stand on—all soft, wet moss; peat soil—is so far away from that place that it clumps, black and jagged and imposing, against the shoreline is calming. In shades. Small increments, like the loosening of your shoulders. The ache there, too. The breath in your lungs comes a little easier when you stare down at the mainland, at the stretch of blue between it and you. The little thread in the distance that ties it together. 
He nudges you quietly with the muted clearing of his throat. Not touching you, but—
Hovering. In sight. On the edge of your periphery. Making his presence known. 
You're not sure what to make of it. 
What to make of any of this. 
His chin jerks towards the cabin bracket between a dense thicket of trees. “C’mon. Let's get you outta the rain.”
His cabin is modest in size. 
The entrance is on a deck overlooking the bay. All open. Big, ceiling-to-floor windows. French doors. It's framed in thick cured timber. Logs stained a warm, honeyed brown. 
Inside is simple in design, too. 
The kitchen is to the left. A living room to the right. Straight across is a loft with a staircase angled into the kitchen. A small, dark hallway rolls out from beneath the balcony and leads to two bedrooms, the laundry room, and the bathroom.
The living room is cosy. An old, worn couch is pushed against the vaulted window overlooking the deck. A chair tucked beside it. Against the right wall is a hearth next to another big, open window angled into the forest. 
A coffee table sits in front, cluttered with stacks of books—carpentry, woodwork—and pieces of wood. Blocks shaved down into the idea of an object. Incipient creations. A knife lays overtop. Pens, markers scattered around. 
Along the log walls—all the same warm honey-coloured—are trophies. A moose head. Antlers. Books line the shelves. Newspaper rests in a thick stack by the armchair.
The kitchen is tucked into a nook, hidden behind an island. The same rustic brown as everything else, save for the faded, yellow refrigerator and the off-white stove. 
Where a dining table might sit, is a workbench. Tools. A saw. It spills over the surface.  
It's lived in, you know, but something about it feels detached. Cluttered madness, but—
Not really. 
Everything, even in this disordered chaos, has a place. From the scattered markers to the books on the walls. It all fits some unseen cohesion even if you thought his house would have been neater. Military. 
There's a blanket on the couch that catches your eye. The design—the pattern. Achingly familiar. 
“Loft or bedroom?” 
You tear your gaze away from it, swallowing down the acrid longing that surges in your throat. “What?”
He jerks his chin towards the balcony. “Wanna sleep up there or in the spare bedroom?”
“Don’t you sleep up there?”
“No. Used to. S’more of an office now.”
There's a guest house to the left of the cabin. A bachelor with the kitchen running into the bedroom. The washroom closed off. But it's not finished, he says, something frissoning over his expression. Knotting between his brows. Something about the look on his face screams don't ask because he'll never tell. 
You glance away. It's not in you to pry. To care. Whatever secrets he keeps are his and his alone. Just like yours. Why Coyote—
The only other choice is the spare bedroom tucked inside the dark hallway beside his. Close. Barely an arm's length away—
“Loft.” 
He nods like he expected it. Jerks his chin again towards the back, holding your duffle bag out for you to take. 
“Showers through there. Go get warmed up. And I'll heat up some stew.”
The bag dangles on the width of his hand, swaying from the momentum. This ugly, tattered black backpack—
“I don't—I didn't bring any clean clothes—” it's embarassing to admit now that inside your meagre bag is nothing but four hundred dollars and an old, tattered blanket. A sweater. Dirty, bloodstained pants. Everything else is with—
With Sam. 
The plan had been to cash your last cheque, and go back to the motel. Grab the rest. A stupid decision in hindsight. 
There's a tick in his jaw. A terse set to his shoulders. He lowers the bag, letting it fall to the floor, collapsing in on itself. Empty. 
“Nevermind,” you say, slipping the wet blanket from your shoulders, letting it pool in your arms. “I can just wear this—”
His eyes rive over the crumpled, wet uniform shirt. Faded pink—bubblegum, you think; with chocolate brown trim—and stained with grease. Coffee.
Another tick. His brow furrows. Knots. Anger slashing over his face, rucking three, jagged lines through his forehead. 
“No. I'll bring you somethin’ to wear. Somethin’ warm. Gets cold out here. Go.” Another jerk of his chin. A command. 
He does that a lot, you realise, shivering at the bite inside the cabin, the chill ghosting over your damp skin as he turns away from you, walking deeper into the house. Towards his bedroom. The broad expanse of his back bigger than anything you'd ever seen—
All height, and heft. Soft in the middle, but thickened with muscles. And with it, he commands. All biting, unignorable demands. Do this, eat. Go. Get warm. 
You're used to it, you think. Being told what to do. How to act. Marionette on strings. All you're good for. 
Sam used to say the reason you made him hit you so much is because you never listen. Gotta box you around the ears a bit, just for you to even pay attention to me, Coyote. It's not my fault, baby, you make me do it—
But there's something about his commands that sink beyond noise. Reaching into the slick, pulsing gyri, and sending off his own current of obeyance. Innate. Unconscious. He says eat and you find yourself taking a bite of a burger you didn't think you even wanted. Weren't hungry for. Chewing. Swallowing. Another bite. Chew. Swallow. Again. Again. Again. Utters watch your step and your eyes drop to the slick ground, carefully treading the planks. 
Get warm. Go shower. You drop the blanket on the back of the chair, covering up the other one, and walk towards the bathroom. Thoughtless. Head silent. Empty and still. Quiet for the first time since you were thirteen—
It's because you're tired, you think. Exhausted. 
That's all.
But when you finally sink into the bed—lumpy and thick and perfect—sleep evades you. Skirts just out of reach until you're staring up at the log ceiling, thinking about nothing. Everything. 
Sam. Blood on the pavement. The split in his knuckles. Grease. Burgers. Come on, Coyote—
The knot in your stomach—
Your hand goes there. Slips under the thick cable knit sweater he gave you to sleep in, the boxers that fit like loose shorts, and curls around your lower belly. Flat and empty because this thing inside of you isn't even really there. Small, the book said. Tiny. A speck. 
A life-changing, mind-melting thing. 
You—
A mother. 
The thought is soaked in the rotten, fetid sludge of the past. Of your own mother with her dark hair and her hard eyes. Her strange moods. Don't touch me, Coyote. I don't wanna be touched right now, fuck. Can't you ever listen? Mercurial. How come you never hug me? Actin’ like I ain't your mom an’ shit. Shifting. Evolving. Changing shape depending on who she was with at the time—
Unravelling at the seams ever since your dad died. You look like your dad, Coyote. It makes me fuckin’ sick—
You can't think about it. Won't. 
So you don't. Swallow it down. Cotton in your ears. Noise in the back of your head. 
Memories on your skin. Ghosts in your veins.
Come on, Coyote. 
You'd be a terrible mother, you think, and peel your hand away, knotting it into a fist by your side until your nails sink into skin. 
There's something a little grounding about the pain this time.
You stare up at the ceiling all night until the sun rises, golden and warm, and spills in through the vaulted window. 
Below you, you hear John stir. Rising. 
You follow his lead.
He does odd jobs, he says. 
Carpentry. Woodwork. Makes things that people want. That they need. Most of it gets sold in town—patio chairs, kayaks for the tourists—or by the few locals in the bay who need things made. Repairs, too. Easy fixes. 
Most of it is on backlog, but he'll get the occasional phone call asking for something to be done. 
And that's where you come in. 
The loft has a small space made up of a makeshift office. A phone. A ledger. Papers. Pens. It's pushed up against the railing of the balcony, right across from the top of the stairs. 
All you really have to do is answer when people call, take their information, and find out what they want him to build. He doesn't do cabins, he grunts. Say no. Always. 
Everything else goes into the ledger for him to look at later. 
“Don't worry,” he rumbles, scratching at the thick curls beneath his chin. “Most of the orders come from Elliot. You'll just be fielding local work. Kayaks, mostly.” 
And he's not wrong. The first week, you get all of a single phone call—a woman down in Osoyoos who wants a kayak. Her information is penned into the thick, waterlogged ledger next to the other names. Contact information. He'll get back to you soon, you say, but John just grunts when you tell him about the woman. 
Its mostly just—
Laying around. Organising the mess in the loft. The boxes he shrugs at, and tells you to put them in the closet along with whatever else is clogging the upstairs. Forgotten remnants he seems disinterested in going through. 
Or watching him. 
John fills space as easily as breathing. Makes noises. Commands. The order he's working on is spread out over the deck, and spills into the cabin. Little saws on the workbench. Tools. He wanders in and out with purpose, grabbing things, using them, putting them back. Silent as he works. 
He's a mystery. An enigma. Seems unbothered by you being here, sinking your fingers into his things. He adjusts in that strange, quiet way of his. Makes dinner for two as if he'd been doing it the whole time. Leaves clean towels in the bathroom. Runs into town and comes back with clothes—from Savannah, he grunts out, thrusting the bag in your direction; Elliot's wife, said she'd be about your size—and pads, tampons, that he shoves under the bathroom sink. An extra toothbrush. Shampoo that isn't five-in-one and smells of honey and oats. 
But it's not seamless. 
Sometimes, you think he forgets. Walks in—caked in sawdust and covered in sweat—and peels his shirt up, baring his thick, hairy damp chest without a second thought, scrubbing his face, his neck, with the bottom of his stained shirt. Or rips it off. Comes in drenched in sweat, and reaches behind himself, one hand curling into the fabric against his nape, and pulls—
Broad, slick skin. All covered in a dense layer of fur. 
Bearish. 
Remembers himself only when you make a noise. A huff. Silent laughter because this whole thing is a little unreal—
He doesn't apologise, though. Just shrugs. Reaches for a face cloth he keeps slung around the back of the couch and pats himself dry. 
Dinner is quiet, too. Sombre. He leaves food out for you, but eats between work. Often outside, reclining on the patio chair on the deck. Pours himself a glass of whiskey. Has a cigar. Inhales his food before you've even put together a plate, and then the saw starts up again. Back to work. 
It's tense. The atmosphere is thick. It feels like you're dancing around each other, trying to make room in a space too small for even just himself. 
You stay upstairs most of the time. Staring out at the sprawl of glinting blue. The jagged green.
The bay is prettier in the daylight when the sun is high in the sky casting a golden yellow arch across the veridian world around you. Still. Silent. 
The city was loud. Cars on the pavement. Horns. Chatter. Noise. People. An endless spill, a cacophony of life. Sirens. Motors. Barking commands. 
Sam's condo downtown was never quiet. Too close to the harbour—foghorns, the roar of ships entering the port. Television playing something he was interested in at the time. The radio on. The sounds he made spilling out—fuck, Coyote. Can't you do anything right?
Noise, noise, noise—
More coffee. When's my breakfast comin’ out. Hey, cutie, what time you done work at? 
You should really leave him, Coyote, because what the fuck? Have you seen your eye? It looks worse with makeup, come on, girl, you're fuck up our tips!
And now—
The saw. Scrape of a knife on wood. A grunt. Fuck. A loon in the distance. A splash. Watch your step on the deck, Coyote. Got shit everywhere. The lap of the sea against the rocks. The rustle of the trees in the breeze. Makin’ stew tonight. Want some? The ringing of the telephone. Etta James crooning on the radio. The knock of the metal boats against the dock. Grab yourself a beer if you want. Only got that or whiskey. Help yourself. The soft shlick of the fridge peeling open. The hum. Clink of a bottle on glass. The hiss when you open it. A saw. A splash. Rain on glass. The thunk of his boots across the deck. The soft thud of a door. 
Anyone call? A grunt. The rip of laces as he peels his boots off. You shake your head, reaching for a bun. No. A sigh. Good. 
Most of the noise is in your head. 
Memories. Malformed dreams dancing in the recesses of your mind. 
Crack of a twig. Hands on your throat. Come on, Coyote—
Inescapable. 
Inevitable. 
And that's what it all is, isn't it?
He stares at you, too. Sometimes you catch him watching in that careful, measured way of his. The same look on his face as before, in the diner—anger: what happened to you; wariness: whatever it is, don't bring it over here—but morphing. Shifting. Dropping from the curve of your neck tucked under the fold of a pink collar, bruises melting seamlessly into your skin, to the roll of his sweater over your midsection. Pausing there, like he's expecting to see something more than the curl of cream yarn woven together. 
It makes you a little sick. Like that time when he and the paramedic hovered. You hate them both, you thought. Felt. An acid burn in your chest. Go away, stop staring. Stop gawking. Leave! 
The woman in the drugstore. Oh, you poor thing. Pushing an unwanted pamphlet into your hands. Don't worry, hun, it'll get better. 
People look at you and see what they wanted to see. Unwrapping you until they found the hurt below. A reason for their sympathy. 
Because girls like you aren't deserving of pity unless you're all broken up. Shallow graves and forgotten names. A box collecting dust. 
They looked for the marks, the bruises, and sighed with relief when they found them. Oh, you poor thing. 
It's petty, and you hate yourself for it. Just a little bit. But you know how far sympathy will go before it dries up and oh, you poor thing becomes well, you kinda deserved it. 
You're not special in this regard. All of your friends had similar stories growing up but what always set them apart is that people would have looked into that room, seen a grown man with his hand on their thigh, a sixteen-year-old child, and thought oh, your poor thing.
When it happened to you, their lips curled in disgust. Stay away from my husband, you slut—
Because at the end of the day, it's always your fault for looking the way you do.
("Like you want it," he grunts into your ear, spiteful and ugly, fingers digging in because they can.)
You figure it's only a matter of time John, too, stops finding reasons for his pity. 
His charity. 
Because, really—
"What makes you so special, Coyote?"
A pretty face. Split thighs.
The only thing you're good for is being on your knees—
Come on, Coyote. You should know this already.
But the dance continues. 
He leaves in the mornings. Goes on runs. You haven't gathered the courage yet to go farther than the deck, too worried about the call of the forest. The sprawling blue. Of sinking into evergreen and sleeping forever—
John doesn't seem to mind your reclusiveness. Only a matter of time. He brings back books when he leaves the island. Little things for you to occupy yourself with. You never ask, won't. The fewer favours you owe, the more of yourself you can keep when the good Samaritan act has run dry. 
You don't say thank you. It wasn't your choice to begin with. You clean up after yourself, but that's it. A guest in his house. Nothing more, nothing less. 
You do your job, even though it's obvious it was a joke. 
No one calls besides the woman in Osoyoos and Elliot—
Something that shouldn't have surprised you as much as it had. Military dogs, he once said as you poured him another cup of coffee. We tend to mingle. 
But hearing his voice is a cruel relief. The only exception to the rule has ever been Elliot, a man who seemed to adopt an uncle stance when it came to you. 
Kin, he'd said, and laughed when you scoffed. We're practically cousins. 
“Might stop by soon. See how you're holdin’ up.”
“Don't bother. I'm fine.” 
“Well, maybe I'll come bother Price. He loves it when I visit.” 
“I'll pass on the message.” 
“No, don't do that,” he laughs, loud and free. It tickles your ear. “He'll call the dock and tell ‘em not to rent me a boat.” 
“Should take it as a sign, then. That John—Price doesn't wanna be around you.” 
“Ah, cruel girl. You wound me.” 
“You don't wanna get hurt, then stop calling.”
“Gotta check in on ya. You get into all kinda trouble when I’m not around.” 
It makes you tense. Belly knotting. “No one asked you to do that, Elliot. I didn't ask you to.” 
“You're a lot like Price, you know. Both of you…you don't like askin’ for help even if you need it.” He breathes into a line. A heavy sigh. 
Elliot is a good man, you know. The best. But—
“I'm fine, Elliot.” 
You tend to hurt people like that. 
“You're a good kid,” he says instead. “Just—be gentle with him, huh? Been through a lot.” 
“He's six foot and like, three hundred pounds. How much damage could I really do?”
More’in you think, is what he says after a long pause, low and solemn; voice full of things you can't unravel. Unwrap. And you scoff in response because what does he know? Huh, Elliot? Be so serious, ta. 
A man like John—Price—could rip you apart before you even put a scratch on him. 
“Not everyone hurts with their hands, Coyote.”
John's been through a lot. Please remember that. 
Something has to break, you think. 
And you can feel it, too. This thickness in the air. In the coil of his shoulders. The line between his brow. Anger, inward. The heavy, measured way he stares as he dances around you. Moving in circles. A clumsy routine built on mutual avoidance. 
It's I didn't ask for help and don't bring that over here merging into a whitewater confluence. A narrow channel where one must go under first in order to fit. 
You're tired of it being you, but you don't think a man like Price has ever backed down from anything in his life. 
Stalemate, maybe. 
Or—
It cracks after dinner when he lingers. Hovering in the kitchen as you slip down the stairs in search of something to fill the chasm in your belly. The thing growing—
He meets you there, shoulders tense. His head is bowed between them, hung low as he looks over the plans spread out on his workbench. You make to skirt around him, but he looks up when you get close. Pins you in place with his stare. 
“So,” he drawls, eyes skirting down the length of your body before coming to a pointed stop on your midsection, belly hidden under a thick cable-knit sweater he gave to you to wear. “What's the plan?” 
It takes you a minute to realise he's talking about the baby. 
“Adoption,” you force out, squeezed between the ache of the past chiselling inside rotted marrow and the shape of your future; a hole in your belly. Blood on the snow. 
You were always meant to die, you think. Snuffed under the heel of a boot or at the end of a shotgun—the how never mattered much over the spread of a carcass on the ground. Inevitable, maybe. Just like—
Just like your mother. 
But at least this way, this little thing leaching off of you, an unwanted seedling, will grow. Might have a chance to be different. Escape the generational trauma that plagues your lineage—an inherited curse. Inescapable. Maybe it'll be different. Better. 
“I think—adoption might be best. Maybe.” 
He says nothing, just stares in that strange, measured way of his. But then—
Why would he? It's not his kid. Not his choice. 
It seems to dawn on him all the same. His jaw clenches tight, bruised knuckles peaking as he curls his fingers into a fist. 
Something fractures over his expression. Gaze turning inward. Shuttered. Haunted by ghosts older than you, maybe. But he's good at shaking them off. Putting them away. 
He catches your stare, eyes following it down to his bloodied knuckles, and his mouth pulls into a taut, absent smile. He knocks them on the wood once, twice. Leaves a drop of blood smeared on the grain. 
“Alright,” it's strained, pinched. “If that's what you want.” 
It is. It's an unfathomable kindness you wish your mother graced onto you. It—it—will understand. Eventually. With time. Once they realise the only thing in their future was sleeping in the back seat of a car while you worked odd jobs—waitress, stripper, labourer in a factory—and barely having enough money to scrape together to get a happy meal, they'll come to thank you for this choice. 
You nod instead, and his lips twitch again in that mockery of a smile. Something shatters. Breaks. 
There are more ways to hurt, Coyote, than with teeth and claws. 
He peels away after a beat, muttering something under his breath about an order. A kayak the neighbours ordered. 
You don't watch him leave. You're too busy staring at the smear of blood left behind, the smear he didn't seem to notice. 
for those wondering what John's cabin looks like. Jervis Inlet is just perfect for this little fic.
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moechies · 11 days ago
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big brudder shidou is such a guard dog.. never letting u have a boyfie but basically having been your boyfie since forever <3
nonnie ur so right :( ryu nii is wayyy too possessive and every single aspect and bit of him feels a violent yearn to always be with u , be the only one on ur mind . yeaaahh he’s da best ♡ tw cest
"i hate you!" you whine — having thrown your tantrum the minute your brother stole you away from the seat of your secret date night, to the moment he shut the door behind him to your shared home.
you toss your white clutch onto the ground, stomping incessantly towards your bedroom before slamming the door shut. he hears your muffled groans of frustration, soft hiccups barely audible as you whine into your pillow. "stupid, stupid, stupid nii-nii." you mumble, and he merely chuckles at your attempt to hide your fustrations at him.
your date didn't even last a whole thirty minutes before you felt a familiar clasp of a big warm hand on your bare shoulder. it's evident by the way your date's eye's peer up at the unfamiliar face that hovers behind you, stuttering as he poorly excuses himself to the washroom. shidou almost laughs as he watches your excuse of a date stumble across the marble grounds, nearly slipping as he gets one last glance at your brother, not you, before making a run for it.
"what are you doing—!" before shidou lets you you finish your sentence, he’s tugging you by the soft of your bicep, cusping and trapping you against his side. "let's go home, sis."
you fuss and whine, attempting to convince shidou to call the stupid, unworthy man back, but he wastes no breath wanting to entertain you, and simply sits you down on the leather seats, buckling your seat belt, and slamming the car door shut. he's whilstling the entire time with no care in the world, as if another casual night of taming his little sister.
shidou shrugs his jacket off, making his way towards your room with a sluggish drag. he shoves your door open with no shame, watching and chuckling at your sulking self hidden under all your fluffy blankets and pillows. you only ever go into your room when you're sulking or upset at shidou, (which is common) but you're often sleeping against the brute in the comfort of his silk sheets and master bedroom. he claims that the bed gets too cold at night, and needs you by his side.
"now now," shidou grins, situating himself on the edge of your bed, "don't be like that. yer acting like a damned brat."
"fuck off, ryu." you hiccup foot pressing against the mans glute to distance him from you. he only catches the limb with a swift grab, halting any movement from your left leg from now on.
"is that really how you're going to thank your big bro for saving you from that piece-of-shit excuse of a man? hm? look at mee." shidou drags out, his free burly hand coming to reach at your face. he turns your jaw, cheeks squeezed tight in his hold, forcing your eyes on him. he enamours the sight before him, your quivering lips and watery eyes — how conniving you are. he knows you don’t care for the man, but you want to be pitied and coddled by your eldest brother. he knows you all too well. you’re a brat. "he wasn't that ba—!"
"he's nothing compared to me."
"that's—“
"yeah? are you going to tell me that's not true? say it." shidou growls. "tell nii-nii that useless slag is better than me, sis. speak up. don’t get shy on me now.”
he lets go of your foot, bringing his face close to yours. his forehead presses against yours intimately enough, blearing rosy orbs glaring into yours. you whine, hand coming up to loosen his fingers with a strong grip on your sore cheeks. "n—n'more, nii-nii, h—hurts." you cry, sniffling when he lets go.
"tell me he's a better man."
"not, he—he's not. not—not a better man." you mumble, hiccuping softly.
shidou hums in content, his once engraving glare shifting back into his dim, pinky ones. ‘course he’s not.’
"are you still angry? angry nii-nii fucked up your date?" shidou smiles, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder. "you are, hm? do you want nii-nii to make it up to you?" you whine, a soft blush growing on the apple of your cheeks. "tell me."
you find yourself mute, but you nod your head shakily. "speak up, or i won't." shidou threatens, a malicious grin that spreads across his face. "wait ! wan' you to make it up to me, nii-nii, f'being so mean."
"nii-nii's sorry." shidou moves close, fingers playing and finding their way under your thick sheets. "really, really sorry." shidou whispers against the shell of your ear, and you whine helplessly under him when you feel timid finger drag lightly across your thigh. "will you forgive nii-nii?"
"i—i dunno."
"really? so mean." shidou chuckles, eyes widening when you willingly part your legs subtly. as if he wouldn't notice. "makin' it easy for me, huh? how nice of you."
"stopp.." you whine, embarrassed.
he strokes his middle finger under the crotch of your cotton panty, whistling softly when he discovers your soddened cunt, seemingly having been crying for him all this time. "look at you." you whine, shaking your head softly with your eyes shut tight.
"'mouto's so desperate for me. she’s so cuteeee." he teases, giggling when you gasp out a soft stop. you flinch hard when he presses his middle finger into your soft pussy with no warning, feeling the rest of his hand against the outside of your cunt. "nii-nii!"
"mmm, right here." he mumbles, pressing a tender kiss against your slicked up lips. "look so damn pretty t'night. y’don’t even dress up like this f’me. hm?" the brute admits, curling his finger upwards and making you yelp. "nii-nii!"
"you deserve this for making me jealous, okay? take it like i know you can."
you moan of a sweet melody, hand grasping at his free one when he slips his ring finger besides his middle finger, the overwhelming stretch of his burly fingers making you cry out. "ryuuu," you cry against his lips, moans hitching softly at his constant pummels of his fingers against your walls. "ha—hah—!"
“are my fingers helping you, baby?” shidou giggles, a sick grin that plasters his face when he hears your breath hitch and your lower lip wobble at a particularly mean thrust. “oh baby, don’t cry.” he coos condescendingly, on par to his normal act around you.
“nii-nii, make me c—cum! want to, now!”
“there, there,” shidou coos, “yer wish is my command, righ?’”
and he does — mean fingers molding your pliant pussy to his fingers, drooling and creaming cunt messing up the sheets below you. don’t worry, nii-nii will take care of it all. because that’s just how great of a man shidou ryusei is . ♡
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bows4tyun · 30 days ago
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ENLIGHTEN ME - ! ⸝⸝ 강태현
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୨ৎ: ""I'm a virgin, not a virgin loser, there's a difference, dumbass." taehyun spat out harshly and scoffed, "I can't believe you thought so low of me, but it's cute of you to think I was a virgin loser like you." he faked a smile, angering you a bit. of course he had to be the smart ass one. "
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𓍼 paring! - knowledgeable virgin!taehyun x virgin!reader (f)
𓍼 warnings! - roomates to ?, mean dom!taehyun (he's extra mean!), sub!reader, they kinda hate each other, taehyun basically teaches reader how to fuck, ass smacking, groping, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), cum consumption, unprotected sex, slut shaming, taehyun calls reader a slut (and bitch but only once)
𓍼 lexi adds! - as the winner of the poll, here is knowledgeable virgin tyun!!! this came out a lot longer than i thought and I couldn't help but make tyun an extra mean dom!
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if someone had told you that your roommate, taehyun was a virgin, you wouldn't have believed them.
he was the last person on earth that you'd think of as a virgin, but apparently you thought wrong. it wasn't until his best friend, beomgyu had told you the truth that you were in for a treat.
taehyun had invited beomgyu over without telling you, meaning you had come back from work and had a mini heart attack when you saw beomgyu's sleeping form sprawled on the small living room couch.
"taehyun!" you yelled, your voice echoing through the hall of your shared apartment.
you thought he wasn't home until you saw the upper half of his body pop out from his room, "hm?" his tone innocent as his cold yet cute boba eyes stared at your angered form.
"what is he doing here?" you questioned, your voice loud as you turn your gaze to beomgyu, not caring of waking him up from his beauty sleep.
"would you quiet it down? you'll wake him up." he spoke back sternly. you look back at taehyun, and when you do you notice something, he's shirtless.
you feel the blood rush to your cheeks as they warm up and you cover your eyes with your hands, "put some clothes on!" you say, trying to hide the very evident blush on your face.
"what's the big deal? never seen a man shirtless before? grow up." his words come out as almost teasing yet harsh and you scoff.
"I have seen a man shirtless, I just don't want to see you shirtless." the blush on your face was practically gone with the way you were talking back to him.
"what are you trying to imply, huh?" taehyun spoke as he approached you, still shirtless, a shirt in hand.
before taehyun could get too close to you, your life is saved by beomgyu, "hey taehyun, get this motor mouth out of here, im trying to sleep." beomgyu's voice sounded as tired and sleepy as he looked, his hair disheveled from all the tossing and turning.
"you heard him, get." and with that, taehyun points a finger toward the door of your room, insinuating for you to basically get lost.
"I hate you..." you mumbled under your breath as you clenched the strap of your bag tightly and stormed off to your room as told.
"the feeling's mutual, sweetie." beomgyu laughs at taehyun's response, giving him a small "good one" before adjusting his position and getting ready to fall back asleep.
you're caught off guard by the pet name he had called you and you stop in your tracks, turning your head only to an angle where you can see he back of his head, "don't ever call me that again." you threaten. and with that, the door of your bedroom is slammed shut behind you.
⸝⸝
the following day is your day off, meaning you could relax from all the hard work you had put in throughout the week.
starting off your morning slowly, sleeping a few more hours than usual until you're finally completely awake that you get a text from beomgyu:
"your yelling yesterday made me sleep really good,thanks for not kicking me out :)"
with a scoff you reply:
"don't ever scare me like that ever again, give me a heads up next time!"
to your surprise, he's quick to respond:
"okok... wanna know something funny about taehyun? you won't believe it!"
you want to respond with a "no" but curiosity gets the best of you:
"what?" "he's a virgin!" "seriously?" "yeah! can you believe it?" "not really... " "oh c'mon! it's not that unbelievable!"
with that, you don't text him back. was taehyun really a virgin? maybe beomgyu was playing a prank on you. it kind of was a bit hard to believe considering the way he acts around you, all cold and hard headed. maybe you'd ask him about it.
you were enjoying your morning bowl of cereal before taehyun walks in, his hair a mess from not brushing it out as he scratches the back of his neck lazily in his plain white tee and loose fitting pajama pants.
"is that seriously what you're having for breakfast?" he asks with attitude, sitting down with his elbows resting on the kitchen counter.
you nod, chewing your food calmly "yeah, want some?"
despite your somewhat kind offer, his response is full of disgust. "no , there's absolutely no protein in that whatsoever."
you reply back with a scoff, "does it really matter that much? you're so difficult..." you take another bite and taehyun stares at you for a few seconds, his lip twitching as if he were going to smile but stopped himself.
"oh! taehyun, I have something to ask you." you say after swallowing the last bite of your breakfast and your eyes meet with his.
he nods his head nonchalantly, "what's up?"
you're a bit nervous to ask but you anyways, "are you a virgin?"
silence.
his eyes widen and his lips part, shock evident on his face. he's speechless. after a few more silent seconds, he speaks up, "who told you that?"
"beomgyu"
"what an asshole." he said in anger "who does he think he is to tell everyone my secrets? "
you laugh nervously "secrets? so you mean it's true? you're a virgin? a loser?"
"I'm a virgin, not a virgin loser, there's a difference, dumbass." taehyun spat out harshly and scoffed, "I can't believe you thought so low of me, but it's cute of you to think I was a virgin loser like you." he faked a smile, angering you a bit. of course he had to be the smart ass one. "you act as if you're not a virgin too, except, you are a virgin loser." he argued back like his life depended on it.
and you're just as shocked as he was, if not more. "who the hell told you that?" you questioned him angrily, wanting to know the truth.
taehyun lets out a villainous chuckled to your reaction, "no one. I just had a lucky guess. but now I know that my lucky guess was right, you are a virgin loser."
There's a faint pink hue of blush is spreads across your face from both anger and embarrassment "what's the difference?" your tone of voice was loud as you shouted but taehyun didn't even flinch.
"the difference is that I know about sex, you on the other hand have probably never seen a dick before, am I right?" he was right, very right infact.
"stop talking about it!" you spoke, frustrated at how you couldn't get back at taehyun.
"calm down, sweetie" he cooed, tilting his head and smirking at the stressed look on your face, his dimple evident. "wanna help each other out?"
⸝⸝
that's how you ended up here, straddling taehyun, his hands on each of your hips as he stared into your eyes coldly.
being in such and intimate position like this with him made you nervous as you spoke, "d-do you have a condom...?"
he shrugged, "what do you think? would a virgin have condoms?"
you look down, noticing the bulge that at had grown in his pants. heat rises to your face again and you shake your head.
"exactly." he speaks with such bluntness it scares you a bit. "now stop asking dumb questions and get your clothes off."
you obey not wanting to anger him more than he already seemed. he always seemed to be in a bad mood. slowly one by one, you took a piece of your clothes off. it wasn't until you were only in your undergarments that taehyun ripped them off your body, causing you to yelp. "could you be any slower? you're making me not want to take your virginity, this is my first time too, y'know. "
you felt so weird, naked in front of him. he looked at your body as if it were nothing. he definitely didn't act like the virgin he claimed to be.
without saying anything, his pulled his white tee off his body, letting you get a better view of his shirtless form.
you couldn't deny that taehyun was attractive, but seeing him like this made him even more attractive.
"quit staring, will you? don't make this weird." soon, he pulled down his pants enough for his cock to spring out, hitting his lower stomach with a small slap. you back up a bit, his big and thick dick enough to scare you away. how on earth were you supposed to fit that monster inside of you? "why do you look so scared, hm? it's just a dick." he said nonchalantly. just a dick? was he serious?
You take a deep breath, he was right. it wasn't something to be afraid of, this was an experience almost every person on earth had, nothing new. "okay, how do I do this?"
taehyun doesn't talk, instead he guides you hips closer to his, lifting you with ease just enough for you to hover over his dick, your hands on his shoulders as you feel the ghostly touch of his thick tip lining against your tight hole.
"ready? I'll be waiting to decide if I want to be rough or gentle." he says and you nod.
you feel the burn of his thick dick stretching you out, drawing a high pitched moan out of you as your eyes screw themselves shut and your brow furrow.
taehyun lets out a soft yet low groan at the warm feeling of your gummy walls enveloping him oh so tightly. he felt like he could cum right on the spot.
you felt like you were in heaven, his dick felt so snug inside of you, his veins rubbing against your insides, and his tip brushing against your cervix lightly.
"you okay?" he spoke, his tone softer than usual and what you expected.
you mumble a small "yeah" and his lifts your hips up, half of his cock pulled out of your hole before slamming your hips down against his roughly, emmiting a loud yelp from you, "taehyun!"
taehyun only smacks your ass with a lot of force, leaving the stinging sensation to linger on your ass cheek before he does it a for a second time. "shut up, when did I ever say you could speak? greedy sluts stay quiet." his voice sounds the complete opposite of what it sounded like a few seconds ago, his demeanour changing completely.
again and again he continues to lift and slam your hips down on his cock, not giving you the right time to adjust. he gropes your ass roughly as he guides your body down up and down his shaft in a rhythmic pace.
you felt like you were going to explode from pleasure. how can anyone's first time be this good?
you were already fucked so dumb on his cock and he had barely even started. he threw his head back, his bobbing adam's apple visible from the new angle.
suddenly, you felt the strong urge to release, your first ever orgasm. you gripped taehyun's shoulders tightly, your hole doing the same with his dick, clenching around him as if it were your last day on earth. "taehyun -! I'm going to cum! ah-!"
he groaned at the feeling, smacking your ass even harder than last time, causing you to launch forward, your head resting on your shoulder as he continued his relentless and merciless thrusts.
"I said to fucking shut up! I don't want to say it again, bitch." he spat out his words like fire and you felt his hand leave your ass and start griping your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh and tweaking your sensitive nipples, leaving you to fuck yourself on his cock.
pathetic whimpers escaped past your lips, trying to keep quiet as you were told, yet it was so hard to do when his cock was hitting the right bundle of nerves over and over again.
with a smack on your ass and a loud moan of his name, you came undone on his cock, squirming at the feeling as you pant heavily.
taehyun pulls out, drawing a whine from you and he smacks your ass. he begins to stroke himself throwing his head back.
he looks at you with lustful eyes and grabs a handful of your hair, "suck." he commands, bringing your head down to the level of his cock. it's glistening with your juices and you take it into your mouth, barely able to fit it between your lips because of his girth.
you begin to suck and it doesn't take long for you to feel his warm and sticky cum shoot to the back of your throat. Your eyes widen and you look up at him with your mouth full of his cum, he's all sweaty, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he pants to catch his breath.
"swallow." he says inbetween pants and your mouth leaves his dick with a pop. when you swallow, you wipe your chin with the back of your hand, collecting the excess juices that had dripped down.
you sit up on your knees, both of you guys staring at each other from across the bed.
taehyun is the one who decides to beeak the silence
"this may or may not mean we're dating."
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𓍼 taglist! - @hyunj00 (please lmk if you want to be added to my taglist!!)
reblogs are appreciated!
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pppeachyyys · 24 days ago
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*ೃ༄ bllk boys + cliche love tropes!
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ft: isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo
✩ what cliche love trope are the blue lock boys?
female reader, so much fluff, i got a lil lazy..., hc + small drabble!!
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ISAGI YOICHI - childhood friends to lovers 
✩ everything is a "do together" activity. this includes (and is not limited to) throwing woodchips in the playground, studying, eating bentoes, sleeping, even taking baths.
✩ naturally, you both are very protective of each other!! the years of bonding gave you two an unbreakable connection.
✩ had fake marriage ceremony behind the slides in the playground, and you both just kind of stuck to the idea of "husband and wife" ever since. (you were both 6)
✩ despite it being so long, isagi still gets so flustered around you!! he has that sweet grin every time he greets you in the morning. 
✩ always waits outside your door to walk together to school. sometimes when it's cold, he'll even offer his extra scarf for you, wrapping it around your face.
✩ when people ask about you, hes so quick to simply go "oh, n/n? we're gonna get married for real one day!" with that cute smile and blush.
✩ it even gets to a point where when he goes pro, he ALWAYS makes sure to mention your name in every single interview.
���
sweat dribbles down to isagi's chin, his chest heavy, rising up and down in attempt to catch the oxygen he's so desperate for. despite it not even being 30 minutes after one of his biggest games, he's getting bombarded with the press and their eggy questions.
the man closest to him raises his mic towards isagi and the cameras zero in on the two. it's hard to hear his voice due to the pumping of blood through his veins, but he manages to catch the basic idea. 
"who are the people who have supported you to becoming the star player of the game today?"
isagi is quick to think of one particular person. despite feeling absolutely milked, a smile forms on his face. with heavy breathing, he replies, "well, obviously my parents and my teammates, they always pushed me to be better and improve, but there's a special girl out there who has always been my biggest supporter." 
the crowd audibly coos, the flashes simply getting even brighter. isagi can tell that everyone is begging for him to continue, so he does, his desire to brag about you growing. 
"she's always been there for me, watching me since i managed to find my love for soccer. and  i don't think i could be here if it wasn't for her." he ponders if he should say the next sentence, but the swell of his heart overtakes his brain.
"thank you, y/n. and when i come back home, i'll make sure you're the happiest girl in the world."
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ITOSHI RIN - forced proximity
✩ when i say forced, IM TALKING FORCED!! like- you're the foreign exchange student living in his own house!
✩ at first, its awkward. little word is exchanged between you two, and the only interaction you get is a simple "it's your turn to shower" or "come down to eat dinner". 
✩ he also never walks with you to school either despite living in the same house and attending the same school.
✩ eventually, you're convinced that you're never going to befriend rin, but a small upbringing makes you realize that he's just shy and closed off.
✩ once you slowly gain understanding of rin's true character, it's a little easier to talk to him. and even he starts to warm up a little.
✩ living in the same house brings so many opportunities and it's impossible to avoid not getting close!!! 
a fun fact you've learned about rin is that he is always on schedule and has a strict routine. this includes everything from his well kept diet, sleeping at 9pm sharp, and even his devoted time to reading a book for 30 minutes once it hits 7pm.
everything about his life has set rules and orders, and once again, this includes his showers. 
it's not like you're purposefully trying to learn what he does every minute of the day, it's just that he's so prominent with his ritual that you simply learn it without realizing. after eating dinner, he always thanks his mother for the meal. then he heads towards the bathroom to wash up for exactly 45 minutes and heads over to tell you the bath is free at 6:50 on the dot. 
so why is it taking longer than usual today?
for some odd reason, you're worried. rin has practically mastered his way of living and to think that he's behind on something as simple as a shower makes you wonder if he decided to drown himself in the sink. should you check up on him? you guys aren't close like that but you can't help but stand up and make a beeline to where the shower is.
you hesitantly knock on the door. "uh... rin? you okay? it's been pretty long since you've been in there." 
it's silent for a few seconds until the door clicks. you're met with the sight of messy wet black hair, grey sweatpants hung low, and a white tee that simply adds to the masculinity of rin. 
at this time, you also remember that the boy you're temporarily living with is jaw droppingly handsome, and you can't help but avoid eye contact. 
"sorry, we ran out of shampoo so i had to replace it."
his response is short. simple. you just nod and let him pass, still trying to refresh your brain. you're confused. has he always been so charming?
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MIKAGE REO - loser bf and cool gf / shikimori is not just a cutie trope
✩ yeah, your boyfriend is pretty cool, but he's not as cool as you!
✩ you're KNOWN to do good at everything and also look absolutely stunning while doing it.
✩ sure, reo is popular. people are fawning over him 24/7 and so many people wish they could be him. but behind that facade, he's truly reduced to a love struck loser who is completely whipped for his girlfriend.
✩ i mean- you can't blame him! you're always there to save the day for him.
✩ he somehow forgot his notes (he's usually an organized person)? you have yours to share! he forgot how to tie his own tie for some odd reason? don't worry, you can always tidy him up!
✩ he realizes that ever since you guys started dating, he's simply turned into a lost puppy without your aid. and honestly, he's okay with that.
✩ he's still the confident, talented, charming guy as always. it's just that he would rather let you save him and take him far away to a distant land.
reo comfortably situates himself next to you, the grass of his schools soccer field tickling his ankles. he's lost in listening to your rambling and also staring at your face, simply smiling whenever you would look at him mid rant.
in fact, he's so far gone that he fails to notice the screams of people on the field warning the both of you of a soccer ball on it's way to decimate you both, and he also fails to notice that you catch on to the warnings. 
"reo, watch out!" practically in slow motion you yell, using your hands to push him onto the ground and then lifting them to catch the ball (which was going at an unreasonable crazy speed) smoothly onto your palms. 
he blinks once. twice. the shock factor has made it hard for him to process what just happened and he can only stare as you return the ball back to whoever. he watches as you return back to him, your fingers reaching to brush away his lilac hair.
you help lift him back up. "are you okay reo? that ball was moving so fast, i thought we were both gonna be dead!" your fretting makes reo smile. 
"well, i'm just fine, knowing you're always there to save me."
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touyaismycomfortboy · 1 month ago
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♡ Suki's sweetheart.
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a/n: i'm rewatching my hero academia, and I got to the dorms episode and rewatched the scene where everyone was sad bc of aizawa's lecture, so he made kaminari use his quirk to make him dumb to make his friends laugh and giving kirishima a gift and dksjgnkdjg I just love sweet bkg so I need to write these headcanons <333
this is only my second fic so let me know if you like it!!! still figuring out my style and such so if u have any requests for stories or recommendations on how to make my posts more aesthetic or just wanna say hi pleaseee do <3
word count: 0.7k
synopsis: headcanons about what bkg would do if he found you sad <3
pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader
genre: pure fluffy comfort
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if he walked past your dorm and heard you crying quietly, he wouldn't approach you immediately. he'd walk into his own dorm quickly, go onto tiktok/instagram and go into his folder of saved videos he had for you, and spam your dms with funny/stupid videos he thought you would like.
he doesn't really scroll on his phone like that, but if anyone ever sends him a funny video or he stumbles across one he immediately saves it in his "y/n" folder.
after a couple minutes of spamming you, he'd nonchalantly walk into your room like he didn't see you crying a few minutes ago and crawl into your bed.
he was a man of few words when people around him were sad, never really knowing what words to say. so he just lays next to you with his arms open and lets you nuzzle into his chest while he wraps his big warm arms around you.
if you didn't know, nitroglycerin smells sweet. since he secretes it he smells like sugar/caramel, and it's hard to stay sad when you're cuddling your boyfriend who smells like dessert.
once you stopped crying and it had died down to soft sniffles, he'd grab your waterbottle off your desk and make you drink water, no ifs, ands, or buts. he had to make sure you were taken care of.
he'd wipe the remaining tears off your cheeks and ask if you needed anything, making sure he didn't talk too loud. you were in a very vulnerable state right now, he didn't want to upset you again.
if you were hungry, he'd make you watch the videos he sent you on his phone while he vanished for a few minutes as he went down to the common room kitchen and make you a simple snack, but it still tasted delicious because, well, katsuki is a great chef.
he'd watch you carefully as you ate the snack, seeing if there was any lingering sadness in your face or body language.
he'd ask you if you wanted to talk about it even if he didn't know what he'd say to you, he'd just listen to you if you did talk about it and nod along to your venting.
if it was someone who hurt you, he'd have to resist the urge to leave your room immediately to go blow those extras to smithereens, just sitting there and hugging you instead. having to remind himself that hurting someone else wouldn't make you feel better.
even if it was getting late and you guys had school the next day, he'd refuse to leave your room until he knew for sure you were 100% better. once you finally got him to leave, he would remind you a thousand times to text him if you needed him.
on the off chance that you did message him during the night, he had a special text tone just for your messages that he would wake up to. he'd quickly throw on some sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt as he would quickly (and quietly) walk to your dorm room, open the door and crawl into your bed once more.
on those nights, he wouldn't leave under any circumstances. he'd spend the night with you to make sure he was right there if you needed comfort. if you wanted him to leave, he would leave the bed and not the room. he would rather sleep on the cold hard floor than leave you alone while you're upset.
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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago
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needs
3.3k, joel miller x virgin f!reader
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joel masterlist | miniseries masterlist
Summary: Joel wants to find a bed before you go all the way, but neither of you can wait that long.
A/N: Follows ✨ Fires (1.6, prologue), Aches (900), and Thoughts (1.6).
WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (20/50s), still only one sleeping bag, pining, c*ck hunger, fingering, grinding, masturbation, oral m receiving, cum eating, unsafe P in V, reluctantly pulling out, loss of virginity, pet names, praise, POV alternates, NO Y/N.
“God have mercy,” he mutters to himself.
He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet, he tells himself . . . Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn . . .  
-------
It’s all over your face. He’s never seen anything like it, the way you crave his cock. You shamelessly stare at his pants. His whole body, really. You were bad enough before you touched it, and it’s only gotten worse. You can’t focus, you can’t listen. It’s dangerous.  He should put a stop to this, take it away cold turkey. Sleep back-to-back. But you both have needs, and he's not gonna do that.
Joel feels like he might as well be a virgin himself, it's been so long for him. Frankly, he’s dying to put it in you just as much as you long to have it.  He’s been trying to wait until Jackson so he can do it somewhere safe, somewhere a little nicer, more comfortable. 
He wants to wait and make sure it's nice and special for you, but good lord, you’re makin' it hard. You make the sweetest little sounds when he touches you, and even when he doesn’t, like in your sleep. You ask him things like, “doesn’t sex feel better than hands?” He tells you half-truths, like “not always.” Of course it would with you.  Of course it would.
-
You’re in the forest. With dusk approaching, you're just about to set up camp while there's still light. Joel is taking a leak at the edge of a small clearing, calculating mileage in his head, counting down the days ‘til you should get there. His back could use a real bed, too.  He's shaking his dick dry and a twig snaps behind him. His head whips around and he reaches for his gun. 
It’s you. God damnit, he could’ve killed you. 
“Can I see it?” you ask. 
“What the hell are ya doin’ over here?”
“I just wanna see it.” You look down toward his jeans. “Can I?” 
It’s fair that you’re curious, he knows that. You mentioned it the night before with your hand wrapped around it, I wanna see it, really see it, I bet it’s good looking. You’ve only felt it at night and caught glimpses in the moonlight. At the time, he mindlessly reassured you, you’ll see it, baby, you'll see my cock, and he should’ve known you’d spring this on him.
“Not now,” he mutters, trying to calm his heart rate.  “Can ya gimme a second, honey?” 
“Okay.”  He can hear the sadness, practically see the disappointment on your face. God damnit. He tucks himself away and zips up. You're only about eight feet away.  “Now?”
“No.  Ain’t nothin’ to see right now.” You probably don’t realize what a big difference it can make. 
“What do you mean”
“Just trust me, it ain't how ya wanna see it.” 
“Why?" 
“Cause it ain’t as. . .”
“Ain’t as what?”
“Nothin’, baby. Just not the right time.”
“Better if we’re close together, right?” You step closer. 
He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. “This ain’t the time or the place, honey.” 
When he looks at you again, your face has fallen, and you mumble, “K.” 
He puts a big, comforting hand on your shoulder and walks you back to where y'all are setting up camp. “When we find a bed, I’ll show ya. . .”  
"And when we find a bed," you repeat. Don't say it, don't say it, he prays to God you don't say it. "We can do it, right?" He doesn't answer. "You can put your cock inside me, right?"
Fuck, you're gonna drive this old man crazy. At least one of you needs your wits about you if you'll ever make it to Jackson. "We'll see," he sighs. 
After a moment of silence, your voice trembles as you ask, "We'll see? Why not yes?"
"Cause we ain't gonna make it there at this rate," he complains, then sighs with instant regret. "I'm sorry, honey. But you gotta try to knock it off with this stuff."
You swallow and your eyes glimmer. "Sorry," you whisper. 
He turns away to adjust himself, then sits down on the ground, leaning back against a log and extends an arm for you. "S'okay, c'mere."
You sit on the ground next to him. He squeezes your shoulder and changes the topic to twenty questions. 
——
He’s nicer at night. He’s nice in the day, too, mostly.  Once in a while, you can tell you’re annoying him, and you feel bad.  If only he knew how many times you thought about it and didn't say something, he’d appreciate your efforts. It’s practically all you think about. It’s even worse now that you feel it in your hand every night, but the last thing you want is for that to stop. 
You had been thinking about it all day when you finally asked what you thought was an easy request – if you could just see it, just a glimpse while he already had it out anyway. 
Even if you don’t get to see it, at least it’s easy enough to recall what it feels like.  Smooth, warm, and stiff. Soft veins, tiny wrinkles. A leaking slit. 
—--
“Can I taste it?” you ask one night with your little fist wrapped around his shaft. 
He groans quietly. “Yeah, you wanna taste it?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand sticky with the lube of your own slick, a bead of precum under your thumb. You smear the precum and let go of his hard cock, making it slap against his stomach.  You take your thumb into your mouth and hum, “Mmm,” at the salty taste. 
“Whatcha think,” he whispers breathily. 
“Can I have your cock in my mouth?”
“Oh, baby, ‘course ya can.” The zipper of the sleeping bag jingles, then you hear the satisfying zzz as it unzips.  He folds it down and you get up on your knees. You bend at the hip and don't waste a second. You wrap your thumb and forefinger around the base, trying and failing to make your digits touch. 
Then, your lips wrap around the head.  He inhales sharply through his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” you ask.
“God no, honey. Go ‘head, taste it all ya want.”  
 You curiously tongue the slit and suck for more. 
“Oh god damn,” he breathes.
You lick around it under the crown and you’re salivating. 
He wraps his hand around yours and moves it up and down, then leaves you be. “Use your spit, honey.” You let it dribble out of your mouth and onto his tip and catch it in your fist. You kitten lick the shaft, tasting your own tang, and letting your saliva fall out of your mouth as it accumulates, occasionally sliding the open ring of your finger and thumb up and down but mostly forgetting because you’re so focused on it in your mouth.
“Ya like that, sweetie? ya like how we taste?” You take a couple inches into your mouth then suck a little more of it in. It twitches against your tongue. The biggest vein throbs. 
“Alright, baby,” he pants and takes it from you. He urgently pulls up his own shirt, slides his hand a few times, then comes with a groan, his voice and pulsing manhood making you ache with need, even though he already made you come. You stay there on your knees.  In the dim moonlight, you watch his tummy rise and fall with the shiny trail leading to, and pooling in, his navel. 
“Can I taste that, too?” you ask. 
“Yeah,” he nods. 
You dip your tongue in the trail below his navel. It’s thicker, headier, saltier than the precum.  It’s not every day you get to taste something new. It’s not often at all. It's delicious.
“Like it,” you whisper.
“Yeah? take all ya want.” 
You lick and seal your lips as you suck it up. You pause to pluck a hair from your mouth, then continue to his navel. You dip your tongue in and his stomach flexes abruptly. You take your mouth off and pause. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 
You tongue his navel, then suck, and he inhales a chest full of air as you do it, his stomach rising into your lips. You lick up every drop. 
“Good girl,” he sighs and  cups your cheek. “Such a good girl," he sighs.
All day you think about it in your mouth, in your hand, resting hard against your back, between your thighs. You imagine it all over your body. Doesn’t matter if he’s pressing it up against your hip or resting it in the crook of your elbow, God, you just want to feel it somewhere. You try not to think about it inside you too much because that makes you want it so bad, you could cry. Like really cry.
It’s not a want. It's a need.  You see it happening everywhere you look. You see a tree, and you imagine him sitting on the forest floor against it, holding his cock at attention, ready for you to sit on it.  You see another tree and he’s pinning you up against it with your legs wrapped around him, jeans pulled down under his ass as he rails you. You see a patch of moss and cluster of ferns that would be a nice pillow with him on top of you.
You think about it, and you dream about it, too. You can’t help that. He starts wearing jeans to sleep, and you can’t feel the shape of him quite as well against you, but it doesn’t matter. The fact that it’s there and it’s hard is enough to drive you mad. Even after he gets you off, it's bound to come back at some point in the night. Worst case scenario, you lose sleep over it. Best case, it works its way into your dreams.
----
One night, you're moaning in your sleep again, and Joel can hardly take it. His cock is painfully stiff and the strain against his jeans makes him ache. His hips press into you on their own; he can't stop them. All he can do is take off his jeans in hopes that being free of the rigid confines will lend some relief.  He was wearing them as an extra layer between the two of you for this exact scenario, but he can no longer bear it.
On one hand, he’s taking precautions, like keeping his jeans on.  But on the other hand, in the heat of the moment, when he’s touching you, he’s taking measures to prepare you, and to see how ready you are. Lately, he scissors his fingers, inserts three to see how you take it.  “Good girl, that’s real good,  honey.” He curls them inside you, “Ohhh, baby, you’re takin’ this real good.”
God, he wants a bed for this. You deserve a fuckin' mattress at the very least. He’s gotta wait. And yet now he finds himself taking off his jeans. He carefully removes them without waking you up. He lies there with his fist around his cock for a minute, still in his boxers, doing nothing but softly squeezing, as if that’ll make it go away.  Then he resigns himself to the magnetism of your body.  He curves his form around yours again and silently sighs as the hardness in his boxers rests against you and he wraps you in a hug. He manages not to thrust against your ass, but in no time, you're pushing yourself back against him. "Joel," you mumble in your sleep. 
"God have mercy," he mutters to himself. 
He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. . . not yet. . . not yet, he tells himself, taking deep calming breaths. Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn he wants to take that tight little hole.  
"Joel,” you whine and push back on him again. He can't stand it. He really can't. He has to wake you up.
He whispers, "Whatcha dreamin 'bout, sweetie?" then feels your breathing change. 
When you blink awake, your hips are slowly moving, pushing your ass back into Joel's hard cock until you stop yourself. 
"Sorry," you mumble. "Did I wake you up?" The sweet sound of your voice isn’t helping.
"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs into your hair. 
"I dunno how to stop it," you whisper. "I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, baby doll." He hugs you tight. “Don’t be embarrassed.” His cock swells harder against you. He whispers in your ear, "They want each other real bad, that's all." 
"I know." 
"Have a good dream?"
You sigh. “Yeah.”
“‘bout what?”
“I dunno if you wanna hear it,” you tell him. Fair enough, he's told you to knock it off, after all. 
“Sure I do, honey. Was it you and me?”
“Yeah,” you wedge your hand between your legs. 
"You want a hand?"  
“Yeah.”
“What’d ya dream?” he asks as he reaches into your panties. "God damn," he whispers. You're soaked, swollen, and your clit is throbbing against his hand. "Poor thing." He thrusts his hardness against your ass.  "No wonder you're tryin' to get at this, huh?" 
You're quiet. 
"No wonder ya can't stop thinkin' ‘bout it." He thrusts against you again and moans softly. "What'd ya dream, baby?"
“It was. . .” you can hardly form words thinking about it. It was so vivid, so real. “We were right here, like this.” 
“Yeah?” He uses your ample moisture to lightly rub your clit. 
He begins to make peace with himself that this might happen before he wants. He hooks his fingers into your panties. “Let’s take these off for a lil bit, hmm? Let her breathe.” 
“Okay.”  You bend your knees as he pulls your soaked panties down. 
—-
"We were right here like this, in the dream?" He repeats. 
“You took it out of your pants,” you whisper. He moans softly, takes his hand away, and jostles behind you. Then you feel his naked cock against your skin. Your breath hitches and you whimper at the contact.  He returns his hand between your legs and lazily circles your clit, pressing his naked dick against you.
"Took it out like this?" He asks soft and deep.
"Yeah," 
He thrusts against you and whispers in your ear, "Then what?"
"You put it between my legs." 
He inhales sharply then wedges his cock between your thighs, shuddering as he slides it forward along your dripping seam and the head meets his fingers on your clit. 
You tilt your hips and he whispers, "Oh, baby. Like this?"
"No, you put it inside," you whisper. 
Joel's breath hitches and he twitches against your heat. You moan. He slides slowly through your folds to your clit and back. He tries to slow down and think it over, but there are no thoughts, just his stiff, aching cock and your tight little pussy begging for it.
——
“Will you do that,” you ask, looking over your shoulder but not enough to meet his eyes. 
Joel takes a deep breath. “You think I should? Don’t wanna wait for a bed?” He thrusts in small pulses. “Just a few days, baby.”
“They wanna be together real bad,” you whisper. “how they’re meant to be," you remind him.  
Joel groans at your words. “I know, baby doll.” He takes a deep breath. “How’d it feel in your dream?”
“Full, really full,” you tell him, then sigh. “Felt so big.’
“Ohh, fuck,” Joel breathes into your hair and slides his cock against you, wet and stiff.
“It was like I was hugging you with my, um,” you say, then swallow and tilt your hips. "Hugging it."
“God damn,” he sighs. He pulls his cock back, and as he slides it forward again, it catches at your entrance. You spread your thighs ever so slightly. “You sure ‘bout this,” he confirms, and uses the hand between your legs to nestle his tip just inside. You gasp. 
“Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, please. Joel, please,” you whine. You push back on him with a small grunt, stretching yourself open on his tip. 
“Oh god, baby,” he sighs, then he holds you still and slowly pushes himself inside with a quiet groan muffled by your hair. “Fuck, you’re–ohh, you’re tight.”  You gasp as his girth parts your walls and your body makes room for him.  “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod urgently, and he twitches inside you. 
You shiver with pleasure as he pushes further and sighs, “Oh, baby.” 
“Joel,” you whine, “its so big”
“Too big?”
“No,” you reassure him. “I want it.”
He pushes the rest of himself in until his pelvis is flush. He breathes heavily and mutters, “fuck.”
You moan and push back on him. “s’perfect,” you whine.
“you like havin’ me in here?”
“I love it,” you say. 
“As much as the dream?”
“More than the dream.”
“What happened next?” he asks
“Then you it moved like you do in my hand.”
“Yeah,” he begins to rock his hips, his thick cock dragging inside you. “Like this?”
“nnngghh–yeah,” you nod then gasp as you're filled by his length again. “ohhh,” you moan. "And then you came inside—”
He groans, then pants as he’s moving inside you, “Ohh fuck, sweetie I can’t—ohh, I can’t do that, uggghh–god damn.”
“Felt so good, like a massage”
“Ohh, baby, please don’t–”
“And warm”
“Fuck,” he breathes and covers your mouth with his free hand, bicep flexing under your neck as he does it. No way he’s gonna last with you talking like that. 
He begins to slowly move again and you whimper.  You’re right, it is like you’re hugging him. You’re so tight and wet for him, taking his cock so good. 
"Good girl," he whispers, burying his length in you every second or so, only pulling back halfway each time. 
"Such a good girl, wantin' my cock so bad." He moans. "Waitin' all this time—uggh." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts. "That's my girl, takin' me so good," his next thrust is harder and you moan. "Yeah, just like that," he breathes.  His hand teases your clit as he fucks you. You whimper and he repeats, "just like that," his voice shakier, his breath heavier on your ear, “yeah.”
You moan into his hand, and his fingers circle your clit. “C’mon, baby,” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock?” You nod and hum your agreement. “Better do it now, then, you can do it.”
You let go and your clit pulses madly, your walls clench down on him. It feels so good, your eyes well up in tears.
“Ohh, baby,” he sighs, and suddenly pulls out. He replaces his cock with two fingers that your cunt begins to hug. “Such a good girl, squeezin’ my fingers.”  
His aching arousal presses against your ass, and he humps against you as he fingers you. “Ohh, yea--ohhhh.” His cock begins to pulse, spreading a silky warmth across your skin. He moans and sighs as you finish coming on his fingers and his balls empty. 
—-
He uses a shirt of his to clean you up. As his breathing calms down, he hears you sniffling. “Hey, hey, you okay, sweetie?”
You’re fine, more than fine, but you can’t talk.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself when you don’t answer.  He peeks over your side, gently stroking your arm. “Hey, c’mere, talk to me, sweetie.”  You turn around and face him.  “You okay, honey?”
You nod and smile at him with watery eyes.
His brows knit as he finishes catching his breath.  He kisses you on the forehead and wraps you in a hug. You sniffle again and he speaks into your hair. “I know that was a big deal for you, baby.”  He pulls his head back and tilts your chin up. “It was big for me too, okay?” You nod.  He reads your eyes, then presses his lips into yours. He reads your face again, then repeats the kiss and you kiss him back. He kisses you on the forehead and holds you, stroking your head. You fall asleep holding each other face-to-face.
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Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your comments and reblogs go a long way in motivation so if you liked it plz consider saying something 🫶. my joel masterlist has 🍒 on virginity loss fics. Left in Lincoln is a pretty similar Joel, in terms of how he is with you sexually. For more Joel POV, the most recent raider, Night Air, has a lot.
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